i couldn't sleep last night, and this is the story that was eating me alive. felt like it was gnawing it's way through my brain as i tossed and turned,fruitlessly commanding my stupid imagination to shut up and sleep already.
this is where it starts getting really hard for me....just THINKING about this story and what it will turn into makes me want to cry. to sob. to break. BUT....easy does it, girl - this is JUST the beginning, after all.
my senior year at Interlochen (boarding school for the arts), was mostly better than the first one had been.i had more friends, felt a bit more confident...all the usual stuff.and just as i was feeling like i had really found my footing there, my biological mother started to write me letters.i hadn't seen her for years and years. i didn't know who she was - or how she was - or where she was - until these letters started to arrive. some with photos. photos of her holding me in South Africa where i was born. she was beautiful. tall and thin, with big eyes and long wavy caramel colored hair. all the photos looked like they could have been movie stills.
i hadn't seen too many pictures of her before - my father had shown me photos of him holding me on the ship during our trip back to the states, he had shown me photos of lions and elephants, and of my African nanny with me wrapped up in a blanket on her back - but i had hardly seen any photos of my mother.
she didn't send me any currant ones, either. just from when i was born and before that. she told me in the letters that SHE had been an actress. a successful one - that only because of her crazy mother and my father she had stopped. practically been forced to stop. i didn't know what to believe, but the letters made me sob my brains out. my girlfriends were there to hold me so many nights. Maura, Hilary,and Hala. thank goodness for them. i was wracked with so many thoughts and feelings about her. i didn't know if i could trust her - she had been absent for all of my formative years. when i got my period the first time, i was alone in the house with my DAD. he had to call the neighboring mom over to deal with it after i wailed to him through the bathroom door that i was bleeding to death. no one had explained it to me.
and then to find out that she had been in Lockheart, Texas for YEARS - just 30 minutes away from where i was growing up in Austin. i had been told she was in Mexico!
but she did know how to write a compelling letter. each one was more seductive than the last. and as Christmas break neared, i warmed up more and more to the idea of meeting her again.
at school, at Interlochen, i was having my share of frustration, too. i did NOT get along with the OTHER acting teacher. Denny. he was the one more in charge of musical theatre. and he had finally cast me in a musical which was a silly riff on the Agatha Christie stories called 'Something's Afoot'.
i was cast as Miss Tweed - you got it - the Agatha Christie/Miss Marple character. which was great. i wanted that part and went all out to get it. i was very silly, and very physical - stuffing my belly with padding and a big old brassiere so that it looked as though my old chest was sagging down to my bellybutton. i walked funny and squinted a lot.but i did NOT like the show, i did NOT like the choreography, and i did NOT like Denny, our director. i don't think i hid my disdain for him very well, either.
the funnest thing about that show was doing it with Stuart Richardson. actually, everyone in the cast was great and fun - but Stuart was a really good friend of mine by then - and he could NOT have been more perfectly cast. he played the handsome upper class English lad who spent most of the play draped across the fireplace mantle gazing off into the distance. HILARIOUS! he and i were always cracking each other up during rehearsals and being blatantly disrespectful to Denny.
and when it was time to "put on the show" - i just kind of started to do my own thing. especially when it came time to "dance". i thought the choreography was so stupid and boring, that i decided it would be funny for Miss Tweed to pull a 'Lucy' (as in I Love Lucy)and sort of screw up all the dance numbers she was in. the audience LOVED it. but DENNY was furious.
needless to say, when the 'Pippin' auditions rolled around right before Christmas break - i had NO CHANCE of working with Mr. Denny B. again.
on a side note, my brother and grandmother came up to see me in 'Something's Afoot', and my brother, Robert, later confided in me that THAT was the moment he fell in love with Stuart Richardson.
Robert said, years later, "I just thought he was so perfect and dreamy, with his English accent, and just DRAPED over that mantle with his curly hair! OH, Mary! I was just DONE for!"
you'd never know my tall, Texan brother was gay - unless you were privy to him letting out that "Oh, Mary" voice of his. it is so darn cute!
anyhoo - back to 'Pippin' auditions. i thought i did great - especially teamed up with Phil Lewis - i thought we made a swell team. but....Denny was having NONE of it. so i was denied the honor of being immortalized in the Interlochen year book in a tie-died unitard. and as i look back at that year book, i'm ok with that. quite frankly, i thought Drew McVety was the only one who really pulled it off. he had a perfect body - but i'd say Katy Suber did, too. that whole unitard thing was just HARD to pull off - especially with the way they were tie-died. i'm JUST sayin'.....
so, with no play to look forward to at school, i went back to Texas in a defiant mood. i decided to meet my blood mother - in secret - and i auditioned for my first Equity play in Dallas.
the play that i got and earned my Equity card with was 'Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat'.
and meeting my blood mother opened up whole new CANS of worms. bigger cans than i could possibly have imagined.
PS - i never actually SAW 'Pippin'. maybe everyone in the cast looked great in those things in real life - my only reference was and is the yearbook, because i was in Texas doing that other show. but for the record, EVERYONE said 'Pippin' was GREAT - despite Denny B. and i believe them. we were a hard core bunch of critics at IAA.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
still isolated.
The second and third day of Maggie's self imposed incarceration were ...interesting. She thought to herself, "This is accomplishing something. I'm not sure what. But something."
She made perfect sloppy joes. She made perfectly wonderful mac and cheese. She thought about things, and tried to rest from thinking all together. She watched 'Holiday' on the second night, and confirmed that she thought Katherine Hepburn was altogether over-rated.
And on the third night, she was watching 'Being John Malkovich', when married guy decided to call.
It was one of her favorite movies. Just her cup of tea. And she was relating to this movie as though God himself was sending her a message. The IDEA of being in someone else's body so that you could be WITH the person you love! Genius.
And then he called.
His tone was ....distant. Matter of fact. Why had he called anyway? What the hell did he want?
The pain and the tears ran up into Maggie's throat and tried to choke her. These feelings felt like they had their own hand - a STRONG hand - their own grip, and they wanted to choke the life out of her.
"Why?", she thought, "WHY??? Why do i care? Why does it matter?" she grasped for air, for clarity, for some reason to hold on to like a life boat..."And HOW - HOW is he doing this to me?"
The phone call hurt. She tried to remember what he had said. something about "I can't talk for long. But I wanted to hear your voice..."
And that wasn't bad...but his tone , and his manner, and ...his sign off.
"I could have been his real-estate agent", Maggie thought.
She conjured up (and it was easy) the first time - the first time recently - that he had said good-bye to her on the phone and said "I love you."
There were no words. There were no words. No words for how that simple three word sentence affected her.
She hadn't been quick enough to say it back. The connection was gone and she was left saying it back, "I love you,too." to the empty space that resides where phone calls end. She had wanted to reach out and grab him, physically and hold on - say it again and again so he would understand - "I love you, too. I love you."
Not this time. No "I love you" at the end of the call. He was fading back into his world. As he should. As he should. And there was nothing she could do about it.
Three days of isolation. And that was it. Without this man, without this love...she was more alone than she had ever been in her life. That's just how it was.
So, Maggie called her tenant - the other loneliest person she knew or had ever known, and asked him if he wanted to go to the pub. He did, and they drank it away.
The poison filled her with numbness. And numbness was better than extraordinary hurt.
She made perfect sloppy joes. She made perfectly wonderful mac and cheese. She thought about things, and tried to rest from thinking all together. She watched 'Holiday' on the second night, and confirmed that she thought Katherine Hepburn was altogether over-rated.
And on the third night, she was watching 'Being John Malkovich', when married guy decided to call.
It was one of her favorite movies. Just her cup of tea. And she was relating to this movie as though God himself was sending her a message. The IDEA of being in someone else's body so that you could be WITH the person you love! Genius.
And then he called.
His tone was ....distant. Matter of fact. Why had he called anyway? What the hell did he want?
The pain and the tears ran up into Maggie's throat and tried to choke her. These feelings felt like they had their own hand - a STRONG hand - their own grip, and they wanted to choke the life out of her.
"Why?", she thought, "WHY??? Why do i care? Why does it matter?" she grasped for air, for clarity, for some reason to hold on to like a life boat..."And HOW - HOW is he doing this to me?"
The phone call hurt. She tried to remember what he had said. something about "I can't talk for long. But I wanted to hear your voice..."
And that wasn't bad...but his tone , and his manner, and ...his sign off.
"I could have been his real-estate agent", Maggie thought.
She conjured up (and it was easy) the first time - the first time recently - that he had said good-bye to her on the phone and said "I love you."
There were no words. There were no words. No words for how that simple three word sentence affected her.
She hadn't been quick enough to say it back. The connection was gone and she was left saying it back, "I love you,too." to the empty space that resides where phone calls end. She had wanted to reach out and grab him, physically and hold on - say it again and again so he would understand - "I love you, too. I love you."
Not this time. No "I love you" at the end of the call. He was fading back into his world. As he should. As he should. And there was nothing she could do about it.
Three days of isolation. And that was it. Without this man, without this love...she was more alone than she had ever been in her life. That's just how it was.
So, Maggie called her tenant - the other loneliest person she knew or had ever known, and asked him if he wanted to go to the pub. He did, and they drank it away.
The poison filled her with numbness. And numbness was better than extraordinary hurt.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
isolation.
Maggie was alone. Alone by choice.
She decided that a 3 day isolation from the world might be what she needed. But with no money to spare - it would just have to be just her, hiding at home. Kids at their father's....no answering the phone, minimal 'facebook', etc. She vowed she would speak to no-one and not step into her car for 3 whole days.
And, as Maggie turned over her reasons for doing this, she made herself laugh. She had always been good at that. Laughing at herself.
"It's funny", she thought, "I'm doing this because I'm lonely. I'm surrounded by people - almost all the time - but I'm lonely."
The loneliness she was feeling was turned on by recent events. That's how she thought of it sometimes - as 'turned on'. Or 'turned off'.
When she made the decision to shut everything down and off for 3 days - she had told herself it was for a completely different reason. She had told herself that she was tired. And she was.
She was tired of thinking. She was tired of fighting. She was tired of being taken for granted, not being appreciated. She was MOSTLY tired of dealing with her family.Not her children. They were great for the most part. She always felt lucky to have them. But her mother, her father, her sister - even her brother. None of them were really THERE for her when she needed them. And she needed so little. So very little. Mostly, it seemed to her, she gave. She listened to their fears and concerns, she gave them love, support, money, time, birthdays, trips, dinners - was best friends with her brother's girlfriends, one after another. They had all needed her many, many times in significant ways. And she didn't resent it - she loved being the one they could call if they needed a place to live for a few months, or some money for this or that, or a dinner party for a script reading with possible producers attending.....until now. And now - she couldn't even say clearly that she felt resentment. It felt more like betrayal.
"Maybe everything in my world feels like a classic play", she thought.Regardless of why, the word that came into her mind over and over again was BETRAYAL.
As Maggie filled her house with the smell of cookies baking - for no other reason than she wanted that smell - for no-one else but herself, as she flipped through channels of bad TV, as she ignored the phone calls coming in and made herself a cocktail, she mulled the facts over in her head, and tried to assess her own feelings and motives.
1. Her sister was NOT calling her back. This hurt her feelings. She had invested a great deal of money into her sister's shop this last year, with no expectation of getting any of it back, and recently loaned her a bit of money as well, AND been there through the closing of said shop - all the hurt and disappointment that went with it - had been entirely supportive, and now - not even a return phone call. For weeks.
2. She had begun to doubt the loyalty of even the very few REAL friends she had in this two-bit, show-biz town. They all seemed to have a motive.She was so TIRED of people disappointing her on such grand scales when she felt like she was giving so much. This was a difficult time for her. The stakes were high. Life stakes, money stakes....and where were her FRIENDS? Did she even have any? They would certainly return in a couple of months when she had plenty of money to throw around. THAT was encouraging.
3. Her own father wanted her to BUY him a house. Yes. SHE was expected to buy HIM a house. The very same father that never paid for school when she was growing up, the very same father that borrowed money from her when she was a KID and never paid it back, the very same father who - after all WAS the only father she had ever had, and had - after all - introduced her to poetry, literature, opera, classical music, great theatre, and almost everything else she held dear in this life...it was so confusing. Maggie was NOT wealthy by any description. Far from it. The last couple of years, especially, had been a struggle for her.
Her modest DREAM was to be able to pay the bills every month without stressing out about it, or begging for more time. And now this MAN who was - in theory- supposed to sort of take care of her - needed Maggie to buy him a house.It was exhausting.
4. Maggie was in love.
That was the worst thing of all. And no one to talk to about it. In love with a married man who she could not have, or be with or even speak to with any regularity. She was head over heels in love with someone she had known since she was practically a child. Someone who knew her. Knew her darkest secrets and her worst fears.Someone who knew the best of her as well. Understood her resilience, and her deep capacity for love. Knew her humor, and understood it as she understood his.
There was no question of DOING anything about it. He was "happily" married, and that must be respected. She wanted him to be happy more than anything she could possibly want for herself.
The worst thing about this revelation was that it felt like a huge and undeniable spotlight - shining on her heart and her dreams. She could no longer operate under the misguided belief that there was some satisfactory compromise relationship waiting out there in the world for her that would, you know - be alright. How could she expect to settle for the mundane, the ordinary, the less than turn- your- whole world- upside- down kind of love when that spotlight had re-entered her world to show her exactly what she had been missing for so many years.
Maggie tossed around on her sofa, clicking the remote with little to no satisfaction. 'Pretty Woman' - one of her all time most hated movies - was on. Not much else. The hooker with the heart of gold - the hooker that was not really a hooker rang a LOT of bells for her. Lately she could categorize herself as 'the other woman' more than ever before in her life. She had somehow become the ex-girlfriend that men called or e-mailed or wrote to when their own wives or girlfriends stopped having sex with them. This seemed BEYOND ironic to Maggie at her age.Clearly it wasn't just sex that they wanted. Some of the men that sought her out lived too far away for that to be ANY kind of possibility. But they wanted something. They wanted to feel ....what DID they want? And why was it HER? What did she have or know that was all of a sudden so in demand? And why was the net result of all this attention that she felt so alone?
As Maggie regarded 'Pretty Woman' with growing disgust, her mind rattled around on the subject of loneliness.
Her screen writer tenant and somewhat friend had written a film about loneliness. He embodied the subject, was an expert on it as far as she could tell, and therefore his script was one of the saddest things she'd ever read. Quietly brilliant. Speaking to the hoards of people in this place and time who have forgotten how to connect with other humans.
He lived downstairs. By himself. None of them (in their circle) could remember when the last time he had a girlfriend or even a date was. Maggie joked with him about it freely. She laughingly threatened to charge him more money because her adorable and clever 16 year old played with him once in awhile.
People need human contact, that's for sure. They need to be touched. They need sex. This is the reality of our human/animal nature. But what about love? Do we not need love as well?
What is the point of a life lived without it? What is the point of a life lived without love? That was the question that would not let her brain, or heart, or body rest. She was tired, but could not sleep. She was hungry but could not taste. She was starving for the love that was dangling in front of her just out of reach....
and what is there to do? What is there to do about it? She had no answers, and she had no hope.
She decided that a 3 day isolation from the world might be what she needed. But with no money to spare - it would just have to be just her, hiding at home. Kids at their father's....no answering the phone, minimal 'facebook', etc. She vowed she would speak to no-one and not step into her car for 3 whole days.
And, as Maggie turned over her reasons for doing this, she made herself laugh. She had always been good at that. Laughing at herself.
"It's funny", she thought, "I'm doing this because I'm lonely. I'm surrounded by people - almost all the time - but I'm lonely."
The loneliness she was feeling was turned on by recent events. That's how she thought of it sometimes - as 'turned on'. Or 'turned off'.
When she made the decision to shut everything down and off for 3 days - she had told herself it was for a completely different reason. She had told herself that she was tired. And she was.
She was tired of thinking. She was tired of fighting. She was tired of being taken for granted, not being appreciated. She was MOSTLY tired of dealing with her family.Not her children. They were great for the most part. She always felt lucky to have them. But her mother, her father, her sister - even her brother. None of them were really THERE for her when she needed them. And she needed so little. So very little. Mostly, it seemed to her, she gave. She listened to their fears and concerns, she gave them love, support, money, time, birthdays, trips, dinners - was best friends with her brother's girlfriends, one after another. They had all needed her many, many times in significant ways. And she didn't resent it - she loved being the one they could call if they needed a place to live for a few months, or some money for this or that, or a dinner party for a script reading with possible producers attending.....until now. And now - she couldn't even say clearly that she felt resentment. It felt more like betrayal.
"Maybe everything in my world feels like a classic play", she thought.Regardless of why, the word that came into her mind over and over again was BETRAYAL.
As Maggie filled her house with the smell of cookies baking - for no other reason than she wanted that smell - for no-one else but herself, as she flipped through channels of bad TV, as she ignored the phone calls coming in and made herself a cocktail, she mulled the facts over in her head, and tried to assess her own feelings and motives.
1. Her sister was NOT calling her back. This hurt her feelings. She had invested a great deal of money into her sister's shop this last year, with no expectation of getting any of it back, and recently loaned her a bit of money as well, AND been there through the closing of said shop - all the hurt and disappointment that went with it - had been entirely supportive, and now - not even a return phone call. For weeks.
2. She had begun to doubt the loyalty of even the very few REAL friends she had in this two-bit, show-biz town. They all seemed to have a motive.She was so TIRED of people disappointing her on such grand scales when she felt like she was giving so much. This was a difficult time for her. The stakes were high. Life stakes, money stakes....and where were her FRIENDS? Did she even have any? They would certainly return in a couple of months when she had plenty of money to throw around. THAT was encouraging.
3. Her own father wanted her to BUY him a house. Yes. SHE was expected to buy HIM a house. The very same father that never paid for school when she was growing up, the very same father that borrowed money from her when she was a KID and never paid it back, the very same father who - after all WAS the only father she had ever had, and had - after all - introduced her to poetry, literature, opera, classical music, great theatre, and almost everything else she held dear in this life...it was so confusing. Maggie was NOT wealthy by any description. Far from it. The last couple of years, especially, had been a struggle for her.
Her modest DREAM was to be able to pay the bills every month without stressing out about it, or begging for more time. And now this MAN who was - in theory- supposed to sort of take care of her - needed Maggie to buy him a house.It was exhausting.
4. Maggie was in love.
That was the worst thing of all. And no one to talk to about it. In love with a married man who she could not have, or be with or even speak to with any regularity. She was head over heels in love with someone she had known since she was practically a child. Someone who knew her. Knew her darkest secrets and her worst fears.Someone who knew the best of her as well. Understood her resilience, and her deep capacity for love. Knew her humor, and understood it as she understood his.
There was no question of DOING anything about it. He was "happily" married, and that must be respected. She wanted him to be happy more than anything she could possibly want for herself.
The worst thing about this revelation was that it felt like a huge and undeniable spotlight - shining on her heart and her dreams. She could no longer operate under the misguided belief that there was some satisfactory compromise relationship waiting out there in the world for her that would, you know - be alright. How could she expect to settle for the mundane, the ordinary, the less than turn- your- whole world- upside- down kind of love when that spotlight had re-entered her world to show her exactly what she had been missing for so many years.
Maggie tossed around on her sofa, clicking the remote with little to no satisfaction. 'Pretty Woman' - one of her all time most hated movies - was on. Not much else. The hooker with the heart of gold - the hooker that was not really a hooker rang a LOT of bells for her. Lately she could categorize herself as 'the other woman' more than ever before in her life. She had somehow become the ex-girlfriend that men called or e-mailed or wrote to when their own wives or girlfriends stopped having sex with them. This seemed BEYOND ironic to Maggie at her age.Clearly it wasn't just sex that they wanted. Some of the men that sought her out lived too far away for that to be ANY kind of possibility. But they wanted something. They wanted to feel ....what DID they want? And why was it HER? What did she have or know that was all of a sudden so in demand? And why was the net result of all this attention that she felt so alone?
As Maggie regarded 'Pretty Woman' with growing disgust, her mind rattled around on the subject of loneliness.
Her screen writer tenant and somewhat friend had written a film about loneliness. He embodied the subject, was an expert on it as far as she could tell, and therefore his script was one of the saddest things she'd ever read. Quietly brilliant. Speaking to the hoards of people in this place and time who have forgotten how to connect with other humans.
He lived downstairs. By himself. None of them (in their circle) could remember when the last time he had a girlfriend or even a date was. Maggie joked with him about it freely. She laughingly threatened to charge him more money because her adorable and clever 16 year old played with him once in awhile.
People need human contact, that's for sure. They need to be touched. They need sex. This is the reality of our human/animal nature. But what about love? Do we not need love as well?
What is the point of a life lived without it? What is the point of a life lived without love? That was the question that would not let her brain, or heart, or body rest. She was tired, but could not sleep. She was hungry but could not taste. She was starving for the love that was dangling in front of her just out of reach....
and what is there to do? What is there to do about it? She had no answers, and she had no hope.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
a letter to YOUKNOWWHOYOUARE.
Sometimes people surprise you. Sometimes in really bad ways. I feel like that happens to me a lot. Because i have so much faith in the people i love. And sometimes they REALLY, REALLY let me down. This has been one of those days - one of those months.
And, then again, sometimes it takes years to realize just who REALLY IS there for you. That can be surprising, too.
I don't know why I'm telling you this, except that I want to tell you everything, and I can barely speak to you or communicate with you at all. Circumstance.
It's been a terrible, terrible day. My feelings are hurt so badly by someone I love so much - and it really feels like I've been kicked in the teeth. There is no-one to talk to. My brother is busy with his baby daughter and later his girlfriend....my sister has not been calling me back or writing back - I have no idea why. So for the moment, there is no-one to talk to. No shoulder to lean on.
And, as I was driving back up the hill, the thought rushed into my head that all I need to do is put my head on your chest for twenty minutes (or twenty years would be great) - and everything would be better. It would all dissolve away. The hurt, the frustration, this present feeling of loneliness, the anger (not much of that, but a little)
But not only can I not put my head on your chest - I can't even call you. I can't hear the sound of your voice, or tell you about my day or hear about yours. And I miss you so much - I feel like I'm CRAZY - but I can't fucking help it!
So many questions about this, you. Why? Why now? This timing could NOT be stranger for me. Is it a test? and if it is - of what?
Where do I find those answers? Do you know? Because i sure the hell don't. And the one 'answer' that keeps ringing in my head and body like a mantra is "I don't want to live without this."
WHAT KIND OF ANSWER IS THAT!!!!!??????????
And, then again, sometimes it takes years to realize just who REALLY IS there for you. That can be surprising, too.
I don't know why I'm telling you this, except that I want to tell you everything, and I can barely speak to you or communicate with you at all. Circumstance.
It's been a terrible, terrible day. My feelings are hurt so badly by someone I love so much - and it really feels like I've been kicked in the teeth. There is no-one to talk to. My brother is busy with his baby daughter and later his girlfriend....my sister has not been calling me back or writing back - I have no idea why. So for the moment, there is no-one to talk to. No shoulder to lean on.
And, as I was driving back up the hill, the thought rushed into my head that all I need to do is put my head on your chest for twenty minutes (or twenty years would be great) - and everything would be better. It would all dissolve away. The hurt, the frustration, this present feeling of loneliness, the anger (not much of that, but a little)
But not only can I not put my head on your chest - I can't even call you. I can't hear the sound of your voice, or tell you about my day or hear about yours. And I miss you so much - I feel like I'm CRAZY - but I can't fucking help it!
So many questions about this, you. Why? Why now? This timing could NOT be stranger for me. Is it a test? and if it is - of what?
Where do I find those answers? Do you know? Because i sure the hell don't. And the one 'answer' that keeps ringing in my head and body like a mantra is "I don't want to live without this."
WHAT KIND OF ANSWER IS THAT!!!!!??????????
here and now.
The thing is...sometimes things come back. Like my mother. I hadn't seen her in soooo long - I wouldn't have recognized her if i had passed her on the street. That's the truth. And she came back. Just for a little while. But she did resurface.
Now someone has come back to me that I don't know how to feel about - well - that's not accurate. I can't help how I feel about this one. I just can't help it. Someone from my past. Someone who knows me. I guess I mean - someone I don't know what to THINK about or DO about.
We always want to DO something about whatever, don't we?
There IS no advice. there IS nothing to DO. Nothing to be done.
With all of the crushes, and the excitement, and the sparkle-shiny and distractions of Hollywood - of a VERY full life - I have forgotten this. I forgot what this IS. What it feels like. How important it is. I don't know what I am going to DO with these feelings.
In a way, I wish that the full moon would come and go, and I'd be over it. Or i'd get my period and have one of those "OOOOHHHH! it's just hormones!" revelations.....but in another way - I don't want to let go. Whether my heart is being ripped out of my chest or injected with mind-blowing happiness.....I don't know. It all feels like a life raft. It all makes me feel like I'm fully alive again, and if it goes away - what really is the point?
The human heart is such a mystery. i wonder if my mother felt this way when she ran off with the preacher.
I don't think so.
I'm sure she had lots of really strong feelings - but she didn't know this one. She did not.
It's raining here, now. Raining in sunny southern California. The golden State. We will be voting in new people here very shortly. the races are neck and neck. I hate to think what this beautiful state will become if Whitman wins. Not sure I'll be able to stay.
I just don't know.
I just really don't know about anything right now.
Now someone has come back to me that I don't know how to feel about - well - that's not accurate. I can't help how I feel about this one. I just can't help it. Someone from my past. Someone who knows me. I guess I mean - someone I don't know what to THINK about or DO about.
We always want to DO something about whatever, don't we?
There IS no advice. there IS nothing to DO. Nothing to be done.
With all of the crushes, and the excitement, and the sparkle-shiny and distractions of Hollywood - of a VERY full life - I have forgotten this. I forgot what this IS. What it feels like. How important it is. I don't know what I am going to DO with these feelings.
In a way, I wish that the full moon would come and go, and I'd be over it. Or i'd get my period and have one of those "OOOOHHHH! it's just hormones!" revelations.....but in another way - I don't want to let go. Whether my heart is being ripped out of my chest or injected with mind-blowing happiness.....I don't know. It all feels like a life raft. It all makes me feel like I'm fully alive again, and if it goes away - what really is the point?
The human heart is such a mystery. i wonder if my mother felt this way when she ran off with the preacher.
I don't think so.
I'm sure she had lots of really strong feelings - but she didn't know this one. She did not.
It's raining here, now. Raining in sunny southern California. The golden State. We will be voting in new people here very shortly. the races are neck and neck. I hate to think what this beautiful state will become if Whitman wins. Not sure I'll be able to stay.
I just don't know.
I just really don't know about anything right now.
from Interlochen to Lockhart
David and I didn't have very much time to get to know one another at Interlochen. Not very much time at all. But there was something between us. Something that needed to be explored. He knew very little about me, and I knew almost nothing about him. But I did have the chance to meet his mother before graduation. And his sister, although in a cooler social group than I was, was in the theatre program with me, and if we weren't exactly best friends - I really did admire her as an actress, and we were friendly with one another.
David's mother came to see the play I directed as my final piece. She was, and is, a very well respected actress. So when she went out of her way to find me after the piece (very experimental theatre) and gave me such a wealth of compliments about it, asking questions about the process, etc - I was divinely flattered and pleased.
That last year at Interlochen was a crazy one for me.
Let me start by going much, much further back.
When I was four years old, my "mother" left. She started a 'religion' and ran off with a married and somewhat famous Methodist preacher, leaving myself, my Dad, and my two brothers behind. Yes, this was in Texas. Land of the crazy.
Because this preacher was a little famous already, and because my Dad was in the spotlight in San Antonio , Texas at that time - this "free love" episode made it into a lot of the Texas newspapers. "Free love" because in the beginning, Judy (mom) and her preacher were living WITH his wife and kids in some openly free-love situation. Thank GOD she didn't take us with her.
In fact, it was just the opposite.In short order, she called my father up and told him that she would sell ALL of her rights to us - her three biological children, including visitation - for one thousand dollars. Yep. $1,000.00. For forever. In my calculations of this later, I figured I was worth about $333.00 to my own MOTHER. The woman who gave birth to me in South Africa. The woman who gave me her genes - and maybe genetic things that would have been good to know about when I got pregnant....
Why is this relevant to my last year at IAA?
Because she found me.
Or her mother found me.
It's not like I was hard to find. My other grandmother had a dress store in the same location as it was since before they were married. A successful dress store that was in the yellow pages and everything - it was even CALLED my grandmother's name - Mary Nash. The Mary Nash dress Shop. I started working there for her in the summers when I was 11 yrs old. NOT SO HARD TO FIND.
But, for what ever reason, my maternal grandmother didn't "find" me until I was 15 years old - and in the first program that the National Theatre of great Britain did in the States. It was in Santa Fe, New Mexico. Where David was from. I sure have some ghosts there.
Anyway, after a grueling performance of 'Joan of Arc', this freakish little woman that I barely recognized came up and introduced herself as my grandmother.
Over the next year, Judy started to write to me at Interlochen.
At first, I viewed her letters with - I can't even find the words. With loathing and dread and disdain. But she kept writing. And I had had a terrible childhood. It became fairly easy, fairly quickly to succumb to her flattery and lies. Her pleading that it wasn't her fault, that we had been mercilessly taken away from her. At that time, I didn't know the story of the thousand bucks - which, by the way, my PATERNAL grandmother, Mary Nash, paid for.I REMEMBERED that horrible German preacher being at our house during the day when my father was at work, and I REMEMBERED the weird 'Church' they started and dragged us to, but....other than that. I didn't even know she had been an actress. No WONDER my parents had been so vehemently against my acting. They opposed it every step of the way. My wonderful grandmother was the one responsible for allowing the National Theatre program and Interlochen.
The bottom line was that I wanted a mother. A real mother. And an actress mother - or one that HAD been an actress - was even better. Every letter that she sent me was more seductive than the last. She sent me photos. Of her holding me in South Africa. She was so beautiful. So, so beautiful on the outside....but even as I was being seduced by the idea of a real, beautiful mother that SUPPORTED my acting, I could see in the photos that she looked like she was posing for a photo shoot, and I was an inconvenient accessory.
David's mother came to see the play I directed as my final piece. She was, and is, a very well respected actress. So when she went out of her way to find me after the piece (very experimental theatre) and gave me such a wealth of compliments about it, asking questions about the process, etc - I was divinely flattered and pleased.
That last year at Interlochen was a crazy one for me.
Let me start by going much, much further back.
When I was four years old, my "mother" left. She started a 'religion' and ran off with a married and somewhat famous Methodist preacher, leaving myself, my Dad, and my two brothers behind. Yes, this was in Texas. Land of the crazy.
Because this preacher was a little famous already, and because my Dad was in the spotlight in San Antonio , Texas at that time - this "free love" episode made it into a lot of the Texas newspapers. "Free love" because in the beginning, Judy (mom) and her preacher were living WITH his wife and kids in some openly free-love situation. Thank GOD she didn't take us with her.
In fact, it was just the opposite.In short order, she called my father up and told him that she would sell ALL of her rights to us - her three biological children, including visitation - for one thousand dollars. Yep. $1,000.00. For forever. In my calculations of this later, I figured I was worth about $333.00 to my own MOTHER. The woman who gave birth to me in South Africa. The woman who gave me her genes - and maybe genetic things that would have been good to know about when I got pregnant....
Why is this relevant to my last year at IAA?
Because she found me.
Or her mother found me.
It's not like I was hard to find. My other grandmother had a dress store in the same location as it was since before they were married. A successful dress store that was in the yellow pages and everything - it was even CALLED my grandmother's name - Mary Nash. The Mary Nash dress Shop. I started working there for her in the summers when I was 11 yrs old. NOT SO HARD TO FIND.
But, for what ever reason, my maternal grandmother didn't "find" me until I was 15 years old - and in the first program that the National Theatre of great Britain did in the States. It was in Santa Fe, New Mexico. Where David was from. I sure have some ghosts there.
Anyway, after a grueling performance of 'Joan of Arc', this freakish little woman that I barely recognized came up and introduced herself as my grandmother.
Over the next year, Judy started to write to me at Interlochen.
At first, I viewed her letters with - I can't even find the words. With loathing and dread and disdain. But she kept writing. And I had had a terrible childhood. It became fairly easy, fairly quickly to succumb to her flattery and lies. Her pleading that it wasn't her fault, that we had been mercilessly taken away from her. At that time, I didn't know the story of the thousand bucks - which, by the way, my PATERNAL grandmother, Mary Nash, paid for.I REMEMBERED that horrible German preacher being at our house during the day when my father was at work, and I REMEMBERED the weird 'Church' they started and dragged us to, but....other than that. I didn't even know she had been an actress. No WONDER my parents had been so vehemently against my acting. They opposed it every step of the way. My wonderful grandmother was the one responsible for allowing the National Theatre program and Interlochen.
The bottom line was that I wanted a mother. A real mother. And an actress mother - or one that HAD been an actress - was even better. Every letter that she sent me was more seductive than the last. She sent me photos. Of her holding me in South Africa. She was so beautiful. So, so beautiful on the outside....but even as I was being seduced by the idea of a real, beautiful mother that SUPPORTED my acting, I could see in the photos that she looked like she was posing for a photo shoot, and I was an inconvenient accessory.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
David.
Well, this is getting into the hard stuff for me. There is a reason that I'm writing this now - but that will come later.
For now...let's just start with David. The first David. The only David that ever should have been. My David.
He was a piano player at Interlochen Arts Academy. I saw him, heard him play before I ever met him. He was phenomenal. In the small concert hall, all blonde wood and cozy. One of the newer buildings. I was wearing my favorite sweater in the whole world - even until this day - my white angora sweater with a slightly low neckline and little heart buttons. The heart buttons sound tacky, I know, but they weren't. They were subtle and pearl white, you wouldn't even notice they were hearts unless you looked closely. Those girls in the 50's knew what was up. Every time I wore that sweater, people wanted to touch me.
Anyway. That was the night David came to my attention. I fell in love with the way he played, with the way he looked, carried himself, the shy smile that he barely threw to the audience as we were applauding madly. I knew who his sister was - and I couldn't BELIEVE she had a brother! A CUTE brother!!!
So, I did what any smart girl at IAA knew she had to do to meet the cute, shy musician of her dreams. I became his secret admirer.
For months I wrote him notes and left little things at the altar of his locker. For months I tortured over the question of whether he knew who I was and was ignoring me - or whether he could REALLY be so clueless as to not figure it out, already. Maybe he was gay. Half the guys there were....who knew?
Finally, with the support of my girlfriends, I left him a note asking him to meet me down by the lake. I had no idea if he would come - but I couldn't wait any longer.
It was a foggy night. I suggested we meet down by this little abandoned shed where kids used to go to sneak a cigarette. We had a name for it - but I forget what it was called. I was really, really nervous as I came around the corner and through the thick fog. Butterflies in my stomache, flutterbies in my head - the whole nine yards. As I looked around, my heart sank like a stone. He wasn't there. My ego was crushed, all my little fantasies deflated. He probably had a girlfriend - what was wrong with me? I had sent my spies to grill his sister - but she was in her own world, anyway - maybe she didn't know...?
And then, just as I had begun to believe the worst, I saw a tall, dark figure coming towards me in the fog. The fog was so thick that night, he looked like a ghost. I couldn't even see his face until he was 2 feet away from me...but there he was!
I was so happy that he had come. But this WAS the big reveal. Maybe he would be disappointed that it was me. Or maybe he already knew. I was so nervous. And it seemed like he was, too, because the first few minutes were very akward, and the akwardness was fueled by the romantic fog and set on fire by the sexual tension. I mean, before we had even touched each other.
David pretended that he had no idea it was me sending all those notes. But he did say he recognized my perfume from them when he leaned in to kiss me.
We kissed in the fog, on the beach, for as long as we were allowed to before we would have gotten into trouble.
I actually remember leaving David for the first time that night. It was the first time we had ever been together (in any way - except notes) and it was the first time I ever had to leave him. It was wonderful and horrible all at once. He sent me back to my dorm room on a cloud for the most part. I was singing, dancing, hugging myself - off my noggin to tell my best mates all about it.... But it was a little horrible, too. Even that very first night, when all we did was try to fit a little talking in between the kissing, I felt like I never wanted to leave him. It felt like something was ripped away from me - physically. And mentally. And spiritually.
Little did either of us know that night how close we would become. What we would go through together. Little did we know then - safe at Interlochen - what crazy hell ride through my past and present we would be experiencing together.
For now...let's just start with David. The first David. The only David that ever should have been. My David.
He was a piano player at Interlochen Arts Academy. I saw him, heard him play before I ever met him. He was phenomenal. In the small concert hall, all blonde wood and cozy. One of the newer buildings. I was wearing my favorite sweater in the whole world - even until this day - my white angora sweater with a slightly low neckline and little heart buttons. The heart buttons sound tacky, I know, but they weren't. They were subtle and pearl white, you wouldn't even notice they were hearts unless you looked closely. Those girls in the 50's knew what was up. Every time I wore that sweater, people wanted to touch me.
Anyway. That was the night David came to my attention. I fell in love with the way he played, with the way he looked, carried himself, the shy smile that he barely threw to the audience as we were applauding madly. I knew who his sister was - and I couldn't BELIEVE she had a brother! A CUTE brother!!!
So, I did what any smart girl at IAA knew she had to do to meet the cute, shy musician of her dreams. I became his secret admirer.
For months I wrote him notes and left little things at the altar of his locker. For months I tortured over the question of whether he knew who I was and was ignoring me - or whether he could REALLY be so clueless as to not figure it out, already. Maybe he was gay. Half the guys there were....who knew?
Finally, with the support of my girlfriends, I left him a note asking him to meet me down by the lake. I had no idea if he would come - but I couldn't wait any longer.
It was a foggy night. I suggested we meet down by this little abandoned shed where kids used to go to sneak a cigarette. We had a name for it - but I forget what it was called. I was really, really nervous as I came around the corner and through the thick fog. Butterflies in my stomache, flutterbies in my head - the whole nine yards. As I looked around, my heart sank like a stone. He wasn't there. My ego was crushed, all my little fantasies deflated. He probably had a girlfriend - what was wrong with me? I had sent my spies to grill his sister - but she was in her own world, anyway - maybe she didn't know...?
And then, just as I had begun to believe the worst, I saw a tall, dark figure coming towards me in the fog. The fog was so thick that night, he looked like a ghost. I couldn't even see his face until he was 2 feet away from me...but there he was!
I was so happy that he had come. But this WAS the big reveal. Maybe he would be disappointed that it was me. Or maybe he already knew. I was so nervous. And it seemed like he was, too, because the first few minutes were very akward, and the akwardness was fueled by the romantic fog and set on fire by the sexual tension. I mean, before we had even touched each other.
David pretended that he had no idea it was me sending all those notes. But he did say he recognized my perfume from them when he leaned in to kiss me.
We kissed in the fog, on the beach, for as long as we were allowed to before we would have gotten into trouble.
I actually remember leaving David for the first time that night. It was the first time we had ever been together (in any way - except notes) and it was the first time I ever had to leave him. It was wonderful and horrible all at once. He sent me back to my dorm room on a cloud for the most part. I was singing, dancing, hugging myself - off my noggin to tell my best mates all about it.... But it was a little horrible, too. Even that very first night, when all we did was try to fit a little talking in between the kissing, I felt like I never wanted to leave him. It felt like something was ripped away from me - physically. And mentally. And spiritually.
Little did either of us know that night how close we would become. What we would go through together. Little did we know then - safe at Interlochen - what crazy hell ride through my past and present we would be experiencing together.
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