Memories of Much Ado

I don't usually expect to be struck by memories in the course of cleaning up my room, but it happens. This morning, between a perfume experiment going on in the bathroom (don't ask) and the fact that the ferret was crawling around in my dresser, I gave up on folding clothes and turned to straighten the desk.

Its surface was strewn with dress patterns, and there was no good place to put them except the sewing basket whence they came. I was busy wondering how to detox a bathroom counter, and how to get Emma out of my dresser, which left me unprepared for an inverse version of Pandora's Box. I flipped the catch and... oh, my. There were a hundred brass eyelets winking up at me. I sat back on my heels, stunned.

I'll never need pictures of Much Ado About Nothing. I remember every moment. I remember the first awkward evening of measuring my charges for their costumes, in the middle of Hurricane What's-Her-Name. I remember the lights going out mid-rehearsal. I remember the endless fittings, and how I felt like nanny to a nursery full of bored boys. I had to stand on chairs for some of them.

"Will, you're a dreadful height!"

"Sorry."

But I wasn't really annoyed, and he wasn't really sorry... and he looked so funny, scrunched down to deliver the line, "I will assume thy part in some disguise, and tell fair Hero 'I am Claudio.'"

I was incredibly proud of my boys. The work often seemed beyond my capacity, but God provided. I laced boots and tied cuffs and adjusted cloaks, ignoring my sore fingers. The cast--and Shakespeare--made it all worthwhile. I taught Will to sew his fingertips together. Daniel and I spent hour after hour coaching Emily in her lines. Sarah and Carrie were up until midnight with me, making boots, enjoying fellowship.

I remember Friday night, getting ready for our second performance...

"Germany, Ireland says that he likes his boots tied just the way they are."

Will grinned at me. "Remind Ireland that I'm the Don Pedro around here. Besides, I'm related to the first white settler in West Virginia, and some pirate who was knighted by Queen Elizabeth."

Back I trotted to the front of the room, thoroughly impressed. "Ireland, Germany says..." I repeated the litany.

"It's a wonder his ancestors weren't all inbred or hanged out of existence long before he was born."

I had to laugh. Trot, trot to Boston... "Germany, Ireland says..."

I remember the way we laughed together, and the talks we had. It was always special to think through a character with one of the cast members, to step into Shakespeare, to work out the meanings of those immortal lines. Emily and I would discuss Beatrice: her pride, her ultimate humility, the way she cared for Hero, and her love for Benedict.

"Can you imagine what it must have been like for her," I would say, tucking my knees up under my chin, "to meet Benedict after he had been away to war? She loved him, and he hadn't loved her. Yet she had to meet him again, with only her wit for a defense. The tension in this first scene is incredible, and later... when they pledge to love later, you get the sense that they have both counted the cost of loving, and are deciding to do it anyway. It's very different from innocent Hero and faithless Claudio."

"Would she be angry, do you think?" Emily mused.

"Oh, somewhat I guess, don't you? But he was her equal and her friend. They understood each other, and she must have missed him. She must have missed him so much, while he was away fighting. Beatrice doesn't strike me as an angry person. She's suffered, but she hasn't allowed it to make her bitter; she cares for her cousin, and is merry and bright in spite of her heartache. That's real bravery. That's the miracle of Beatrice, to me. She's still generous, in spite of everything."

Emily grinned. "I don't think that I can work all that into the lines."

I smiled back at her. "Silly! Of course not. But when Beatrice looks at Benedict... 'all that' is in her heart."

Sitting on my floor in the sunshine, I can see their faces and hear their voices. I am backstage again, listening to Micah ad-lib a line: "Praise God, it is day!" The scenes shift... Micah getting makeup, Don Pedro and Claudio with lantern-glow on their cheekbones. I see Carrie in Hero's mask, laughing at me. I am teaching Will to dance. I am fencing with Claudio. I am listening to Leonato wrestle with the justifiability of the American Revolution. We are talking about hymns and the Passion. We are talking about whether or not Benedict should kiss Beatrice. We are singing around the piano. We are clowning at the Cast Party. We are gathered in a TJI Friday's booth at one in the morning. We are praying on Opening Night.

Oh, how I miss it! I could wish that it had gone on forever, in spite of the stress and exhaustion. But I had it for a little while... and I'll have my memories forever.