The last thing that I saw just before strike.

Now that “Shakespeare 3 Ways” has played it’s final performance, and the set has been taken apart and stowed away, and the theatre has been dark for a day or two.  I am getting a little anxious at the thought of the coming weekend arriving and me without a show to perform, or even any rehearsals to ease the withdrawal I tend to feel during those first two weeks away from a show.  I got so used to seeing the people that I was working with that it’s almost the same as “coming home.”  I guess it’s that sense of familiar that I crave.  I know that at a certain time, I would be on the road to the venue, and then I will have odd things to wear, whispered conversations behind the curtain as the audience files into the house.   This weekend instead of the above mentioned scenario,  I’m gonna be either at home watching a movie, or hanging out with friends which is always fun, or maybe reading, or writing.  But I know that it won’t be performing, and that makes me a wee bit blue.

At the end of the show last Sunday, Craig asked for a few minutes to get some closure on his work being brought to life “officially.”  As he began walking the stage, in one archway and out another, around the back of the main curtain, at the far end of the stage nearest the emergency exit and up onto his kingly throne once more, I wondered what was happening in his head.  He first steps on that stage at that particular time had so much of “something” in them that I felt compelled enough to grab my camera and shoot some pictures.  I couldn’t say what that “something” was, but it felt major.  So much so that now that I’ve seen the images I’ve gotten, I almost feel embarrassed for taking them.  The moments seem to private that I don’t feel like I should share them.  On the other hand, I can’t delete them.  So they shall sit in my computer as a memory for me.  A memory about the time when a group of people took a chance and cast me in two roles that originally called for someone quite the opposite of, well, me.  And when I see those pictures, I will wonder “What is going through his mind?” Is it happiness that a new theatre company that you’ve helped to create is up and running?  Is it panic, regarding the turn out of the audience?  Is it sadness that the show has come to an end?   Is it regret that the show was different than what you intended? Is it a combination of all of the above?  Maybe it’s similar to the withdrawals that I will have this weekend, but he’s just solving that problem with true closure.  Maybe one day, years from now, I’ll ask him.

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