Shine

Manta ray from Monterey

Last night the eight actors tried to work our scenes in the hotel conference room. It was occupied by another bunch with the same idea. We waited patiently in the hall. Then, we waited. Then, we waited and yelled "DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG ITS BEEN?" to each other--hoping the noise carried through walls

The others weren't budging. We scuffled into the exercise room. Three machines in a teeny space. We each took up spaces--Stripes stood on the treadmill. I sat in one foot of the elliptical, others were cross-legged against the mirror. We did our scenes indeed. Two at a time in near the door where there was just enough space for minor movement. And they were real!

We crouched and bumped our bodies into the stationary bike, but we were all there, really seeing it. I believed I was in a bar with some bratty women, on the edge of Central Park Lake, the fugitive's home, and even in my own scene--the airport terminal. My husband came home without his arm. My husband.

I miss it.
I miss it.
Oh, I miss that feeling of feeling.