048. Undercover.
I mentioned the time I snuck away to the theater in passing, an entry ago. Unwilling to be a part of anything that day, I slipped into the empty set and hid underneath the beams for two periods. Pictures were being taken in front of the curtain, on bleachers. It struck me, how alone I was, in the dark stage behind the stage. They laughter was muffled away into nothing. Even the jazz band playing at full volume was nothing but a whisper. The most persistent sound was the vents, soft white noise. I was feeling strange, unable to really interact with anyone, so I read. This was where I cracked open “Undercover”.
In the past entry, I sorta-kind said the effect it had on me. It forced me to remember things I forgotten, sentimental laughter startled into sound, quickly muffled behind a hand. My body reacted without my consent. Found myself shaking, at one point. Another, I reached up to brush back a wayward strand of hair, and found myself crying. Not yawn-tears. Not laugh-tears. Tears that change the way you breathe. I was so involved in the words in front of me that I hadn’t noticed anything at all. Smiling randomly. Closing the book when I was falling in too hard, too fast. Staring at the rippling curtain in an effort to breath, stay inside myself, stay somewhere in the vicinity of my body. Opening again to fall headfirst, not bothering with breath any longer. It was a heady, powerful experience.
I took out a pad of paper. Set down the book I was near-finished with. And wrote the first poem I’ve written in a long while. The first personal piece of writing that wasn’t torn from depression, that wasn’t an outburst of painful ink.
This is why I was so surprised, elated to read Beth Kephart’s comment, and sad that she didn’t know exactly how much she touched me. If she reads this entry, I want her to know that she is amazing, even beyond the words she so masterfully uses.
Filed under: Catagory | 4 Comments
thoughts.musings.whims 
I discover your words this morning, and I’m so moved by them. I don’t typically ever even know what is being written in blogs about UNDERCOVER; discovering your words happened by accident, but perhaps something more divine was at work. I’m so glad that the book opened a door for you. Your whole blog is poetry; I can imagine how fine your poem is.
Take care of yourself,
Beth Kephart
Speaking of words that flow and purr with meaning…!
A book did this to you? *makes mental plans to find this book* Also, hiding backstage is quite possibly the best solution to yuckiness on earth. I do it…more than I should, to say the least.
p.s. I less-than-three you too. <3. see?
Backstages are wonderful.
I love you; I’m tired, and my thoughts are sticking. I can’t get everything in the way I want to say it, but *hug*.
Take care of yourself as well. There isn’t quite a good enough metaphor to show how much your comments, let alone your novels, have affected and enriched my life. If it was the divine, it was a just spirit giving back the movement, the touch you have doled out with your own words. Thank you, and always be well.
Rachel, Leah <3. Backstage is where the real magic happens, for me. A clan of black-clothed people who don’t exist having a ball. And when it is empty? It becomes a blanket of comfort and memories and purity and shows waiting to be sung. Backstage is at least as lovely as the one behind the curtain, if so much more so in my eyes. I love you both!