The day of performance finally came and we arrived early to firm everything up, get a feel for the space and for the flow of the program. There was a fire glowing in the fire pit and the stage was set off by a square of tarp and about twenty or so sturdy rectangular blocks of hay. We had decided intimate seating was best, so that we could get up close to our audience and them to us. Behind the stage you could see through the cottonwoods to the river beyond.
From behind the main building, the actors who had gathered could watch the audience settling down upon their hay bales. Each of us, in our own period costume, were running our own peculiar lines and blocking privately through our heads. We complemented and assured one another, made silly jokes to lighten our mood, then one by one sent the next person on stage as each transitional cue arrived.
Being one of the last to perform, I stood there for quite some time, stewing in my own excitement and anxiety. A familiar looking man in a plaid shirt and a baseball cap walked by, and despite my nerves, I blurted out, "Do I know you? You look so familiar." The man turned and introduced himself. Sure enough, I had recognized him from photographs and press clippings that I had used to research the very character I was playing.
We talked at length about the place where he had grown up and I asked him about some of the history I would be mentioning in my monologue. He was excited as well, I think, and wanted a copy of the scripts and asked me where I had found some of my information, the sources of which I promised to send him. We may have talked for forty minutes or so, "backstage" - he informed my performance, and I perhaps informed what he knew about his experiences of the area.
By the time I arrived on stage, I had noticed the approving nods and smiles of an audience that was leaning forward in interest. As I moved through my piece, I scanned the audience for people who I thought might know the person I was playing on a more intimate basis. Then, suddenly a realization hit me. What difference did it make if I didn't look or sound exactly like her? The important thing was that we were all learning something about her experiences here on the floodplains of the Mississippi.
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