A Tiny Piece of Texas

After the break-up with the Mormon, I dove head on into rehearsals for "Icarus" by Edwin Sanchez, produced by Amphibian Production in Fort Worth, Texas.

Texas is a funny place. The first time I went out there to direct a play was the summer after grad school. I got a call from a former classmate saying they had lost their director and would I be interested. At that point, I was interested in directing anything, anywhere. We were told, at school, to never turn down a job. (I have come to learn that this is not the case. If you don't like a show, or experience a violent reaction upon reading it, turn it down. You will only do it more harm.) So I said, Yes! Email me the script.

The play was titled, The True History of the...wait, I have to google it; the real title is so goddamned long: The True History of the Tragic Life and Triumphant Death of Julia Pastrana, the Ugliest Woman in the World. Intriguing? Pretentious? Yes. And the catch, it's written to take place entirely in the dark. I love a challenge. And I've never been to Texas. The show was precast with some actors I didn't know and two I knew from grad school. With one part free I happily cast my cousin, the Actress. If I was going to Texas, she was coming with me.

During the time, I was going through a rough time (ie: broken heart) over Arkansas. I alluded to this relationship earlier and at some point I will try to write about it but I was in full blown, psycho-stalker mode. Emails, poetry, phone calls. It didn't help that he lived around the corner from my house so I had to walk by his apartment every day. We would also, indubitably, run into each other on the L, on the street or at Metropolitan. Awkward. And enervating. After four weeks of rehearsal in NYC, I stepped off the plane in Dallas/Ft Worth. The first thing I remember seeing was a big billboard; yellow with a the black silhouette of a house on it, on top of which is the white outline of a body. It was an ad for a company that will come and clean up your home after a murder, death or suicide. I thought it fitting for my welcome to Texas.

But I quickly fell in love with the state, the city and its people. Sure, most of them would string me up to the nearest tree or rear fender of their pick-up truck if they knew I was gay, but they were friendly and welcoming as long as they didn't know I was. And I loved the August heat. It cut right through me and energized me. I loved walking in it. I loved lounging in the tanning the at the TCU sports facility in an inch of water while the sun beat down on me and sweat dripped off any unsunken skin. The joy of rehearsing this particular play was that we needed complete darkness so we couldn't rehearse in the theatre during the day, too much ambient light.

But my heart was still broken and all I could think about/talk about was Arkansas. When we got back from the gym one day, I turned on CNN to see streams of NYers walking across bridges to the outer boroughs. Apparently, there had been a city-wide power outage. The first person I called? Arkansas. Really, JV? Really. He, of course, didn't answer. Why should he? I wouldn't have. And then I called everyone else I loved.

This time, three years or so later, I stepped off the plane again with a broken heart; this time it was for the Mormon. Once again, the hot August heat washed over me and, once again, I took comfort in its warm, healing arms.

I was staying, as I had in the past, with My Dear Ones in their comfortable, friendly home. My room there was like a cave. No matter how bright it was outside, the dark wood shutters kept everything out. And although usually a morning person, I found myself sleeping until 9 or 10am. Practically unheard of for me. I would wake up, make coffee, eat an english muffin with peanut butter and jelly then put on some work out clothes, leave a note for the Muse (also staying with My Dear Ones) and head for the hiking trails not too far from the house.

With my iPod on shuffle, I would walk the trails in the blazing sun until I was so sweaty it was as if I was melting. But I loved it. My legs and arms cut up from thistle, branches and thorns, the pain and blood made me feel real. Alive. I was not tentative as I ran up a rocky slope to reach the top and look out over the cars rushing by below me and the flat Texas horizon beyond. I would stand there and sing along to my iPod at the top of my lungs, unseen and unheard. And isn't that how I felt most of the time? Unseen and unheard. In the shadows, watching. Waiting. To what end?

One day, I took a different trail, one I had not noticed before. It took me down further and further than I had thought possible and I lost sight of the large television towers that served as my mark for whenever I got lost. But I figured if the trail went down, it must come up somewhere. The shad felt cool and nice against my sunburnt face and shoulders. The air was moist down here from an unseen body of water. I came across a little crick and easily jumped over it. Then going even deeper, I had to duck to make it through the overgrowth. My too long hair caught in branches and pulled not so gently. I cursed and wished I had worn a baseball cap. Suddenly the growth cleared and on the path before me, shimmering like newly spun satin were blankets of spider webs draped over ankle-high bushes. They spread in front of me for over twenty to thirty feet. It was as if an angel or something had come and lay down a cloak for later, so perfectly did they lie there. I stood in awe, it was a beautiful sight with the vivid green of the bushes lying beneath them.

I carefully tread the small path in between them, trying to leave them undisturbed and study them at the same time. Looking in at them, they were far more complicated than I had initially thought. Rows and rows of thin threads interlaced, one on top of another to create a tapestry. It was truly breathtaking. It made me remember that moment on Bear Mountain when the Mormon and I watched the tiny caterpillar make its way along the tree branch. Look at what one little creature could accomplish, I thought. I wanted him there, beside me again. I wanted to show him this achievement. Look at what can happen when you come together, I thought. But I was alone. And my heart throbbed, a ghost pain I suffered from the hole he left inside of me. I walked slowly through the shadowed path and further along until I could once again see light breaking in through the overhead trees. I needed to be in the light. I needed to feel the heat. I needed to sweat the pain and sickness out of me. I was too comfortable in the shadows.

But these trails were mine. Never had I run into any one else on them. Once in a while, the bark of a dog would echo through the valley. I would stumble across animal tracks and pray that I wasn't prey to a mountain lion or some such wild cat that would no doubt provoke an allergy attack as well as a brutal clawing. No, these trails were mine when I was on them. They were my piece of Texas.

It was time to wake the Muse and sip another cup of coffee and smoke cigarettes and commiserate about rehearsal.