War Poet.ca - A CFAP Project by Suzanne Steele

rehearsal 2 (from May Day)

an excerpt from the fictional May Day. for background information on May Day and its characters, click on the May Day icon at the right of the page

M,

“get out of your head and into your dance. think big” V, at rehearsal today. “move away from the mirrors chicas. start thinking Theatre. big stage. big event. dance chicas dance. this is no exercise. this is the real thing.”

she warmed us up. José Mercé‘s Lio. the warm pain of Mercé‘s flamenco voice, a bulerias got us through early morning aches. fanned the flamenco within.

V moved us from drilled choreography. marking steps, arms, body shapes over and over. breaks. ramates. committed to memory. “head left, body straight ahead, planta let’s hear those heels, accent accent accent.” to imagining the real deal. footlights. spotlights. a cadre of guitarists, cahones, palmas, the hungry audience. and chance. six months to go before the big show. only one night with which to make it or not. Spain. the Feria. would we be fakes. or would we be real?

and as we moved into our Farucca, especially faster footwork, V stopped us. gave us new blocking. new directions. then I remembered the turning point for you. just before Wainwright. when your boys rehearsed themselves into their new reality. “four months mes amis, and you’ll be walking the real ambush alley. so get out of your fucking heads. stop thinking, me, me, me. think theatre now. or you’ll be dead (and you’ll take your brothers with you) or there’ll be real injury.”

you called me on your cell one night. exhausted. but in your voice exhilaration. something clicked in the boys that day. something took them from pretend soldier to real.

and this year. when we lost Big G. (and I swear that square of sunlight that shines for only a few minutes on the studio floor is him) we thought our hearts had been cut out. that we couldn’t go on without him. though we did. though we cried and cried. our faces, our bodies heartless without the laughing one. Big G, our guitarist who literally gave us our compas dead way too young. and I remembered when your rifle company lost one of the young ones. found him swinging from the shower on Ex. his homelife imploded he couldn’t see future. how the boys were angry. then sad. then angry. then determined to keep going.

o M, our lives. so different. yet so much the same. you and your boys moving moving. and today. the chicas a few centimetres closer. maintained their aim.


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The page you're reading contains a single diary entry entitled rehearsal 2 (from May Day). It was posted here on January 12, 2011.

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