Back from the Undead

 

Most of my creative energy for the month of October went into preparing to perform Shakespeare, dressed as a zombie, for a Readers' Theater at a local restaurant called Chinooks.

A friend directed the production and invited me to perform, knowing I've participated in spoken word events sharing my poetry and stories.

I said yes, even though it was a bit outside of my comfort zone--I do not like zombies or anything horror related and I never understood Shakespeare when I skimmed the plays in high school and/or asked friends to tell me what I needed to know for the tests. (Yeah, unfortunately I was that kind of a student.)

And acting, well, it was my childhood passion, creating plays in my bedroom, but not something I'd really participated in since grade school. Not since I chose the sports track in middle school and found myself on the other side of the artificial divide.

It wasn't until my early twenties, when I read a poem at a Take Back the Night event and then another one at my grandmother's memorial, that I remembered my inclination to perform.

In my late twenties, I discovered poetry slams; and after competing as part of Team Alaska at Nationals, I planned on continuing on this path, till my tracks were derailed six months later, with the premature birth of my son.

Here I am, in my forties, stepping back out on stage.

Oh and there's the whole memorizing the script part, which I realized quickly is much more challenging when I'm not the one who originally wrote the material and the style of speech and vocabulary does not come from my everyday life.

It was a good thing I had a few solo extended car rides during the month of October to practice, occasionally pulling over to re-read the script then returning to the road to attempt to recite from memory. Pulling over and returning to the road. Pulling over...

I'm a Mom, with mush for brains, and was trying to retain terms such as "lascivious goth" and sentences with the word "ye" sprinkled in the mix: And be ye henceforth called the undead.

At our first rehearsal, I recited my part with clarity but not a whole lot of emotion; and then was floored by a member of the cast who delivered his two parts, as two different characters, with changes of voice and mannerisms-- clearly a real actor, unlike me.

I thought about my part on the drive home, how in the first monologue my character, newly a zombie, is terrified, and realized I may not be an expert actor, but I know how to feel.

I know what its like to be scared.

I know terror.

The shake of my legs on the gurney as the nurses rolled me back for an emergency c-section shy of 25 weeks into my first pregnancy.

Still today, over thirteen years past that middle of the night scene, my heart speeds up just thinking about it. The moment I realized there was nothing I could do to keep my son safe inside me for four more months.

I didn't know what lay on the other side of surgery, through the closed NICU doors I was about to call home for the next 94 days.

All the times I'd watch my son stop breathing and think, this is it, this is how it all ends. Or signing the release for brain surgery before Elias weighed two pounds.

Yes, I know fear.

And so I called upon my inner ghosts for the Zombie Shakespeare show, and after practicing the part on every solo drive or walk, the lines fell from my head, fluently, with emotion, as the audience ate bone marrow toast, blood sausage, octopus ink pasta, and other "uncomfortable delights".

I'm glad its over so I can stop waking up to dreams of deceased humans rising from their graves, stop reciting my lines constantly, and return to my creative work as a poet and writer.

And yet it sure was fun to stand on that stage, to interact with the audience, and to momentarily be someone so far removed from myself.

In between shows on Saturday night, I walked downstairs to the bar to buy a drink in my full zombie attire. A line of middle-aged men sat in the stools and leaned their arms on the counter, various drinks in hand.

All their heads turned, as I walked past. 

"Bartender," one of them said, "I'd like to buy that woman a shot of formaldehyde."

I would have accepted a Bloody Mary if he offered me one.

Comments

[Susan]

So enjoyed reading this, Christie. I too used to enjoy performing...perhaps your experience will inspire me. Congratulations on making it work ~ know it wasn't easy. Love the last vignette!

[Christy]

Thanks Susan--I decided its never really too late to try. And it was worth it. I hope you find your way to a stage too;)