Jennifer Carroll is a 21 year old actor and writer. She first began writing for the Uxbridge Cosmos in 2007 when she had the opportunity to share her experiences as a Canadian ambassador for an international conference for women in Dubai. At the beginning of 2008, she moved to Ireland to pursue a career in theatre and film. Far From Home is her monthly account on living and working in Dublin.
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Openng Night
We rehearsed all the lines. Over and over.
We walked through the blocking. Over and over.
We fiddled with the music. Over and over.
And then it came, suddenly and abruptly, waiting for no woman.
Opening night.
That morning my mind woke me abruptly from a shallow sleep, racing. It would not slow down all day. I laced up and pounded trails, hoping to steady my hands and nerves. It was quiet, and still cool - a rare thing. Even the ever-present clouds of mosquitoes seemed to sense my shaking spirit, and mercifully let me be as I ran through thicket and field. My breathing invariably steadied with the rhythm of my feet, and once home I managed a quiet cup of coffee before my nerves again began to tick. The morning crawled on, stretching languorously ahead of me, and I wondered if this frenetic, unrelenting nervous feeling would last for the rest of my life. I was sure it must.
As lunchtime passed, I was torn. My stomach was turning over, rejecting even the thought of food. But I knew it was foolish not to eat. So lunch went down, chokingly, and my fitful wait continued. More coffee. I knew that my sweet, black, witching potion would not be able to maintain its calming and soothing effect - a temporary trick, not well masked, for by my third cup my hands were giving away to twitching and shaking. Caffeine can be but a cruel mistress in one's hour of need.
Through the afternoon, minutes began to stretch out. Seconds slowed and paused, and chasms appeared between each agonizing second. I vaulted over each fissure in the wait between each moment, one by one. Suddenly, every word I had to speak in the portentous evening ahead seemed to rush into my head, all at once. Fifteen thousand words swam through my mind, and emotion filled each one. It hit me then, nearly slapping me across the face with the stark realization of it: this was beginning. The next ten weeks of my life began with the first step onto stage, with the first breath and the first word gently spoken. Ten all-important weeks, life-changing ones. And I was not speaking words penned by some young, arrogant writer who actually knows little of life and love and reality, but I was speaking the words of one of the most profound women I had come to know. In my trembling, youthful hands sat the story of a woman who had shaped the lives of millions of small, dreaming girls. Including mine.
My foot twitched on the accelerator as I drove along the detour and into Leaskdale, and I hardly noticed the dazzling countryside around me, the countryside which normally stunned me with its subtle glamour.
I walked into the quiet church. My hair would not do itself. My makeup made me feel like an imposter. The high neck on my blouse was a boa constrictor around my neck. I thought I could do nothing but fail and humiliate myself so devastatingly that I would never recover. But then… my gasping lungs began to slow. As I buttoned my jacket and placed my hat jauntily atop my head, my posture straightened and I found my breath steady and my nerves calm. The murmur of the house trickled down to my dressing room and I knew it was time. This was it. And as I gathered myself up the stairs to greet my audience, I felt no shadow of the anxiety that followed me all day. I felt nothing but a tingle of anticipation as I invited my peers to share a story with me.
I have never understood it, my opening night ritual, filled with butterfly-filled tummies, uncontrollable nerves and doubtful convictions. But there has never been, and never shall be, any high like it.
Jennifer opened June 28 as Lucy Maud Montgomery in Maud of Leaskdale, playing through September 3 at the Historic Church in the village. Don’t miss it!
