Now comes the obligatory sigh - FINALS ARE OVER. In a matter of moments a book that was so invaluable I could not have lived without became worth only what I can get at the bookstore for buybacks. I'm allowed to go outside and enjoy the warm Spring evening now and extricate my face from the pages of Greek history and the Italian Renaissance and other such old things. As of five minutes ago, my Spring Break began and it feels GOOD. Watch Ohio turn nasty on me just as soon as I can spend copious time outside - it's the way the weather here works. Oh well - if it does, it's a sign that there is other stuff I need to catch up on, even though all of it would be more enjoyable from my front porch, insane neighbor kids and all.
For the first time I've been in school, the end of the quarter was rather bittersweet. Yesterday was my final for my theater class - the one we'd all been dreading, because it would be the last day we would all really be together. My life has changed notably since being in that class and I can count several of them as friends I could call some night if I want somebody to do anything with.
It was perfect outside, a June day in March, and we all began trickling to the feet of the hokey Columbus statue. We had never met there before, but it seemed fitting that we all mess around before class together. The appropriate people lit up and everyone remarked flippantly how their work due today wasn't even close to being done, how they weren't remotely well-rehearsed enough for their final scene. The platform behind the statue became our stage, and we ran through scripts with the wild hope that we had somehow memorized it in time. People walking by made the funniest faces and we laughed, loving every minute of the attention. Many different scenarios unfolded rapidly there to the background of laughter and frantic scribbling; a swearing dog, a girlfriend denying her boyfriend sex, a pompous black kid in a top hat and white gloves, and a goof in a gorilla mask all paraded across that space as we soaked in the time and the sunlight. Eventually even Frank, our theater teacher, made his way over to smoke and laugh and sunbathe with us. A few minutes later he beckoned us toward the auditorium, Chris and I still running lines as we walked, him still trying to shake off his hangover.
Every day we were in class we did this group-building exercise where the eleven of us would stand in a circle and Frank would pull out a harshly abused little bean bag. the object was to keep the ball in the air as long as possible - our end goal being 100 - and to hit it back and forth with any body part imaginable. You'd be surprised how playable a bounce off a shoulder or forehead would be. To our delight we did reach the upper 60s, but never hit triple digits much to our dismay. Yesterday before our final skits, me trailing a leash behind me, Dana and Andrea looking like they had stepped out of Little House on the Prairie, we played with the ball one last time. There was delightful feeling to it all, like we were all doing our best to savor it. Mike made some fabulous diving saves; Chris fell off stage and smack into a chair, spilling a drink on the way down; Andrea kept giggling about how my leash looked like a tail; JD cracked his usual questionable jokes; all of us whined about how the lights were either too bright or too dark as an excuse. We set no records, but I don't think any of us really had that as priority - we were just trying to make the most of our last afternoon.
The scenes were incredible. Every one of them was lying through their teeth with necessary modesty when they said they weren't prepared. Corey and Mohammed, known both for being very serious about their acting, had prepared their scene to the max; Corey played the frantic opportunist of selling his own drowning excellently and Mohammed was oddly very dignified as the snobby gentlemen, both very opposite of what they usually contribute to the group. Ashley and Mike were charming, and, to our great disappointment, didn't fully makeout as the script had it written but their scene from "I Hate Hamlet" was delightful. Mike and I had done a scene together earlier in the quarter; I will miss him, smartass and all. Every one begged Chris and I to go next; we did an outloud read through the first day and everyone knew I played a dog whose barking is translated into violent swearing, which everyone loved and which chris and I pulled off somehow. I had never been on stage like this before; it was strange how the audience melted into the lights and all I could hear was their laughter. Than Dana and Andrea, true to their form as real life best friends did a rapid dialogue together about their sister shooting someone "slap in the gut", turning the witty script into something utterly charming with their chemistry. Sarah and Dana and JD struggled, but pulled together to prove individual spots of brilliance; Sarah was surprisingly reactive as the disappointed girlfriend, JD did an excellent job carrying the scene when lines were forgotten, gorilla mask and all, and Justin struggled through a surplus of lines with a respectable amount of clarity. It was wonderful fun.
After I had untied my ridiculous crocheted leash, after Mohammed had relinquished his hat (but not yet his cane), after JD stopped insisting on wearing the gorilla mask Frank got up on stage and critiqued us. He was most pleased with Sarah and I - she and I are the least experienced as far as theater goes, she being in one show and I none at all, and he thought we held our own quite well among the veterans. Everyone had the chance for one last critique from everyone else, the friendly and insightful kind that the quarter had characterized as the norm, and the warmth was still there.
There was one last smoke break outside the building, and for once the nonsmokers stood in the circle. Eventually we began to trickle away, hugs all around. JD told me to call so we could all get together for one last hurrah together before the camaraderie faded. Justin gave me a sweet bear hug and I told him to be sure to call to hang out sometime, which he promised strongly. Mo gave me a hug and said "I'll be seeing you around for sure" (he came over and watched Borat at my house on Sunday). I mooched some of Andrea's cheese puffs, in the spirit of communal food that became the tradition among the girls when we met at the bookstore cafe for lunch before every class. I bumped butts with Sarah and invited her to come out and hang out with me and my friends at the church meeting Thursday. Dana and I left together and talked about the next time we would hang out and tried to encourage each other, she encouraging me for the scene, me trying to encourage her fresh walk with God (a privilege I'm still floored about).
A week from now I couldn't tell you what century I wrote about in my final humanities essay. Neither will I be able to rattle off the statistics about cell phones I crammed into my head for my pop culture final. I really don't care if I take little of lasting value from those classes. But I hope I remember every little detail about my theater class, because I know what a rare gift a class with people bonding like that is. And I loved every minute of it.
For the first time I've been in school, the end of the quarter was rather bittersweet. Yesterday was my final for my theater class - the one we'd all been dreading, because it would be the last day we would all really be together. My life has changed notably since being in that class and I can count several of them as friends I could call some night if I want somebody to do anything with.
It was perfect outside, a June day in March, and we all began trickling to the feet of the hokey Columbus statue. We had never met there before, but it seemed fitting that we all mess around before class together. The appropriate people lit up and everyone remarked flippantly how their work due today wasn't even close to being done, how they weren't remotely well-rehearsed enough for their final scene. The platform behind the statue became our stage, and we ran through scripts with the wild hope that we had somehow memorized it in time. People walking by made the funniest faces and we laughed, loving every minute of the attention. Many different scenarios unfolded rapidly there to the background of laughter and frantic scribbling; a swearing dog, a girlfriend denying her boyfriend sex, a pompous black kid in a top hat and white gloves, and a goof in a gorilla mask all paraded across that space as we soaked in the time and the sunlight. Eventually even Frank, our theater teacher, made his way over to smoke and laugh and sunbathe with us. A few minutes later he beckoned us toward the auditorium, Chris and I still running lines as we walked, him still trying to shake off his hangover.
Every day we were in class we did this group-building exercise where the eleven of us would stand in a circle and Frank would pull out a harshly abused little bean bag. the object was to keep the ball in the air as long as possible - our end goal being 100 - and to hit it back and forth with any body part imaginable. You'd be surprised how playable a bounce off a shoulder or forehead would be. To our delight we did reach the upper 60s, but never hit triple digits much to our dismay. Yesterday before our final skits, me trailing a leash behind me, Dana and Andrea looking like they had stepped out of Little House on the Prairie, we played with the ball one last time. There was delightful feeling to it all, like we were all doing our best to savor it. Mike made some fabulous diving saves; Chris fell off stage and smack into a chair, spilling a drink on the way down; Andrea kept giggling about how my leash looked like a tail; JD cracked his usual questionable jokes; all of us whined about how the lights were either too bright or too dark as an excuse. We set no records, but I don't think any of us really had that as priority - we were just trying to make the most of our last afternoon.
The scenes were incredible. Every one of them was lying through their teeth with necessary modesty when they said they weren't prepared. Corey and Mohammed, known both for being very serious about their acting, had prepared their scene to the max; Corey played the frantic opportunist of selling his own drowning excellently and Mohammed was oddly very dignified as the snobby gentlemen, both very opposite of what they usually contribute to the group. Ashley and Mike were charming, and, to our great disappointment, didn't fully makeout as the script had it written but their scene from "I Hate Hamlet" was delightful. Mike and I had done a scene together earlier in the quarter; I will miss him, smartass and all. Every one begged Chris and I to go next; we did an outloud read through the first day and everyone knew I played a dog whose barking is translated into violent swearing, which everyone loved and which chris and I pulled off somehow. I had never been on stage like this before; it was strange how the audience melted into the lights and all I could hear was their laughter. Than Dana and Andrea, true to their form as real life best friends did a rapid dialogue together about their sister shooting someone "slap in the gut", turning the witty script into something utterly charming with their chemistry. Sarah and Dana and JD struggled, but pulled together to prove individual spots of brilliance; Sarah was surprisingly reactive as the disappointed girlfriend, JD did an excellent job carrying the scene when lines were forgotten, gorilla mask and all, and Justin struggled through a surplus of lines with a respectable amount of clarity. It was wonderful fun.
After I had untied my ridiculous crocheted leash, after Mohammed had relinquished his hat (but not yet his cane), after JD stopped insisting on wearing the gorilla mask Frank got up on stage and critiqued us. He was most pleased with Sarah and I - she and I are the least experienced as far as theater goes, she being in one show and I none at all, and he thought we held our own quite well among the veterans. Everyone had the chance for one last critique from everyone else, the friendly and insightful kind that the quarter had characterized as the norm, and the warmth was still there.
There was one last smoke break outside the building, and for once the nonsmokers stood in the circle. Eventually we began to trickle away, hugs all around. JD told me to call so we could all get together for one last hurrah together before the camaraderie faded. Justin gave me a sweet bear hug and I told him to be sure to call to hang out sometime, which he promised strongly. Mo gave me a hug and said "I'll be seeing you around for sure" (he came over and watched Borat at my house on Sunday). I mooched some of Andrea's cheese puffs, in the spirit of communal food that became the tradition among the girls when we met at the bookstore cafe for lunch before every class. I bumped butts with Sarah and invited her to come out and hang out with me and my friends at the church meeting Thursday. Dana and I left together and talked about the next time we would hang out and tried to encourage each other, she encouraging me for the scene, me trying to encourage her fresh walk with God (a privilege I'm still floored about).
A week from now I couldn't tell you what century I wrote about in my final humanities essay. Neither will I be able to rattle off the statistics about cell phones I crammed into my head for my pop culture final. I really don't care if I take little of lasting value from those classes. But I hope I remember every little detail about my theater class, because I know what a rare gift a class with people bonding like that is. And I loved every minute of it.
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