Take a bow. The show is over. I retreat in triumphant, but exhausted reflection. I am safe, they can’t see past the actor.
The
performance means more these days, as the reward is greater. It’s not
the same old tired audience as before, but a new larger one. Fresh eyes
are upon me and I am weighing them up, finding out what they need and
adapting to suit, pulling more and more out of the bag. I once thought
that being myself would make me happy, but I’ve realised I thrive on
living through an act, remaining ever a stranger and letting no-one in.
The
audience is everywhere, at work, at play and at home. I am driven ever
further into my shell, forcing me to make my isolation a more
comfortable place, a welcome respite at the end of the play. Doing this
has been worthwhile, I used to despise the actor, but now she retreats
and rests with me. I give her instructions for her next part and she
does her best. Sometimes the mask slips, but that’s fine. The audience
appreciates a bit of vulnerability, a mistake or two, it’s OK to fuck
up. This is a more accepting crowd.
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