Yesterday morning, in my very own College Apartment, a new play grew even stronger.
On this gross, rainy Monday, my home was aflutter.
A Facebook invite went out. Bisquick, orange juice, and prosecco came in.
As my roommates and I waited excitedly for our peers to show up, I was of no productive use – I jumped around my roommate as she flipped pancakes. “Can you believe this!? 25 of our friends are coming over!! To eat breakfast and listen to a new play!!! A thesis play!!! Written by our friend!!! Can you believe this?!”
And indeed, at 10 AM, a slushy-footed BU SOT Class of 2017 piled into our apartment, and hunkered down with pancakes and mimosas to support new theatre.
In that hour and twenty minutes, I had the privilege of reading for Alicia – a complex, flawed, honest female role – written by my very own friend!!
I had the privilege of laughing along next to my peers, mimosa in hand.
I had the privilege of witnessing Taylor hear the room’s vibrant responses to her very own words.
The whole reading was a tremendous success, and as my class left, there was a palpable, buzz in everyone’s energy. In the midst of finals week, people were rejuvenated.
Finally, Taylor, four of my friends, and I remained in the living room.
Then, we sat and had a conversation with Taylor about what we heard, what we understood, what could move further, and what her next step may be.
At some point in that conversation, I zoomed out.
I saw us from the top down: friends, sitting in an apartment, talking.
Just normal college kids. These are the same people with whom I danced the night away at Allston’s Tavern In The Square just a few evenings prior.
My college friends!
Yet, we are so, beyond friends.
We are Artistic Contemporaries.
In this completely informal setting, we were giving feedback and communicating on a professional, sensitive, and productive level.
I thought back four years. Right around this time freshman year, we were in the thick of our first practices of collaboration and communication. For so long, these artistic conversations have been (necessarily) facilitated by professors, and there we were – willingly and independently facilitating our own.
I started grinning like an idiot, and had to hide it.
Pointing at a beautiful thing is the sure-fire way to make it disappear.
… but dude it was so awesome.
I always feel corny when I rave like this.
Like, of course we are showing up for one another. Of course we are having these conversations. Of course we have these skills. We’ve just had four years of doing this every day.
Still, I’ll never stop getting choked up about it.
Post-grad is sure to be a lot of Apartment Readings with my sweet, beautiful, Artistic Contemporaries.
I can’t wait.
In fact, weeks ago, BU Alum Moritz von Stuelpnagel reminded us all that Robert Askins’ Hand To God began as just that: a tiny little Artistic Contemporary reading.
I believe in the power of my peers.
The next best thing could blossom right in the middle of my living room, as long as we all keep showing up.