Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
-William Shakespeare, MACBETH
Beautiful, isn’t it? It’s so easy to get lost in tomorrow. In the fulfillment of dreams we pray tomorrow will bring. If all my tomorrows came true, my life would look a lot different than it does now. I would have spent much more time on the stage and in front of a camera. But when watching the latest entertainment news these days, it’s probably best that I chose another path. I hate to think of what I would have been asked to do for fame.
I used similar thoughts to justify giving up the role of Narcissus in “Polaroaid Stories” at the University of Maryland. But upholding my morals was not the real reason I gave it up. I was afraid. Scared that I wouldn’t be able to handle the pressure of nightly rehearsals on top of a full course load and my job at the newspaper. More importantly, I was scared that I had no talent and would make a fool of myself. The only solution I could think of was to give up the role.
Thankfully, Lawrence didn’t think that was such a great idea. At least a week had passed since I’d emailed the director my decision. As another day of regret ended, I climbed into the twin bed I occupied in the spare room of my aunt’s home and fell asleep. I was then transported to Adele’s office on campus. We were discussing the possibility of me coming back to do the production. She watched me closely and weighed if she should take the risk. After a few moments, she began to inform me of the rehearsal schedule and her expectations. I was in. I woke up excited at the idea of returning to the play and knew there was only one way to find out if the dream was real. I sent Adele another email.
Just as in my dream, Adele asked me to come to her office on campus and we discussed why I gave up the role and why I wanted it back. Then, she began to discuss the rehearsal schedule. My dream had become reality. I was given a second chance to bring Narcissus to life.
I don’t fully know why that role was so important to me. And why it seemed to want me as much as I wanted it. But it felt meant to be. It opened a door that allowed me to fully step into the role of a college student. For the first time I could walk into a building and chat, play, and laugh with other students. I was seen, known, and respected. Before the play, I occasionally associated with three other students whom I knew from high school. I hadn’t made a single new friend in the 2 years I had already been at Maryland. I didn’t know how. Theater became my how.
In the play, Narcissus has similar struggles. He came from a broken home and had to quickly figure out how to survive on the streets alone. He had great stories of sexual encounters, but those encounters never led to anything substantial. He was dispensable. Something that could be thrown out in the morning without a second thought. I knew that feeling too. Both of us struggled with knowing how to love ourselves when no one else wanted to. At least no one we longed for.
In reality, the love I sought could never be found because my beliefs about love came from television and film. Growing up, I never had a real example of two people loving each other. I have very few memories of my biological father with my mother. The most vivid memory is watching him beat my mother in the basement. I approached him from behind with a belt in hand and swung as hard as my 6-year-old arm could. I then ran for dear life. My next clearest memory is of us watching TV in the basement before he leaves and is found dead a few days later. My memory gets a bit spotty after that. I remember my mom dating other men and when she met my stepdad. But I mostly remember always being at a baby sister’s home or in our empty house waiting. Waiting for her to come home and spend time with me.
While locked up in a mental institution recently for living through an injustice that most would consider to be psychosis instead of reality, I found myself in the fetal position under three thin blankets, trying to stay warm. It was Thanksgiving Day and I was trying to sleep the hours away until I would eventually be released. A date unknown. While heating the air under the blankets with my breath, I had a flashback to my childhood. Waiting for my mom to come pick me and my sister up from the sitter. I remember us almost always being the last to leave. “What was she doing?” I questioned for the first time. To my surprise, just as I began to reflect on waiting for my mother, my name was called by the nurse. Someone was there to see me. I got up confused and was escorted to a room where I saw my sister. We hadn’t seen or spoken to each other in over 3 years. After giving her a big hug of gratitude, we sat down and I told her what I remembered.
I don’t recall too much of my stepdad and mother being loving towards each other or how they made decisions about the household. Decisions were made and I had to follow them. It was as simple as that. If I didn’t, my punishment was usually no TV, my favorite thing as a kid. Television taught me about love, and I believed love would cure my life. “Perhaps it will arrive tomorrow,” I would tell myself.
That hope grew even stronger when I finally left my parents’ home and moved in with my aunt. I had a bit more freedom and didn’t have to lie about my sexuality. That doesn’t mean my aunt agreed with my sexuality, but she wasn’t going to throw me out because of it. I soon found out, that didn’t mean she wasn’t willing to throw me out.
The summer I moved in with my aunt, I was taught that love only goes so far. She was proud of herself for taking me in. She never had children of her own and she said my father would not have wanted me out on the street. It was her duty to help and house me. That is, until she found out how much an 18-year-old could eat. We had made a deal that I would pay $100 a month to stay with her during college. I’d saved up money while working in high school and knew I could get by for a while before I had to find another job. I found two immediately but hated both and quit within a week. My grandmother even stepped in and got me a job at her old grocery store. A place I knew well. I left after a few shifts because I couldn’t see myself there. It didn’t fit me. My aunt didn’t like this answer.
One day, while sitting at home on my aunt’s couch, eating her steak salad and watching her television, she walked in and asked to speak with me. She told me that she had planned to come home and tell me I had to go. That she wasn’t going to put up with a black man who didn’t want to work. She was going to do that but her pastor told her not to. She thankfully thought to speak with him first. We continued to talk and decided to change the financial agreement within the house. I no longer had to pay her $100 a month but would need to pay for my own food. We had settled our issue, but I was left with the feeling that love and security no longer existed for me in that house. I was someone to be tolerated, much like my sexuality.
When Adele gave me a second chance to play Narcissus, I was given an opportunity to acknowledge and voice my pain and outrage at the lack of love in my life. I knew that tapping into that pain was dangerous. My mother had already taught me in high school what could happen if I went against her. She removed me from my theater program and enrolled me in a different high school. Now that she was paying my tuition for university, I had to be careful. I had already taken a chance at losing funding when I signed up for a theater class the semester before. To now accept a role in a campus play was an even bigger transgression.
I believe that consciously accepting this risk was the spirit Narcissus needed from me if I was going to become him. It’s also exactly what I needed if I was going to fully become myself. Rebirth.
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