My Experience in Community Theater: Episode One

I nearly threw up. Both nights of auditions I thought I was going to vomit; such was my terror. It’s not that I don’t like attention or wanted it so badly I could taste it.{Or rather the fish tacos from that afternoon} It’s that I hate being laughed at and I hate looking stupid. If I am not talented in a particular area, I want to be the first to know.
     As a freshman in high school I joined the beginners choir. It was the one you didn’t have to audition for. There were a few opportunities throughout the year to get solos. I tried out for most of them and even got one. {One Fine Day, first verse, yes, I am prepared to break this out should anyone ever break up with me.} There was a girl in my choir whose name I never learned. She was…something. Have you seen Rise of the Guardians? {Not the owl movie. If you haven’t, you must, best animated movie in a long, long time and the best animated villain in the past ten years.} Well, this girl looked like a blondish version of Cupcake: 

• Medium height
• Broad shoulders 
• Hair she may have cut herself 
• Unicorn shirts that were not ironic or well-fitted 
• Backpack in the shape of an animal

     Cupcake auditioned for every solo. She could not sing. 

     I say I can’t sing, but that’s just because I’m the least capable singer in my family—well, tied for least with my mother. Cupcake didn’t sing any discernible notes, she just warbled up and down. She had a sense of timing I didn’t know could exist until she was on the microphone between two separate pairs of cheerleaders so self-possessed and co-dependent that they were rendered incapable of both not auditioning and auditioning alone. I remember sitting in my chair in the second soprano section and trying to smile supportively as though that might drown out the snickering of the first soprano section. It did not. All I could think was, She doesn’t know. She honestly does not know what she sounds like. Everyone else knows. It was the second most painful moment of my life until then. {The first most painful had been when my mom and I accidentally hit that deer with our Dorango.}
     I did not audition for that solo. What if I don’t know either? What if I don’t know and everybody else does? Actually, I don’t remember, but I may not have auditioned for another solo for the rest of my choir career. What I did do was make a promise to myself. A vow, even, given the ferocity with which I have kept it. I vowed to never ever be Cupcake. I would always know. I would be the first to know and I would make sure that everyone knew that I knew when I was bad at something. That’s right, not only would I never be Cupcake, I would never be mistaken for her either. This, you can imagine, is quite a large responsibility to carry.
     So, when I showed up to auditions at Cascade Theatrical Company, a good ten years later, I nearly threw up. According to the voice in my head, I had just sentenced myself to the very fate I had staved off for the past decade. I was new back in town and wanted to meet people and be part of a team project. Like a lamb, I, Saint Cupcake, went silently and nauseated to the slaughter.
     I didn’t think I could act. I certainly didn’t know how to audition. I didn’t know the technical rules of being on stage. I didn’t know what I should sound like or act like or be like at all. I didn’t have any concept of what would be expected of me. I just knew that I was the least experienced and that everyone could tell. I didn’t think they’d laugh, just pity me in respectful silence; as one does with saintly martyrs.
    And then, as fate would have it, Saint Cupcake was thrown a bone.

END OF EPISODE ONE

Will Victoria get a role? Will she vomit on stage? Will she actually be martyred in a vat of boiling oil? Tune in next time to see the exciting conclusion of My Experience in Community Theater!