My Real Memoir
I’d never really known the way. But I thought I did, which had worked just as well. For awhile. My religion of atheism (there was no god but me, and that was just fine ‘cuz I was all I needed) had taken a bit of a hit. Still, I had a plan: 1) Be creative—because that was the stuff I was made out of; 2) Be celebrated—always had been and always would be, right? 3) Be happy—always had been and always would be, right?
But during my first semester of college, some of the props that held me up began to fall away.
First of all, I’d gone from being a proverbial big fish in a little pond to being a minnow in Lake freakin’ Michigan; Cal State Long Beach was one of the biggest performing arts schools in the nation. Sure, my singing teacher liked me, yet I was cast as “Townsperson #6” in my first show. Lilliom was the play my least favorite Rogers and Hammerstein musical Carousel was adapted from, and, I told my pen pal Judy, “it stunk.” My next two roles weren’t much bigger.
Where was the spotlight?
Part of me seemed to be disappearing. So maybe it was symbolic that one of my first Stage Make-Up class assignments was to “soap-out” an eyebrow. This technique used a squishified soap bar to stick down hairs anywhere on the body, after which a little make-up turned the spot completely bald. I drove home with my hairless brow; Mom stared at me, perplexed, and offered to take my temperature. Dad, on the other hand, immediately knew what was wrong with me (something he pointed out on a regular basis), and said, “Well, that’s silly. Is this what I’m paying to send you to college for?” And another invisible prop began to wobble.
Elementary Acting was redundant. True, Prof. Ken “Bear” Rugg was, like his nickname, gruffly lovable. But the course itself was a virtual repeat of my high school acting classes with Mr. Baker, who’d taught us at a college-level. There was one big perk, though:
My first scene partner Jennifer was a stun-gun-gorgeous small town beauty queen who was as sweet as she was beautiful. When I arrived at her apartment to rehearse, she served us tom and chee (tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches) and I fell instantly in love. And—get this—we’d been assigned the final scene from The Glass Menagerie, in which a handsome “gentleman caller” Jim gives the tragically shy Laura her first kiss, and then admits he shouldn’t have done that because he’s committed to another.
Unlike Laura, Jennifer had a real, and probably annoyingly handsome, boyfriend back home in flyover country (where I now live). But then, I also had a significo (whose I name I’d suddenly forgotten). So, at Jennifer’s request, we did a brief and appropriately chaste kiss. I was up for something less appropriate. But just as well, I reminded myself, since I was in love with, oh, yeah, Martha. But I had no idea that…
That prop was also about to fall away.
My Real Memoir is a series. To read the next one, click here.
I’m hooked. Love your humor.
Thank you, Alison.
Same here!
AND THAT’S WHERE YOU STOP THE STORY! Great! thanks a lot!
Call me “Mr. Cliffhanger.” ;>)
I want to turn the page and keep reading. The way you keep us in suspense!
And that’s good, right, Vera?
Yes, Mitch.🙂
I went from a kinda big fish in a kinda big pond to a humongous fish in a bigger pond… yup, I was the catfish that cleaned up the mess at the bottom. Not the pretty Betas, glass fish, or the swordtails, or even the decorative guppies. I wasn’t the miniature shark or the dangerous lionfish. I was the janitor.
;>)
Uhm… I hope there is a sequel 😅
There will be, I promise, Erika. Like the Marvel universe, I have it all planned out. ;>)
YES!! Otherwise, it wouldn’t be you, right 😄
Exactly. ;>)
You certainly had a healthy number of infatuations as you matured. The constant was your pen pal, Judy. Thanks for the fun read! 🙂
I did indeed. Thanks back, Nancy!
Awesome post. The truth about ourselves…hmmm.
Mitch, I did that scene for one of my classes, too! I used to be a bit of a Laura, so it was an easy part to play, especially since I was a little creeped out by doing that scene with a guy who was unusually conscientious about rehearsing. “Practice makes perfect”?? 🤨🙄
;>) Is this from Annie? Just guessing (WordPress says it’s from Anonymous).
That is very good rendition of Adulthood intro 101. Very familiar in some details and gentle in others. I loved the missed kiss. Very well done Mitch, flowed with a rich touch.
Thanks, Norm. And right you are.
It’s always so fun to read your memoirs, Mitch. I can just hear your dad saying (in a Ward Cleaver voice), “Is this what I’m paying to send you to college for?” This makes me smile.
Mitch, you are such a great storyteller! You rope us in and leave us hanging on. Love it!
Thank you so much, Peggy. Just added the conclusion to that “hanging” ending, btw.
Thanks, can’t wait to read it!
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