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November 2, 2009
My debut as an actress happened at West Street School in the 2nd grade, according to me.
According to my parents, my debut was the day I was born. All the women in my family were young when they had children. Hence, when I came into the world I was surrounded by doting aunts, uncles, grand-parents and great-grandparents. Family get-togethers inevitably morphed into a giant circle with me in the center. Everything I did was met with ooohs and aaahs.
Regardless, in the 2nd grade I was on a stage. The play was “The Wiggly Worm,” and yes, I was that worm. I remember my mother made my costume out of some swirly orange and white material that used to be one of her hippie tunics or dresses. It was a simple costume, probably just a tube I stepped into, otherwise she couldn’t have made it.My Mom was not much of a homemaker. I did the dishes and we all cleaned the house for a couple of hours on most Saturday mornings. I used to complain that when my friends came home from school they would find pans of Lasagna (remember it’s a predominately Italian town), and fresh baked brownies on the counter. I would come home to some healthy crap like dried apricots, piles and shelves of books everywhere, and an animal or two that needed to be walked, fed or something. Not even a tv. The only one was black and white and tiny enough to fit on the dresser in my parent’s bedroom.
The fact that my parents were incredibly smart, interesting people that I could talk to about anything hadn’t become important yet. The famous story told over and over has me announcing in no uncertain terms at ten years of age they “were the intellectual type, and I was the social type!”
Anyway, I’m onstage, in the school’s cafeteria, as the orange and white worm, and my/our performance is a smash hit. Supposedly I loved the applause so much that I stood beaming long after the rest of the cast had exited stage right. My teacher had to come escort me off.
My next big performance was in the 6th grade. The production was "Oliver," and yup I was him. I’m sure there were plays in between "Wiggly Worm" and this one, but those starring roles seem to be the ones I recall. "Oliver" was even more seared into my brain, and not for all of the most pleasant reasons.
Now, let us look at the situation of that show. I was eleven, and was now attending Junior High School, a big deal. I was practically a teenager and in school with boys who had facial hair. The Italian girls all had long been in bras. As I already mentioned, I was short, skinny, still wore an undershirt, and my bum was a walking pincushion. My other afterschool activity was band. I played flute in concert band, and piccolo in marching band. Drama, Band, Victim. Is it becoming clear? The objects of most of my waking thoughts, boys, had no idea I even existed. To make matters worse, I was now cast as one of them. Yup, I pretty much got the lead roll due to my size and body type, definitely not because of my beautiful singing voice. Even one of my oohing and aahing grandmothers, the more direct one, told me that it would serve me well in life to always just mouth the words. I apparently would butcher Happy Birthday, even in a family group, and ‘Auld Lang Zane’, always sang at New Years’, would have to be started over if I was heard. OK, now loser moi was gonna have to sing solos in front of all those hairy boys- dressed like a small English Lad. At least it was the lead, and it was gonna be on a real stage in an auditorium.
I worked so hard. I had to be good. I was feeling more and more confident with every rehearsal. My grandmother didn’t know what she was talking about. I was becoming a regular chanteuse. Then IT happened, a small happenstance that would ruin it all. So, there had been that baby boy who was born when we lived in the apartment that everyone constantly referred to as my baby brother. Nick was his name. Actually, Grant Mueller Nicholas Holly. Grant was after all the men on my Dad’s side. Mueller was my Mom’s maiden name. I don’t know who started that family tradition, but thank goodness it didn’t apply to girls. Nicholas, because he was born near Christmas. Some present. Now don’t get me wrong, he was cute enough at the beginning. Well , not the very beginning. At that point he sort of looked shmooshed, and he had this jet black hair that only grew in the center of his head, but very high. Remember those troll dolls that people use to hang from their rear-view mirrors? Yeah.
He got cuter when he got chubby, actually really fat, and bald. He would sit up, like a budda, stabilized by his rolls of fat. I would occupy myself by pulling apart those fat rolls and cleaning the creases. Even after a daily bath there would be debris in those wrinkles. But now he was four years old and the bane of my existence. I was seven years older, and had none of those ‘little mommy’ feelings. How could I? He wrecked everything I owned. Either by eating it, tearing it, drooling on it, or being told I had to share it. Unfortunately he was quite smart and realized the attention my rage gave him. He lived to bug me.Anyway, one of the last rehearsals before the show my mom got there early with my little monster and his best friend VV in tow. I don’t even know that kid’s real name. VV might have been his initials or the way my brother/monster pronounced Vincent. I preferred pretending that neither one of them occupied my universe. My drama teacher saw them and raved about their cuteness (blind much?!). Could they be in the opening scene as some of the orphans? All they would have to do is look cute in the BACKROUND. They would be sitting under a fake tree. That was “IT” - my Mom was early, had the brats with her, and they were asked to be in my show. That was enough, but I didn’t know it would be worse. Opening night. I was so nervous, and so excited. It was going to be legendary.
The fact that Nick was going to share the stage with me was inconsequential. It was my star that was going to shine. We were all in our places. My crutch under my arm, my cap jauntily on my head. The curtain rose, the band began playing, and I begin to sing. What I recall are flashes of mortification. At first I heard murmuring which turned to laughter. I thought it was caused by my singing and I started to stammer. Was anybody even listening to me? Then out of the corner of my eye I saw what was causing all of the ruckus in the audience. Nick and VV just realized where they were, whoopee, quickly they were up from their place, wandering the stage toward the audience. Aware that their actions were getting reactions from the audience, they upped the ante. I had to limp about, hitting all of my marks while singing my heart out, and the whole time try not to notice the two of them mimicking my every move, or when that got boring, sticking out their tongues , or waving to people they knew in the audience. A regular comedy duo.
The thing I remember most is how hot my face felt for the whole performance, even long after the scene they were a part of. Nick had wrecked my play. All the oohs and aahs at the after party were about “those adorable boys”. Years later my direct grandmother told me that I should have been thankful , as they distracted from my singing. I was just glad that I was leaving the country soon. My parents had just told us that we were going to London, England for one year on my Dad’s sabbatical. Saved. No one would remember this fiasco when I returned, right? Wrong.
