Writing this on the plane, my heart absolutely sick for
Edinburgh. There is nothing, nothing, nothing like the magic of Fringe. The
incredible, daring, hilarious, innovative theatre. The millions of twinkle
lights. The flocks of happy people. It’s what makes it unlike any other
gathering—the happy people, the nice people. This morning in the airport I was
shocked a woman cut in front of me in line and then argued with the desk
worker, but, yeah, she was American.
Yesterday morning I
was miserable, clawing the walls to leave. My bed was utterly uncomfortable and
loud, bees would fly in the open window, but a closed window created the
stuffiest nasty box, the carpet that made me never not want to wear shoes, the
drunks at 3 AM, the moldy fridge, the sharing a flat with seven other people,
the feeling of something closing up around me and wanting to kiss it goodbye
before it could break up with me. In the afternoon Stripes took a train from
Manchester just to visit me. We roamed about having noodles and catching up and
really trying to sort out this life. I remember the night we met walking to our
freshman dorms together. We were so tiny and mindless. I waited for her bus
with her, watched her jump to the double decker, waved goodbye. It was 22:00. I
was farther from how than I thought I was, ended up making my way back through
the square I spent the last month hurrying to every night. It was tons of
boards and wood panels and rails and boxes. Gone: the flower garden and vegan
pbj sandwich hut, the adorable circus tent, the crepe line, the old couples,
the drunken bros, the buskers, the light on the cobblestones. It makes me want
to cry.
There were nights when it was in its full majesty I also
wanted to cry. The rest of my cast was tucked in a theatre doing their second
show, and I was alone, blood pumping with the adrenaline of sticking the
landing to cheering sold-out house, but now walking in the chilly wind past
happy parties and a jillion fliers—wondering who I would most prefer to
be—someone in a line going to what’s supposed to be the hottest show, a person
on the billboard for the hottest show, or myself.
The company I toured with is certainly dysfunctional (as
have been all comedy theatre I have ever worked for, so), but what an utter
gift this month has been. I pushed my boundaries in every possible way
imaginable. I am so serious, in every single way a person can be challenged I
have been. I felt on deep deep levels from new and old relationships, theatre,
and performance. I ate a billion treats. I stayed up very very late, I hiked
mountains, I evaluated who I am and who I hope to be and what I hope to make
and what I do make. I appreciated cafes, castles.
I haven’t felt this way since I was in the backseat of my
family’s gray mini-van riding home from summer camp.
