EPTI've been in my school's musical production of White Christmas. I'm the lead (being Bing Crosby is cool), and it's been rough.
Firstly, let me say, it's been a lot of fun. Staying after school for up to five extra hours every day isn't as bad as it could be. I'm enjoying it. In large part, though, it's due to the people. Anyone who's ever been in a theater type of thing, or any performance ensemble knows that a bond develops between those involved. It's a simple thing, but it's beautiful at the same time.
For about a month and a half I've worked at this with about twenty-five other people, including cast and crew. That leaves the orchestra out, and they are amazing as well. Those guys and gals play really well, and they're better every day. It's been a long time. A month and a half lasts a lot longer while it's going than one gives it credit in hindsight, and it's been a good time.
We've worked hard, we've put more hours in than I'd care to count, and we've enjoyed each other's company. Just a couple of days ago, it was very sloppy still, our acting, timings, and staging has been very off. But at this point, we're set, we're ready, and we're not too shabby.
Which is good, considering we just finished the last performance yesterday.
That's it, it's all over.
The last dress rehearsal went very well, but at that point my voice was starting to go out. It'd been overworked and strained to breaking point, literally. At a certain point on the scale, I literally couldn't make noise. I still can't. It doesn't hurt, but it's... frightful.
The first show, a student performance (for our school) rolled around, and my voice was shot. I could talk, but barely, and even my speaking voice was a full octave and a half below where it should have been. Admittedly, it made me sound... amazing. The quality of my voice at that level is stunning, but when I'm on stage, a low voice isn't what I want, nor what I need.
So that performance was actually rather scary, not from nerves, not because of the crowd, but because my voice was at about 20% of what it should have been.
Singing Irving Berlin like that is, honestly, disgraceful. It was embarrassing how strained and pathetic I sounded. That got to me, and as the Friday night show rolled around, it had me down.
I felt awful, not only did my throat sound like it had been drenched in acid, but nothing was helping, and I felt terrible, as though it were my fault. I was guzzling honey and gargling salt water. I was drinking tea and I wasn't making a noise when I didn't have to. That wasn't just that day, but it had been like that for several days, too, because I could feel it coming on. So I had been trying to allay it, to no avail.
So during the Friday night show, I was desperate. I was absolutely appalled at the fact that I couldn't display my best. I hate not being the best I can be. I'm a perfectionist, and it's even worse when I'm worse than I was the day before, and through no controllable variable of my own.
So, nearing the halftime, I was pissed at myself, and it was reflecting back through me and out at the world. I wasn't happy, and I was showing it. That's strange for me, I'm usually very laid-back; while the world falls apart, I'm taking a nap. Like I said, I felt it was my fault.
It wasn't anything other than my voice, either. Everything was the best it'd ever been. I was nailing dances I couldn't have just a week before, and no one was messing up a line. Heck, I was even keeping my smile on my face when I was on stage, even during the songs I didn't break face. I just couldn't stand to hear myself butcher such wonderful songs.
But then I got past the final song in the first act. Let me take a moment to digress. If you haven't ever listened to Blue Skies, go do it now. It's a wonderful song that really deserves a good voice to sing it. And you can guess why I was in worse spirits than ever after it. It was good, considering, but my standards are too high.
The intermission hit, and I was walking down the back hallway, bumming. I saw people visiting the other people at the end, and I walked past them to get a bottle of water.
Then some guy, who apparently graduated last year, touched my shoulder. I turned, he smiled and said, "Hey man, you're doing great out there, relax."
Wow, as I write that, remember his face, and sit here in actual continued disbelief at my blessed existence, I'm tearing up. Damn, it's impressive. Every single time I've run into a spell of bad luck, I get this pat on the back and a warm, reassuring voice comes into my head and tells me to keep calm and carry on. The wind is at my back, and God is smiling upon me, and I know not why. I wish I could figure it, I really do.
In any case, after that man walked away, I had caught my second wind. I wasn't feeling better, no, but I did know that I didn't sound as damnably abhorrent as I thought I did. It was still painful and sounded... less than good, but I wasn't as hard on myself.
The show finished that way, and everyone was exuberant. They were glad, and I was glad the first was over. I cleaned up, and went home for the night.
There, I found that my grandfather had left me a surprise. I am currently using a 23" 1920x1080 LED Asus monitor that was left on my bed for me. It's a beautiful piece of hardware, and I must say I'm grateful. In fact, I have said that, about thirty times to him.
It was a nice way to end what had felt like a bad day. Obviously, it was a good day, but hindsight is always clearer, eh?
The next day showed up with that ever persistent sunlight, and I got up around nine. I had to be at the school at 12:30, so I had plenty of time. I relaxed, set up this bright new happy monitor (It's damn pretty, too), and felt my voice feel a lot better.
I headed backstage when I got there, got makeup applied (That stuff is awful. How do people stand it?), and got ready for another day. I was in a much better mood, and it was showing. I felt better, my voice sounded better, and I was chipper. It was shown to me on the faces of other people as well. People were glad I was feeling better.
So, the matinee got underway, and my partner and I rushed out there, sang a song in fine fashion, and ran back in. My voice still sounded awful. My range was even smaller than it had been Friday, but I didn't let it bother me. We quickly changed from army-style fatigues into tuxedos (Me with some help from two wonderful ladies. I'm not talented when it comes to clothes, and those ladies saved me more than once when my quick changes came along), and ran out for our next number.
They both went well, considering, and we changed scenes again. I had a nice little number that scene (Love and the Weather, look it up, again, a damned fine song), who's opening ended with a high pitch that my voice literally stopped working on. It's not that I butchered the note, it's that my voice stopped making noise.
That scared me. It scared the hell out of me. I nearly panicked, but just kept right on going as if nothing had happened. The rest of the song went well, and I didn't have any trouble with the rest of the show.
Surprisingly, even though that one moment was worse than anything that had happened the last two shows, I was bright, shining, and not at all upset.
The time between shows was nice. One of our number went out with orders to a Chinese restaurant. Their egg-drop soup is to die for. Anyways, we enjoyed ourselves, relaxed, and had an altogether fine time.
The last show, Saturday night, was the important one to me. My friends were showing up, and hell, it was our last shot at entertaining an audience.
It went extraordinarily well. I didn't lose my voice during the thing, like I had earlier (Although my voice did crack during a duet with my female counterpart. That was... hilarious. It was hard for both of us to keep singing, but we did it), and everyone did very well.
It was a nice way to end it, and my brief summary doesn't do it justice. For a high school group, we didn't do too badly. It was good.
And yet, it's over. The climax of the experience is come and gone, and herein we find the reason I'm writing right now. It's not to relay the experience of a great weekend, but to talk about the strange and alien thing I'm feeling now.
I'm lonely.
It's... not something I've felt in a great long time. Considering the way my life was going before I moved here to Holly, I was alone the majority of the time, being in one room. I didn't talk to anybody, and those I did speak too I didn't like much. It hardened me. I got used to it.
And here I am in a new era of my life. I've been blessed with a wonderful group of people I love being around, and some of whom I'd really like to spend more time with.
But it's over. Most of them I don't see during a normal week. The only way we interacted was through the theater, and that connection isn't here anymore.
The feeling I have is a damn strange one. I'm sure it's not me alone that's felt this, and I'm sure I won't be the last. But I can't help feeling a singularity in the world right now. I can't and won't be seeing the people that I want to very often, if ever, for several more months.
My chest, it tightens. My heart feels like a vice is clamping around it and squeezing. It feels like I'm longing for something more particular than just the company of my peers, but I can't narrow it down.
I don't know, but I don't like it, and it won't stop. This, too, has been happening for a couple of weeks and hasn't quieted once. I don't know what exactly it is that my heartache is directed towards, but it's not leaving any time soon.
Life is going to calm down for awhile, so at least I'll have time to figure it out. The next week is going to consist of relaxing, not talking at all, and trying to learn what it is I want. For now though, the action is over, and it's time for an intermission.
I feel a little better, having written it down, but it's a persistent bastard, this pressure in my chest.
For now, though, I'm going to watch the end of the movie version of White Christmas, which I started watching when I began writing. I'm over an hour and a half in with half an hour to go.
I don't know what direction my life is to take now, but one thing is for sure:
Act I of the third part of my life is over. I wonder what Act II will bring.
