Bye Bye Birdie

At the ripe age of 11, I know that the only thing that has ever made me feel weightless, that fleeting feeling that unhappiness is impossible, is being on stage. Not just the applause and the feeling that you did well, but the comradery you have with your cast members. Unfortunately, with this realization came the understanding that while I love to be in musicals, I was not very good at it. My acting skills are debatable, but my singing is not. I am virtually tone deaf. So, I am aware that this sixth grade play, Bye Bye Birdie, would be my goodbye to the acting world. From now on, I would enjoy shows from a seat in the audience. 

I was given one line. I benefited from nepotism, given that the director really liked my siblings as students in her science class. I will say, “She’s just crying ‘cuz she’ll be too old for him when he gets out.” I am, of course, talking about Conrad Birdie’s disappointing attraction to girls much younger than him, although I did not know that at the time. I practice my line over and over. You say it right before “Put on a Happy Face,” I tell myself. I’m even due to get a microphone headset. 

There are two ensembles in this junior musical. The one with the most members, the below average and average folk, were Birdie’s Fans; the other was the School Girls. I, of course, was one of Birdie’s Fans. We were in a number of songs, all with non-complex choreography, but it was still too much for my best friend and me, who made a mockery of ourselves with our embarrassing uncoordinated tapping.

The difference in excitement, happiness, and performance between practice and a production is immeasurable. I didn’t enjoy practice – middle school teachers take these fun things a little too seriously. The performance, on the other hand, remains one of the most fun days I have had. There is something about doing things at night, in the dark, that adds to the level of enjoyment like nothing else. Walking in the school I enter every day, the smell of the linoleum floors mixed with ammonium was different. Like the custodians knew this was an important night, so they put a little ‘good luck charm’ in the common wash used for the floors. Going in through the front, and having to walk the furthest length possible to get to the auditorium is like being a new emperor of a kingdom. Seeing those once-threatening places in the dark, makes you stand straight, and allows you to breathe deeper than you ever were able to in those hallways.

The play starts and I watch from the wings. I watch these girls, who seem so old to me, sing and act their hearts out. They look like the most graceful beings in the world. My heart flutters and I get dizzy in the breaks between each scene. I enter for the first time, stumbling a little and I keep my eyes on my friends, worried I might fall off the stage if I look anywhere else. Now we face the audience, but the lights blind me. It’s a sea of black I stare into while I do my line dance. I know I look like a fool, but it’s this combined feeling of our foolishness that brings us together, that makes this experience so worth it. My line, when delivered, is quite shaky and I stutter, but it is important to me that I’ve done it. When we bow, I am still on this performance high, this wonderful feeling of being the being that those people, out there, in that sea of black, in my empire are cheering for. I only realized later that night, when the feeling had died down, that that was the last time I would rule an empire, and from now on, I will only be a wave, cheering for those in front of me.