Backstage for One

There are certain things I will always love about theatre. Being backstage for one. I haven't met a dressing room I didn't like. They are dusty with makeup particles, full of anachronisms, cool, intimate.

Huntie and I are performing a repeat of Bradley's one-act from last winter "Your Mother's Butt" by Alan Ball. We drove out to the theatre tonight for dress rehearsal. We hit traffic and had to get a move on. I busted in, quickly braided my hair, pomped on some base and blush, slid on the lip-stick, shimmied out of my dress and into my suit. Added glasses. I didn't know anyone. It's just Huntie and me, so obviously the girl's dressing room was full of only strangers. I didn't mind. They were friendly in wigs and robes and eyeliner.

I rushed out in time for five 'til places. We performed. It was okay. Just a dress run. I went back, changed, and we left. A short time in a comfortable space. A comfortable space of strangers and tile.


Bradley and I waiting for notes, November 2009