if only i could. peek, that is.

to my one-day-pal,

did you do school plays as a child?

do you remember the heavy velvet curtains through which you'd peek just before a performance?

ours were green. hard to pull apart.

those moments just before were the most exciting, weren't they?

the lights backstage all off.

peering through to a lit theatre, or auditorium, or cafeteria: rear-window in reverse.

i always peeked. did you?

i remember looking out during my first-year discovery project at juilliard. there were no curtains. no dimmed lights. open-air. i was in love with a boy then and wanted only to know where he was sitting.

and i remember a production during my fourth year, looking through wooden slats and spotting kevin spacey. word spread quickly and more than one performance was charged with that knowledge. silly actors.

i think all actors do it. peek and peer. no matter the performance space or the cost of the ticket. if they don't i'm quite sure i wouldn't care to be friends with them--too uppity about it all.

it's one of those necessary rituals. theatre as religion.

the moment just before.

that's what everything feels like right now.

like you're on the other side of that heavy, green curtain. and if i could just push it to the side and catch a glimpse--poke a small hole through the black paper covering the window.

like i'm in the dark room waiting to emerge in the light.

love, love,

me

image via sabino.