I attended a huge public high school where you might want to keep it to yourself if you’d ever been a Girl Scout, took French as an elective, or had a county library card.
None of us had wealth. We were not the homogenous club of a private school. To graduate at escape velocity, we needed grades and extra-curricular activities. In chorus, band, civics club and on the athletic fields, special attention could change a trajectory with a scholarship or admission to a private college.
So, although I was only a sophomore, I auditioned for South Pacific, specifically for the lead role of the perky Navy nurse, Nellie Forbush. I was both excited and terrified to be called back after the first round of auditions to read again with several other girls. By the end of the afternoon the director said it was between Joanne and me.
Joanne was a senior which made her my superior in every way. An experienced thespian, she had presence, talent, and spontaneity. She was also an awesome competitor. By comparison, I was pretty tightly-wound with all the awkwardness of sophomore-dom. I only fit in with a narrow margin of my peers, (the safety-conscious, the selective rule abiders). And far from being confident, I was astonished every time I opened my mouth on stage and anything came out at all. That what came out was an actual melody and in the right key made me want to stop and stammer my amazement to the audience like I might have had, I don’t know, a spaceship landed stage right.
So, Joanne sang Bali Ha’i. I sang Bali Ha’i. Joanne sang Some Enchanted Evening, I followed suit. In the darkened auditorium the director and assistant director put their heads together in consternation. Which girl was the real Nellie Forbush? Which one? Joanne and I stood center stage smiling blindly into the footlights and our futures. “Okay,” Ms. James said, suddenly inspired. “Laura, we want you to sing I’m Gonna Wash That Man Right Outa My Hair, and this time, could you also do a little dance?
Where was that spaceship? I didn’t know how to dance. I had no moves! I had a reputation for being smart, not cool—but I wasn’t smart either. I just had the advantage of having college-educated parents in a school where that was not the norm. For instance, I didn’t have to study grammar. I only had to speak as I was spoken to at home. That was imposter-luck, not intelligence. And I had the pseudo-maturity of a child of divorce when that role was a rarity. It meant I volunteered in class, told the teacher when she had missed a buttonhole. I wasn’t being ingratiating, I just understood the overworked women who taught me because I lived with one, and students anxious to please tend to get good grades.
Mr. Nichols cued the orchestra giving me no time to prepare. I was, however, trying out for the cheerleading squad that Friday. I’m pretty sure the onlookers seated in the auditorium that afternoon were treated to a first-of-its-kind hybrid cheer-dance. Something like, “I’m gonna wash that man right outa my hair, cause we’re gonna go, we’re gonna fight, we’re gonna win this game tonight, Eagles!” There may have been leaping involved. I’m so sorry.
I did not play Nellie Forbush that year. I was in the chorus. Joanne was spectacular. I did go to my high school reunion years later. We had become policemen, social workers, accountants, and firefighters. We had become parents. We had loved and lost. I couldn’t help noticing a kind of soft glow in the room that could not be attributed to any outer source of light.
My boyfriend from senior year was there. We’d starred in the spring musical, Guys and Dolls before we had left for college. Mike had played the charismatic gambler, Sky Masterson and I’d played the uptight, self-righteous missionary, Sarah Brown. I was excellent at this. I barely needed to audition.
That was decades ago and we’re having another reunion in November. I’m going. Mike is going, too. He’s bringing his husband. They live in NYC. On Facebook I see that Mike is still very involved in theater and his joy, his delight with the life he has made, is palpable. I may not know another soul there, but I hope Mike and his husband Rob will dance with me. Would that be weird? The three of us dancing?
And it’s honestly got me to thinking there is something to this theory that we are born into soul families. That groups of people are born in concert because they are going to have roles in each other’s lives. I have found it easy to believe that’s true of our primary loves—the people with whom we create children, or our parents, siblings, our children themselves, maybe even our grandparents.
But I did not believe before, that the cast may include the bus driver, the boy you learned to fish with who moved away when you were seven. The family that found your dog the night he ran away. What do you think?
I’m beginning to suspect there is no distinction. That if some people were meant to be in your life, they all were. If you were destined to love some of the people in your world, maybe all of the people in your world are significant in a personal way, even those with brief and minor roles.
Which is why rediscovering them years later is a special delight—more so than making a new friend.
Because you’re recovering your family. Your people. Your tribe.
*****
Carol says
What must it be like to live in your head?? I Love everything you write and completely related to it.
Under sad circumstances, I surprisingly made contact with a childhood classmate. I can’t wait to send her your story! Couldn’t believe how sad it was to let her go again… I LOVE your writing!!! Carol 💕
Laura J Oliver says
Thanks so much, Carol! I’m laughing because I’ve always felt pretty alone in my head! Probably why I write. To see if there’s anyone out there wondering about the same things I’m wondering about. And it’s probably not a coincidence that growing up, the most frequent admonition I’d hear from classmates and even potential boyfriends was…”You think too much.” Thanks so much for reading and writing!
Nancy Prendergast says
I love your theme here, Laura, Recovering your special people. I also love how inventive you are with language. “The awkwardness of sophomore-dom” made me laugh out loud. “Imposter luck, first-of-its-kind hybrid cheer dance”. You are so good at expressing subtle truths that are often missed: “I couldn’t help noticing a kind of soft glow in the room that could not be attributed to any outer source of light.”
Thanks for taking us back to the long-gone days of high school
Laura J Oliver says
Thank you, Nancy. So much! I will be watching for a new story to share after the reunion:) Who knows who will turn up and what it will mean? Thanks for reading! Thanks for writing!
Andrea Doudera says
So well said and with such humor! We’ve all been there … or wanted to be! I look forward to your essay every week.
Laura J Oliver says
Thanks so much! Hearing that a column has landed as intended is so gratifying. These are the moments of connection, where you know that laughing alone in your office, you weren’t really alone. Thanks for both reading and writing!
Lee says
Thank you, Laura. I look forward to reading your work every weekend.
Laura J Oliver says
Thank you, Lee. You know, I look forward to reading the comments, so you have a reading audience as well. An appreciative one!
Darrell parsons says
My graduating class had 30 kids. Our children went to a school much like the one you describe. I became a professional singer and my children pursued professional music careers. The South Pacific audition you describe is something we all experienced- big school or little. And auditioning never changed – terrifying! My first professional job was the chorus of the Theater Under the Stars in Atlanta. I was hired for my singing, but since we were doing Broadway shows. There was dancing in every show, and I was always in the back row. I could have used your cheerleading skills Thank you for this story. I was really glad to see that you didn’t give up, and went on to play Sarah in Guys and Dolls.
Laura J Oliver says
Well, I probably should have said that yes, I did make the cheerleading squad, but that too, was some kind of miracle because it wasn’t really a good fit. I’m seeing a theme here…I may have just wanted to be picked for stuff more than actually participate. Cringe. Sorry. But I applied to Washington College as a drama major and was in several plays there before I switched to English. And you can see how that turned out–still writing:) Thanks for sharing your story! Musical children. What a gift.
Rebecca Gaffney says
When I see an article by Laura Oliver I immediately read (and many times skip the rest). Her writing touches on so many events we have long forgotten. If Laura brought stray animals home with regularlity, I know we are definitely cut from the same cloth!
Laura Oliver says
Thank you, Rebecca. You are so kind. I tried to heal an injured flying squirrel once, and to hatch an abandoned robin’s egg…but if I could have another life, I’d foster or adopt children in need, and get each one of them a dog:)
Susan Baker says
I loved your essay. I just returned from my 50th high school reunion, a few years delayed secondary to Covid. While earlier reunions seemed to be focused on displaying spouses, pictures of children, and descriptions of our career paths, this reunion was a softer, sweeter sharing of memorable moments, friendships, and awareness of lifes’fragility. It was lovely. A glimpse of who we were and who we have become.
Victoria Duncan says
Awww, Laura–you get me where I live! This was a lovely essay and I have shared it with a number of people, including an old high school friend. Like others have said, I look forward to reading your essays each week. This line is one I will remember: “I couldn’t help noticing a kind of soft glow in the room that could not be attributed to any outer source of light.” Thank you for reminding us of those moments when we might otherwise overlook that soft glow!