Last week, I wore my University of Houston shirt to school.
I do this periodically. Sometimes it's "College Week" at school, and the counselors think the kids enjoy seeing us wear our college gear.
Sometimes it's tech week, and I don't want to wear real clothes.
This was tech week.
There are Things That Happen when I wear my red UH Cougars long sleeved shirt.
One thing that Always Happens is a counselor will pass me and he always says "Cougars, huh?" and raises his eyebrows at me in an upsetting, suggestive manner. No. I am Not A "Cougar", pervo, I work in a high school. I was a Cougar at UH. Stop It. Why do you always do that?
Second, a security guard always tells me that Andre Ware is now an announcer for ESPN or something, "Biggest disappointment in drafting history" he says. I smile and say "Yes, I was there when they called the Astrodome 'The Ware House'. But I was in theatre so I really didn't so much care."
And third, the kids are impressed that I am wearing an out of state college shirt.
What never happens is any sort of warm fuzzy memories of UH.
Until this week.
Without going into the details of my children's health struggles and the stress of teaching 6 classes while directing a show and juggling IB and Thespians and the million other little details of everyone's life, it was a long week.
I wore my UH shirt largely because I felt fat and I don't have anything else that hides my Bingo Arms.
As I sat in rehearsal, using Stanislavski as a last ditch attempt at getting the actors to get past their fears and perform Oscar Wilde, I was hit with a quote from Stephen King.
I hear Stephen King's voice in the moment. In The Body, the story Stand By Me was based on, there is a line: "I never had friends again like I did when I was twelve. Who does?"
Understand I am beyond tired. So the line hits me and I just follow it, because maybe it will lead somewhere, and the moment my actors are on stage stomping and crying, they don't need my attention.
I followed the quote to the University of Houston --1988-1991ish. The Lobby of the Wortham Theatre. I tell the kids I was a theatre major because the theatre was by the parking lot, and the medical school was too far to walk.
While my actors face their fears, I realize I am inadvertently confronting one of mine.
I went to school with some great, talented people. Many of whom came in together and left together. They still talk, they are still connected, they are still friends.
I still speak to exactly two people I went to UH with. I am connected with a few more, but for the most part, Martin and Paul are it, and it's infrequent and facebook based.
Sure sure, older, families, careers, sure.
But that's not it.
They do not remember me.
And I will be damned if that isn't a fear I did not even know I had.
These are people who meant the world to me. Whose talent I worshipped and whose acceptance I craved. A few of them actually relocated to Denver and had no idea I was even here.
Talk about a fear becoming a reality.
These people fed me, literally, because I could afford to spend only $32.00 every two weeks on groceries. Paul paid my Bail Bond and never expected to get it back again (it was with great pride that I paid him back the day before I moved back to Denver). I felt loved, I felt accepted and supported and I belonged.
I belonged.
But I had to leave early. I did not graduate with them. I had to move back to Denver when the money ran out.
And outside of a single magnificent answering machine message they left me during a cast party, in which Edward Albee asked "What is she doing in Denver?" I never really heard from any of them again.
I know a lot of people love college and their roommates and they make friends for life and blah blah blah. But I was NOT a traditional student. I was 21 when I started at UH, I transferred as an English major. I worked a full time job and had a fiancé. I never lived on campus. Yet these guys embraced me, anyway. Only in theatre would a weird fuck up like me be allowed to hang with the lobby rats.
I did not want this to go this way. I did not set out to whine about The Good Old Days or to wrap myself in a memory and refuse to come out.
I have no idea why I started this.
Fear.
Right.
Most people know they will be remembered.
I fear being forgotten.
And when I look back on UH, my fear is confirmed.
All of those beautiful faces, their talent and pain and joy and personalities that I remember, that influenced me, helped mold me, fed me, threw me a going away party...have forgotten who I am.
And Fuck if that does not Suck.
The Stanislavski exercise demands that you face the fear and conquer it, then walk away victorious.
I suppose that is what I intended to do by writing.
Confront. Conquer.
Thank you Paul for keeping me out of jail because I was in Padre instead of going to my court date.
Thank you Deb and Mike and Jason for feeding me when I couldn't feed myself.
Thank you Daria for allowing me into your world and for walking down the beach with me and that damned gorgeous neon bathing suit you wore. And for loaning me the other one with the middle cut out.
Thank you Martin for loving me and being my friend and for making me feel like I had something to contribute to the theatre. And for Padre and hanging on the hammock.
Thank you Chris for being positive, always, no matter what.
Thank you Cyndie for your quiet wisdom and the words "You can go now, what does UH have to offer that you haven't gotten yet?"
Thank you Curtis for being Sam.
Thank you Craig for your gorgeous free spirit and magnificent hair.
Thank you John (My god, how embarrassing, I think your name was John) you were a friend of Cyndie's and always so fucking kind and supportive of everyone, always, and I'm a dick for being unsure of your name.
Thank you B. Dalton Wes, David, Diane, Larry--you guys provided sanity and balance and never, ever called me on being a dick even if I was a dick.
Thank you Aunt Polly (RIP) for letting me live in your house when Jim moved back to Denver.
Thank you Nellie for allowing me to live in your crazy ass warehouse bay when I moved out of Polly's.
Thank you Joel Orr for sitting in a lawn chair inside of CSAW and telling me I was a beautiful juxtaposition in the artist warehouse whilst slurping your disgusting green liquid.,
Lauren the playwright, Rene the mime, Beth who go-go danced on the weekends despite her feminist agenda, My fellow Numb Nut Twin (we couldn't build a window flat by ourselves) Andrea who bartended and whose smile I still see to this day...all of you. ALL OF YOU.
You may not remember me, but I will never, ever, forget you. Everyone who ever gave me a ride (Paul's roommate who drove a mail truck), bought me food for my birthday, allowed me to remain employed, cast me, shared a drink or a moment or a stage or a sewing machine.
I never had friends again like I did when I was at UH.
YOU will not be forgotten.
So knock that right off of your fear list.
