Once upon a time, I fell in love with this girl by accident and this girl’s favorite word, when I asked her one night very very late, she said was ephemeral.
I looked into the pools of her eyes and asked why this could possibly be her favorite word? And she said, “because that’s what so beautiful about theater. The show is there and then completely destroyed. Blink…it’s gone. But the experience still lives lingering in you.”
Okay and then I fell EVEN MORE in love with her and died basically, but the point is that as I am closing my first thesis, undocumented. this woman’s words snuck into my bones. We had created a story so important that in my opinion, it should tour the United States. We shared it with the SOT community so that we could humanize ourselves, our families, and the Latinx people…yet. just. like. that. the thing is over. The energy, sweat, blood, and tears we put into the rehearsal and production on this project, destroyed in the matter of an hour.
But. Was it destroyed really? I don’t know… perhaps places like room 105 where many events occur is it’s own kind of palimpsest. Maybe the energy and power of what we created does live on under the floor boards and the cracked walls. Maybe. Or maybe it’s just the intersection between myself, and the memory.