“You are the third princess,” the teacher said.
We were putting on the 2nd grade play and the princess would be played by three of us. I got to be the princess chased by the witch, rescued by the prince, and reunited with her father. I loved the part until I found out I had to run up to my father and kiss him. Or more accurately kiss a short, red-headed boy, D., who called me names on the playground. D. refused to be kissed. Said he’d walk home first. We settled on a hug.
When it came time for me to run around my tower room and scream while the witch chased me, I failed to scream. I squeaked. The teacher picked a boy, RT, to scream for me. I had to run in circles pretending to scream and RT would give it his screamy best off stage.
In the 3rd grade I played a troll under the bridge. In the 4th grade I joined the choir, and in the 5th grade the choir teacher kicked me out. The first day after summer I sang, she said with her hands on her hips, “What happened to my pretty bird?” No more choir.
Tonight I looked up acting classes here in town. Somewhere along the way I’ve picked up a horrific stage fright. I go blind. I lose my voice. Why would any sane person subject themselves to such things? For a better story.
A Mr. Shelly Lowenkopf suggested acting classes and I made the mistake of telling my husband… I’m thinking of taking classes here. Oh, the things I will do for my characters. I hope they love me as much as I love them.