The Ides of March

Home, it's been so long.  I'm not sure any of us still know where or what home is. 

    *Harlequin (?) 

    *definitely mangled/paraphrased from George Herman's "A Company of Wayward Saints"

I'm in Colorado Springs.  It's the first time Debbie and I have gotten away, just to get away, since before Covid.  I am a flatland boy, but my wife loves the mountains.  So, we choose this for a getaway.

I find I have a good number of classmates who live in this area.  Escapees from the High Plains, I suppose.  Tonight, we are having a meal with two of them. Richard and Leandra, and one of their lovely daughters.  

Modern life is strange, in this particular way: I am more connected NOW to many of my classmates than I was THEN.  Social media has made that possible.  Leandra and I were really little more than kids in some of the same classes in school.  In fact, the most time as we ever spent together was our junior year when we were both in competitive speech.  

And there is today's story.   

We were in a one-act play together. More about the play in at the end, but for now, you only need to know this much- it was A Company of Wayward Saints.  It was for contest, and we turned out to be pretty good.  Leandra and I had one specific scene together. It's a goofy, intentionally badly acted scene about the death of Ceasar.   My character was Ceasar in the scene, and she was Calpurnia.  Her job was to warn me not to go the senate because of a ridiculously twisted dream her character had.  

Mind you, this happened over 30 years ago.  

But now, thanks to social media, each year on March 15,  either Leandra or I post on the other's profile. We post, in character, about the Ides of March, or not going to the senate, or some reference to the show.  In 2020, my Dad died on March 13.  She and her family were also going through an awful familial loss that same week.  

Still, on the 15th, like clockwork, we posted.  And the laugh- the moment- made us both feel better in a terrible season.    

There is something about going home in that story. Even in the play, the characters discover that "Home" is where you are, where your heart makes it, where you find peace.  

So- we'll have dinner tonight.  We'll enjoy each other's company, get to know a little more about each other's families. We will share a moment in time.  I'm sure there will be a picture, so one of us can tag other people from the show on social media to tell them Ruffiana and Pantalone' were back together on the Ides of March.  

And, for me, there will be a moment of "Home".   It's "Home" because, for me, that play was transformative.  It's memory is a version, or a part of, what "Home" is.  And Leandra is indelibly part of that memory.  Sliding onto the stage, screaming "Ceasar, don't go!" to my doddering old man character's absolute confusion.  It's a memory which triggers other memories.  It's fun, and it's comfortable, and it's recharging.

A hotel with your favorite human in the mountains, a dinner with classmates, a song, a memory... 

I think "Home" is whatever/wherever we need it to be.  

As promised, I'm including an old writing (with some minor editing).  This one is about the one act.  If you're still reading, maybe it will make you smile:

One Act... (October 27, 2016)
Maybe it’s because of the loss of another coaching friend earlier this week. Maybe it’s because I see the pictures of the team getting the last bit of direction from their coach before they got in the bus this morning. Maybe it’s just knowing that a cast will get on the stage tomorrow, pour their hearts into one last performance, and remembering how that felt. Maybe it’s all of that.
But today, for some reason, I can’t shake the memories of the One Act Play I was lucky enough to stumble blindly (and that is not an exaggeration) into as a junior in high school.
It wasn’t just that it was fun- and it was ridiculously fun, and it wasn’t just that we were good- and, if you’ll excuse the arrogance- we were ridiculously good. For me, it was more than that. Maybe inexplicably more than that.
I’ve said before that I was a shy kid who wasn’t really good at things that make kids cool. I was marginally good at FFA things- livestock judging, carcass grading- and I was a more than reasonably good at FFA speaking. The incredible thing is that I actually took “Speech” as a Junior to get better at speaking. I mistakenly thought “Speech” was actually a public speaking class.

It wasn’t... And it was...

I tried to get out of it. I’m not sure if MEP remembers that or not, but I did. I have a very vivid memory of standing next to his desk with the drop form in my hand. Me in my Wranglers and cowboy boots, and Mike in his button down Oxford and boat shoes. I asked to drop, and he said, “Sure. At Christmas, but not before.”

I was stuck.

Now- it’s been more than 30 years (yeah- I cant believe that, either), so the timeline that follows is a little bit mangled. It all morphs into one big thing in my head, but these things all happened. Just maybe not exactly in this order.

I tried some poetry- and was terrible at it. I tried a duet- and was terrible at it (that got better). I was good at FFA extemp, but I was Terrible at Speech/Debate extemp. I tried writing an Oration. I still remember the title- “The Electoral Nightmare.” The speech argued that it was time to abolish the Electoral College. Given the current political situation, I might have been ahead of my time, but, alas, I must admit, it was a TERRIBLE speech. See a pattern? I wasn’t sure I wanted to be there, and I was trapped in a self-fulfilling loop of TERRIBLE.

The goal was simple- get the one tournament I had to go to out of the way, get a decent grade in the class, and “shake the dust off of my feet” at Christmas. That was the plan.

But God, or fate, or karma, or whatever you choose to call it intervened in the most innocuous of ways. Like so many monumental things in life, it had such a small beginning. There would be extra credit if we came in and read for a part in the One Act Play. I didn’t have a desire to be in the play, but the extra credit seemed like a good idea. There were a lot of people who seemed excited about it- who thought that they would get parts- who wanted parts. I was safe.

So, I read...

When the cast list was posted, I was one of the last people to look at the list. I wasn’t, after all, supposed to get a part. Listen- I didn’t even want a part. I remember walking up the stairs to the little landing that the Speech room was on, and hearing a “buzz” coming from the room. There was a small group of students- some really happy, some clearly not, and the focus of attention was the piece of paper with the cast. Someone said, “here comes the surprise,” and looked right at me.

I had gotten a part!

I wish I could tell you that I remember how I felt. I don’t. I wish I could be overly dramatic and tell you that I tried to get out of it- but I don’t remember that I did. Everything from that moment on is a blur of rehearsal, costuming, line memorizing, hair and makeup.

I do remember the first cast meeting- I remember Mike letting us know that “This is what I went to school to learn to do, so we’re going to do this right.” I remember being terrified that I wouldn’t be able to do it well enough. I remember worrying about how to balance my job, my Vo-Ag project, my other competitive FFA things, and the play. I remember feeling like I had walked into an alien world. And I remember the first read through that day. It was more fun than anything I’d ever done in school. It felt good. It fit.

We managed, in the course of that show, to experience every possible emotion. I remember the awful day, about two weeks into rehearsal, when a cast member, who was a Senior, was replaced because she just didn’t show up- even when she showed up. She begged, cried, yelled, and then left. As a teacher and coach, I now know that this choice- to replace a Senior because it would be better for the show, had to be heartbreaking for our coach- Mr. Patterson. One of many coaching lessons he has taught me without knowing he was teaching it.

We laughed, we fought time (45 minutes from the wings to the curtain. You cannot go overtime!), we yelled, we cried, and we became a cast. We put on a show.

I remember performing the show at the Regional contest at El Reno, and I was so sick with a tonsil infection that I could barely talk. I took as much Tylenol as was allowable, and I would gargle with Choraseptic- numb my throat- go do a scene, get of stage, and gargle again.

And we won the regional.

Sometimes in life, you have moments of incredible clarity. I remember sitting on that mini-bus on the way home from El Reno that night, and realizing that my life would never be the same; that somehow, the world had shifted under my feet. I had fallen in love with something that I never intended to try.

I was going to be there after Christmas, after all. In fact, I’m still there- in my own classroom, with my own team. It’s not an overstatement to say that it changed the course of my entire life.

When we finally got to go to State, we had a team meal at a place in Oklahoma City called Molly Murphy’s. I don’t think it exists now, but it was a place where the waitstaff dressed up as characters, and waited on you in character. The perfect place for a show cast to eat. We had more fun that night than I can ever express. There are not words enough. I will say that some of the things that happened that night are better left remembered only by the people who were there.

We did the show. We continued to be ridiculously good, and we got second. I still think we were robbed. 2 of the cast made the All State Cast. 4 or 5 others were nominated- and it was an 8 person cast. Did I mention we were pretty good?

We were thrilled- we celebrated. It was a “Top of the World” moment for all of us. We’d done this incredible thing- we had created something incredible from sheer will and work of the talent we had. We were not just good- we felt great at something.

And then we stopped on the way home to eat. And someone called home.

This was well before mobile phones. I don’t know who called home, but I remember hearing one of the cast begin to weep- bitterly- deeply. There was a tragedy back home- one I don’t have the desire to go into- but it was a tragedy, and one of our cast was immediately affected. Forever affected.

And I remember the long ride home. More tears and pain than one can imagine. I remember my coach just sitting with her in the bus, and letting her cry. I remember feeling helpless. I remember total exhaustion- mental, emotional, and physical exhaustion. I remember a long, cold, painful 5 hour trip in a bus home.

To this day, I can’t hear the word “company” without thinking about that show. I can’t get through the 15th of March without sending Leandra a note- or getting one from her. I can’t see a show without remembering the power of being on stage with those people for that time.

I can tell you that there are some of us who would love to go back in time and compete tomorrow. I can tell you that I’d give much to be able to just be in a room with my cast one more time. We were part of something pretty incredible.

We throw phrases like “life changing” around like those moments happen every day. But they don’t. They are like diamonds or gold- they are rough to get to, a little messy when you find them, beautiful and rare. And they make us who we are.

I don’t get to be with the kids that are competing for Guymon High School tomorrow, but I know that their coach loves them. I know that he’s gotten them to believe that they are the best they can be. I know he’s gotten them to dream and believe and create. And that is incredible.

They won’t read this, and wouldn’t know me if they did. But if I could, I’d tell them that I’ll admire them fro afar. I’d use the line from one of my favorite movies...and from a great poet- “Seize the Day, kids.” Enjoy that last performance. Enjoy the fruit of your labor. Enjoy feeling the earth shift just a little under your feet. And...

Break a leg!