Back in high school, I was an athlete. I reckon I still am, but without an authorized authority recognizing me, I suppose I’m more of a hobbyist. When I compete in athletic events, there’s no real glory to winning except to say you won against a bunch of other hobbyists who also go unrecognized and really, no one’s going to be writing about that in the sports section. But I still remember what it felt like before a football game, wrestling match, track meet...a small lead ball made itself at home in that space between my chest and my stomach and stayed there for 20 hours. It was fierce. I knew that what lie ahead was a battle. A competition between me and sometimes one sometimes 11 different people who all wanted to prove they were better than me. And I them.  I couldn’t eat it away, sleep it away, or even the reliable walk-it-off. The only thing that sent the lead ball packing was getting on the field/mat. Sometimes it would take a few minutes to get the feel of things. But I always knew I had to kick it into gear at some point, and it usually happened somewhere within the first period. That was the worst thing for me about competitive sports.

I still remember how that feels because I felt exactly that Friday night and all of Saturday. And it hung there like a millstone. All day long I felt leashed to something unseen. I was nervous. More nervous than I had ever been for a stage performance, which was strange. I have never really been a victim of stage fright for live performances, public speaking, you name it. But for opening night, I felt like was stepping onto a competitive playing field, which was stupid because there was no opponent. You could make the case that audience was on the other side of the battle, but it doesn’t hold much water.  Typically, unless you have a roomful of critics, audiences are cheering you on. They want you to be as wonderful as you want yourself to be. They paid good money and expect a good show. That could be part of it, knowing people paid money to see you perform.

Even now, two days later I’m unsure as to the real reason. All I could think of was, “I just need to get out on stage. That’s where I know what to do.” What I didn’t know was whether or not it would take me the first couple of scenes before things felt good, natural. So I did what any confident, determined, independent showman would do.

I prayed. I’m a strong believer in calling upon the heavens in times of potential humiliation.

I got to the theater an hour earlier than most of the others. I set my props. I lined up my costumes. I went through the blocking of the first scene.  I thought about the wig. The wig. Has anyone seen my wig?! It was gone. No problem. The wig dresser has it. She’s making adjustments. I’m sure of it. 5:30 became 6. 6 became 6:30 and still no wig. 6:30 became 6:45 and now, I’m wondering if I could steal someone else’s wig.

Finally, she came in and had the wig ready to go. At least as good as it could be. You see, my head apparently detests wigs. Because it keeps trying to throw them off.

For the last couple of rehearsals I had the wig to work with, and it was a disaster each time. I just sweat too much, move around to much, too rough, something that makes it virtually impossible for a long, black wig to stay on my giant freak-head using the same methods everyone else is using. So opening, we used glue.

So with glue and wig, with a cane and a coat, I was now ready to move.

We started late.

Ten minutes late by my estimation, which is not a rare occurrence at this theater, evidently. As they like to say, folks here are on Davis County time. But finally, the house went dark, the music started, and I took my seat at Jekyll’s desk, waiting for the reveal.

Immediately, the lead ball took its leave and I was light. My throat was open and strong. And I became Dr. Henry Jekyll. As good as moments that week had been, this one has the makings of beating them all.

Audiences can do that for you. They have an energy unto themselves that can either raise your performances or make you feel like your fighting your way through a pea-soup fog of apathy. But since this was the first real audience we faced, it was all about the raising energy. Everyone in the cast was on-point. Performances, set changes, timing, you name it it was nailed. Everything but the wig.

If it wasn’t for Lisa, Mary Ann and Cheryl, I don’t know what I would have done.  But the wig actually came off my head midway through the second act. Seriously. I still had the Confrontation to manage and that was the most wig-heavy scene. I had to pull back the intensity, I admit, to make sure the freakin’ thing stayed on my dome. It’s incredibly distracting.

Apparently, I was the only one who knew this because after the Confrontation, the audience went crazy. And with that, confidence found a place in my mind and has yet to leave. In fact, I wanted the final scene to look so good, by the end, I had blood trailing down my forehead. That’s what you call dedication (in reality, there was, in fact, real blood streaming down my forehead, but had no idea how it got there. But the fact that I had 40 metal rods jabbing my head, keeping the wig on had something to do with it, I think.)

It was over. And all that was left was the bows. Since late May, Jekyll & Hyde has been a huge part of my life. And just like all works of art, the first grueling months are nothing but preparation and criticism, breaking down and building up until you come to that opening day. You perform and finally, when you come out to welcome your audience as the artist, not the character, you learn just what kind of connection you’ve made together. I wasn’t expecting anything mostly, because I didn’t know what to expect. I knew I had worked hard. The applause through the show were appreciative and honest. But how they would feel once it was all over, I didn’t know.

At the appointed time, I walked out on stage, gave my cast a gracious look (this cast is phenomenal, by the way. They are dedicated, they are talented, and they are gracious. A cast this size that has fully supported me and everyone else is just incredible. I can’t say enough about them. I’m afraid I am now and forever spoiled because of them. Fine by me) and walked down stage. The audience was on their feet. Their cheers were overwhelming and I literally had to catch my breath and force back the tears that were the result of emotional & physical exhaustion and humility for the audience’s appreciation. We did it.

It’s a night I won’t soon forget. If it was a competition, and whoever my unseen opponent was, I can be confident that we kicked the ever-loving budongadong out of them.

Hope to see you at the next one!