Audition Recognition
I had known the audition was coming for a long time. It was one of those annoying dates you remember for a long time after it passes, constantly recognizing it as potentially important, even when its significance had long since escaped.
November 11, 2007.
It’s been a bit since the actual date itself, but perhaps it’s the time before it, and my own personal mentality that made it so important to me. In fact, its without a doubt my own actions that made it so obnoxiously hard to forget, a stupid fly on my windshield that turned out to be an entire swarm, completely unrecognizable until it hits you full on. As I said, in the week s before the date I, along with my friends who were also auditioning, remained consciously aware of its looming presence. Then, however, it was not something to be feared, as all the audition meant was another beginning of a production, a reunion with what had become some of our oldest, most trusted friends. We celebrated the upcoming tryout as a beginning, and for most of them it was. The group I had become associated with was in fact not a normal theater group necessarily, as it preferred to keep each of the same actors show after show; their reasons being most likely to build a trustworthy cast of kids, remaining thoroughly predictable year after year. It was these kids that had become my closest friends, the few the proud the chosen as it were, considering the fact that those not chosen were discarded time after time, left to watch the veterans perform. In fact, I had only been accepted into one sacred show at that point, and yet it was this family I presumed acceptance in. We amused ourselves before, with the habit of predicting which friend would get what part, each of them, granted the luxury of knowing their own security. I took part in this also, assuming my own safety, even going as far as to predict bigger more important parts for myself.
Come the actual audition date, things were, at the beginning, exactly as predicted. Hugging, laughing, and of course fake anxiety, put on by those who already knew their own personal outcome of that five hour ideal, were all basic elements of that fateful day. And of course, in my infinite closed mindedness, I too mashed myself into that family, despite my one performance resume with the group I assumed that surely I was capable of functioning within the group. After all was I not the highest holy, spectacular being to walk the earth? Of course. The alternative was nonexistent to me.
And so we began with the most basic of all exercises: a simple well practiced monologue to separate the shy kids from those who came packed and prepared with the most energy and composure. I waited, fellow actors going before me, some taking the stage by storm others stuttering there way painfully through the prepared segment. I pitied them, and in my own little world I watched those poor souls leave the stage, presuming of course they would merely disappear when out of my sight. My turn came, and returned to my seat smiling, sure I had proven the most highest of exceptional talents. With the rest of the day however, I read three times. To this day I remember what I was asked to read for, once for a princess, again for a princess, then once more for a maid. That was it. I didn’t read again. Time after time I watched the people next to me read for a variety of different characters, some repeating the same ones, assuring the onlookers that they had secured the role. Infinite confusion consumed me just then, as I remained amazingly convinced in my own awesomeness. Who wouldn’t want to hear from me? And yet the entire day wore on, and my body remained glued to that stupid plastic auditorium chair, occupying myself mostly by observing the obscene doodles other middle school kids had taken to writing on the chairs in front of me. Time passed and finally, first cuts were made, I passing for the last time into that established family of veterans. Here I wasn’t confused; of course they didn’t cut me for the last part of auditions. I was awesome, so super spectacularly cool. And yet, for the next two hours I did not move once from my chair. While others around me continued to laugh and read, relaxed now, assured now, that they would receive not only a part, but the part they wanted.
My infinite confusion increased beyond recognition.
My name remained uncalled, and I kept up my lie, assuring myself the director had lost my audition sheet, rather than face the possibility that I wasn’t the queen of the world.
The time had come, and the director left the room to finalize the cast list. Now the wait had officially begun, and the fake anxiety of my cast mates had followed. We all sat stone still, holding hands across the board, and through my mind I turned for the first time the possibility I had so previously refused. My stomach turned; become so filled with butterflies I was actually dizzy. My breath picked up, and my heart raced. I had always question the concept of someone fearing the idea that another person could hear the racing of their heart. I had read about it, and yet I couldn’t imagine someone being that anxious.
In that moment I understood.
Looking around me I feared someone recognizing my fear, and with that I let it consume me, my face growing so thoroughly blushed, that now, looking back I pity whoever it was I might have been holding hands with to my left and right, as I must have been crushing them. The director entered, and began reading the cast list, my heart now quite literally inside my ears. She moved through ensemble parts, and with each name being read the person received a script and was welcomed into the cast. She read more and more names, the hands beside me leaving momentarily to collect their own script, leaving me alone. I now truly feared I would faint, as attempting to diagnose my fear was futile, I had simply never felt something of this magnitude before. I didn’t actually know I could be this dizzy. The list continued and the roles increased in significance, until it became only possible that I had not received a part, or had received the title role, something I had never actually read for. The final name was read and it was not mine. I didn’t receive a part.
Since that audition I actually think I’ve looked at everything in a different light. You see it turns out I’m not the greatest person in the world, and the latter doesn’t revolve around me. In my unbelievable arrogance that day, I think it’s quite possible I might have actually lost myself the part, as I failed to focus and commit, preferring more to read crossed out curse words on the back of people chairs. At the time, I was of course extremely disappointed to say the least, and yet it may remain to be the most important lesson I have learned yet. Since then I have entered ever single audition with the utmost madness, convinced of my own legitimate inadequacy, quite frequently sick with fear at the idea of failure. It’s this reality that has brought me to my best at times, and helped me constantly be aware of my own mortality in the eyes of every director. Without this audition I might have remained immature and arrogant, but with it I’ve grown, and can now actually call myself a young adult.
