Actors extraordinaire
When reading this story, it would do you well to remember, there is a comma with every breath...I seek not a nod from across the room, bless her heart.
Story:
Silently
I watch as extraordinary frail people dart about the small room.
Although most came to rest and visit old friends, some came
searching for the unknown.
Muffled words turn to whispers as breath fades. Smiles are abundant and although I’m sure
every word is important, a casual observer must be very careful, for an
impostor cannot hide. Whispers and quick whit can very easily deceive the
uninitiated by purposefully becoming indistinguishable from gibberish.....as
planned, and as confirmed by the cutesy,
grandmother smiles, occupying the faded lime green chairs. The
intended listeners need only to catch every other word, for they know the mission, they
know the pain; the unintended, gibberish! Eyesight fading while they talk,
those same eyes scrutinize the small room as excitement and
anticipation rise to a feverish pitch. Others (the fading ones) behaving as puppies waiting
for a treat. They too had their chance on the stage to be invited so close
as to see the sparkle in a directors eye; alas, for most, one discrepancy after
another forbade it. Like days before this, euphoria ultimately becomes too much for
some; they simply dozed off to a gentler
time in their life, a time when clapping can be heard and smiles seen.
These precious souls, the lucky ones, stepping into dreamland wish never to
return to this room. The 'cotton tops' know all to well, one day they will not. If you watch closely,
you will notice their breathing has all but stopped while a faint smile tries to
visit them again, as in childhood days perhaps the scent of corn on the cob will
suffice; perhaps the first kiss. There are many reasons for this congregation.
Some stare into nothingness, while others contemplate the
wonderment of life itself. Some, by
contrast, seem confident they possess at least some answers they seek. Human instinct to stack the
odds in ones favor is a natural trait, and these warriors know it; insomuch, these same dears
wear
reflections of confidence recalled from an earlier time like medals of bravery.
They remember the look, not the reason, and are saddened for it; however,
the delight in the participation is somehow enough; because these cotton tops
know the encroaching fog of age comes for all.
Tears well up when knowing memory is so precious, yet your grasp on bits and
pieces of your past will eventually loosen. Small wonder, it's like trying
to help someone out of the water, you extend a hand and with all your strength
you pull, yet somehow the memory slowly slips your will and sinks into the
waters of yesterday. I laugh when I think this small space is sprinkled with
skeptics regarding
their participation in this whole affair.
Most, likely lie by telling those closest, they are doing a loved one a favor by participating at all.
My reason for being witness to this event was to remember and remind
myself that many people, like actors, possess the ability to camouflage their true karma and
outward appearance. As it should be, with
every breath, a million times before that drop of sweat tickling your cheek
intermingles with your one line, intermingling with this excruciating, decadent
moment, your performance. Blinding lights threaten to expose your inner
soul to hundreds of imposters, yet you breath. An actor knows that at
stage edge breaths the very beast actors strive all their lives to slay,
themselves. The creature pays to see others become everything they are
not, they pay to see the charade. When all but the most arrogant know the
charade started that morning as the sun's warmth shone through lace
curtains. Under the painted guise of humility, bright lights, and pain,
with their own salt stinging their lips, actors let us sleep with our frailties,
our silent insecurities, and by doing so, garner an inner strength of character
most will never attain. The actors in this room, although not sanctioned,
join the ranks of formidable accomplices in life. Uncles and Aunts
are notorious for being actors and liars when hiding despair from their loved
ones, while truth from a fisherman is always suspect, and more so the older the
hook, the liar becomes! Women are just as bad.
Fingers with splinters were divine creation for women. The pain was almost too much to bear; yet the first words out of
your mother’s mouth, “Oh, that’s not so bad”, a con that usually
worked. Not wanting to look the
pansy, you played along; nevertheless, your eyes were welling up when she tried
to dig it out with a needle because no matter what she said during her game of
reverse psychology, that minute piece of wood burrowed deeper! The
wonderful thing about the whole experience is that if you looked closely at your
mother or aunt, you found out how much you loved them.
By looking in their eyes, the fear of hurting you almost stopped their
breathing. Just like the people in this
small room, they were acting. Then
again, perhaps this is the only place they can be themselves and show the pain
or disappointment because there are no family members accompanying them.
Perhaps, this is the 'dressing room'? Consider the woman standing at the reception counter.
If ever so briefly while turning slightly to look back in the direction
of the waiting patients, she nonchalantly glances from side to side.
If she cannot find someone looking back at her, she will surely die. When her momentary,
nonchalant stare does meet someone looking back, she wonderers if that
person knows, if only for a moment, they were included in her world; if I can
see you, and you can see me, we are alive! The
instant their eyes met, they were now and forever part of each others life. They
are now and forever included in her
thoughts. The deception shines
brightly when
they catch someone looking in their direction who is obviously in dire
circumstances. A wry smile from
across the room is all that is needed to convey a camaraderie and companionship
in the art of deception found no where else on earth.
After all, there is an art to hiding pain from those who know your carry
it. Your performance must be extraordinary
in the eyes of a child. It’s quite another to hide it
from someone feeling the same pain sitting across the room from you; for they
too know the game, and to fool them one must raise deception to an art form.
It is fair to
say, some hide feelings and pain for their own benefit, but the sacrifice of of
life for ‘charade’ is for someone special they love dearly, someone they live for.
As always, our species try to hide the inevitable from those who love us
most. It is not the act of deception that is
loved and revered, but the knowing in your heart you are worthy the practice of
deception by another which raises your head. You are thought worthy of the
kindest lie. Most impersonators know the
truth, yet they come here to hone their skills of deception for the day will
come when they cannot deceive the others; and they know it, as do the others.
Like a dog digging holes to die in, because they know the time is near. These charlatans
hone their
art on each others etched faces and blurred vision.
If need be, they can
also grimace and cry out in pain with nary a look. When this
troupe hear cries and whimpers, they know all too well, one of two things has occurred.
On the one hand, the person is a novice at deception and is new to the room; or
the other, the
pain is so unbearable the actor has played the charade to well, even the
director
was fooled as to the severity of burden. Either way, silence! The stage is
theirs! Your part.. an air of indifference
so as to keep the pain 'in the troupe. After all, this is our play, our
stage, our dear friend who necessity forces to forget her lines! Many
forget their lines and through no fault of their own, stare into nothingness remembering better days while waiting to hear their name,
or wait to be awakened from a past life by a warm, tender, hand reaching out to help them rise. This tiny space is
occupied by some of the finest actors in the world;
not by design, rather necessity and fear.
Many times, the welling in their eyes is not for themselves, but rather
for you who they know have yet to hone your acting skills, for if they catch a
hint of sadness in your eyes when you look back at them, you have yet to become
an ‘actor extraordinaire’ and have no business sitting their stage in this
special room.
For lack of a better word, I will call this space “waiting room”.
RJ