The Audition

In the church, the dear friend gives me the text for his wedding ceremony - my first time officiating - and explains where bits are written in fragments, telling me, "You'll have to just improvise. It's fine," when I realize my audition is in two minutes, in the basement. So I run downstairs to the black box theatre to find the director, a stodgy, old school English Lit. PhD type, and Carolyn Gillespie, a professor from my undergrad days, who is a assisting him in casting his play, waiting for me. I explain my dilemma, having double booked. Carolyn is more sympathetic than the director who is clearly unimpressed with my lack of professionalism. Apologetically I offer to knock out the monologue then run up and do the ceremony. Reluctantly the director agrees. As I get up to perform, my mind blanking on the name of the play/playwright from whom I've selected my monologue, several students begin wandering into the room as if for class and suddenly I have an audience, most of whom don't seem to care that I'm right in the middle of something. Feeling sweat in uncomfortable places, I fight for attention. I begin my audition and realize I can’t even remember what monologue I’m doing. Then people start responding to me, offering audience participation. Time slows to a crawl as a girl sitting in the back stutters a reply to something I’ve said. I say, “Uh, it’s not an audition, ma’am.” There’s a bit of tittering from the others. I add, irritably, “At least not for you!” This gets a big laugh…I wake up.