As
Re-reading this, I can tell this was written during my over-dramatic, angst-y years, but the basic message still stands: your friends are there to help.
The Rivers and Ravines
It takes the greatest courage
To go on Acting to the end
As do the rivers and ravines.
--Boris Pasternak (epigraph from The Rivers and Ravines, by Heather McDonald)
From the moment I met Tess Harper, I understood her. I was a sophomore in high school, far in age from her, but we had a connection. She had gone through some difficult times, and I sympathized. A little after I met her, Tess committed suicide.
It was a frosty December day when I met Tess. I began my school day the same way I always did, heading to my theater teacher's room for tutorials. When I arrived that morning, Mrs. Tatsch called me to her desk and handed me a thick stapled script. “I'm considering this for One-Act.” Excitedly, I began to read The Rivers and Ravines that day. The story was about a small Colorado town in the 1980s that was almost destroyed by the farm crisis. The play was largely a political statement that blamed the government for the fact that so many people lost their farms.
Though I understood that part of the play’s message, what really struck me was one character: Tess Harper. Tess was a young farm wife, only 24, when she and her husband signed the papers that eventually would lead to the foreclosure. Soon after, she lost her only child, which devastated her. For Tess, family was everything. She wanted nothing more than to care for them. When she lost the land that had been handed down to her by her father, Tess was driven to suicide because of her feelings of guilt and failure.
As always, I picked a character, and for me, the obvious choice was Tess. Though her life and struggles were unfamiliar to me, I knew that I could portray her well, because I understood her devotion to her family. That year, for several reasons, we were unable to compete with The Rivers and Ravines in One-Act Play competition, and we performed another work instead.
My junior year, in later November, the Rivers script was pulled out once again. I hadn't thought about Tess in almost a year, but I still knew that she was the character I wanted. I was cast as Tess Harper a few weeks later, and I began working on my part.
When we got past the blocking and the line-learning, it was harder to be Tess than I had thought it would be. I felt a natural affinity for Tess, but I still had to work on showing her feelings realistically. It always took a huge amount of effort and concentration, until our performance at the Wimberly One-Act Play Festival. For the first time, it was easy to be Tess. I actually felt what she did. When Tess was burning the mementos of her daughter, I had to hold back actual tears so as not to ruin my heavy stage makeup. When Tess was speaking to no one about the pain of losing everything, I couldn't stop my voice from shaking.
When it came time for the suicide, I was breathing hard, hyperventilating almost. I could see nothing before me but the shiny interior of the barrel reflecting the red and blue colors of the flame light. My toes felt squished against the paper towels I had stuffed into the toes of my too-large mud boots. “I think maybe we are more alive when people say we are dead than we are now,” I said, a sob choking my voice. Taking in a shaky breath, I lifted my right foot from the safe, stable surface of the unit set and braced it against the lip of the metal barrel. Then, using a technique I had practiced dozens of times in rehearsal, I pulled up my other foot and balanced on the edges of the barrel. It was still shaking beneath my feet when I delivered my last, anguished line, “I keep having these dreams.”
Every light in the auditorium blacked out. I could see nothing before me. After counting two seconds in my head –one thousand one, one thousand two—I reached out in front of me and began feeling for the shoulders of my cast mate. That was our big secret to my silent disappearance during the ten-second blackout: a piggyback ride. My fingers found the flannel covered shoulders, and I let myself fall forward onto his back. A few quick strides and we were in the wings. I slid off my cast mate’s back and made my way to the down right wing so I could watch the show. My character (being dead and all) wasn’t in the show again until the very last scene, and then only by supernatural forces.
I leaned against the wall and watched as my friends, both in reality and in the show, held my funeral. It was a gift that neither Tess Harper nor her real-life inspirations ever received. I had attended funerals before, of course, but it was a very different experience to watch the funeral of the person you were two minutes before. I could see how much my actions had hurt everyone and that I had given up, thinking I had no options, when sitting before me were a dozen people who would have given everything to lift me out of the hole into which I had dug myself. I was wrong. Not 10 seconds into the funeral, I regretted it.
That evening, I thought about myself and about Tess. Though I had never lost a home or considered suicide, I knew I was guilty of isolating myself, just like Tess. Both of us were surrounded by people willing to help, and both of us, at some point, shut down and refused that help without even realizing we were doing so.
It wasn't until I felt what Tess felt—the crushing weight of losing everything—that I understood how truly important my friends and family were. Tess struggled alone for years, so when people tried to talk to her later on, she never confided in them because she just wasn't used to opening up to others. I, too, generally fought my way through problems on my own, never asking for help or reaching out.
Because of Tess, I realized problems can pile up quickly, and that one hardly ever makes the right decisions under stress and alone. Tess, through her terrible mistake, revealed to me how valuable my friends and family are. Tess's friends and family could have saved her, and I now know to let mine help me, even save me when I need it.
It was a frosty December day when I met Tess. I began my school day the same way I always did, heading to my theater teacher's room for tutorials. When I arrived that morning, Mrs. Tatsch called me to her desk and handed me a thick stapled script. “I'm considering this for One-Act.” Excitedly, I began to read The Rivers and Ravines that day. The story was about a small Colorado town in the 1980s that was almost destroyed by the farm crisis. The play was largely a political statement that blamed the government for the fact that so many people lost their farms.
Though I understood that part of the play’s message, what really struck me was one character: Tess Harper. Tess was a young farm wife, only 24, when she and her husband signed the papers that eventually would lead to the foreclosure. Soon after, she lost her only child, which devastated her. For Tess, family was everything. She wanted nothing more than to care for them. When she lost the land that had been handed down to her by her father, Tess was driven to suicide because of her feelings of guilt and failure.
As always, I picked a character, and for me, the obvious choice was Tess. Though her life and struggles were unfamiliar to me, I knew that I could portray her well, because I understood her devotion to her family. That year, for several reasons, we were unable to compete with The Rivers and Ravines in One-Act Play competition, and we performed another work instead.
My junior year, in later November, the Rivers script was pulled out once again. I hadn't thought about Tess in almost a year, but I still knew that she was the character I wanted. I was cast as Tess Harper a few weeks later, and I began working on my part.
When we got past the blocking and the line-learning, it was harder to be Tess than I had thought it would be. I felt a natural affinity for Tess, but I still had to work on showing her feelings realistically. It always took a huge amount of effort and concentration, until our performance at the Wimberly One-Act Play Festival. For the first time, it was easy to be Tess. I actually felt what she did. When Tess was burning the mementos of her daughter, I had to hold back actual tears so as not to ruin my heavy stage makeup. When Tess was speaking to no one about the pain of losing everything, I couldn't stop my voice from shaking.
When it came time for the suicide, I was breathing hard, hyperventilating almost. I could see nothing before me but the shiny interior of the barrel reflecting the red and blue colors of the flame light. My toes felt squished against the paper towels I had stuffed into the toes of my too-large mud boots. “I think maybe we are more alive when people say we are dead than we are now,” I said, a sob choking my voice. Taking in a shaky breath, I lifted my right foot from the safe, stable surface of the unit set and braced it against the lip of the metal barrel. Then, using a technique I had practiced dozens of times in rehearsal, I pulled up my other foot and balanced on the edges of the barrel. It was still shaking beneath my feet when I delivered my last, anguished line, “I keep having these dreams.”
Every light in the auditorium blacked out. I could see nothing before me. After counting two seconds in my head –one thousand one, one thousand two—I reached out in front of me and began feeling for the shoulders of my cast mate. That was our big secret to my silent disappearance during the ten-second blackout: a piggyback ride. My fingers found the flannel covered shoulders, and I let myself fall forward onto his back. A few quick strides and we were in the wings. I slid off my cast mate’s back and made my way to the down right wing so I could watch the show. My character (being dead and all) wasn’t in the show again until the very last scene, and then only by supernatural forces.
I leaned against the wall and watched as my friends, both in reality and in the show, held my funeral. It was a gift that neither Tess Harper nor her real-life inspirations ever received. I had attended funerals before, of course, but it was a very different experience to watch the funeral of the person you were two minutes before. I could see how much my actions had hurt everyone and that I had given up, thinking I had no options, when sitting before me were a dozen people who would have given everything to lift me out of the hole into which I had dug myself. I was wrong. Not 10 seconds into the funeral, I regretted it.
That evening, I thought about myself and about Tess. Though I had never lost a home or considered suicide, I knew I was guilty of isolating myself, just like Tess. Both of us were surrounded by people willing to help, and both of us, at some point, shut down and refused that help without even realizing we were doing so.
It wasn't until I felt what Tess felt—the crushing weight of losing everything—that I understood how truly important my friends and family were. Tess struggled alone for years, so when people tried to talk to her later on, she never confided in them because she just wasn't used to opening up to others. I, too, generally fought my way through problems on my own, never asking for help or reaching out.
Because of Tess, I realized problems can pile up quickly, and that one hardly ever makes the right decisions under stress and alone. Tess, through her terrible mistake, revealed to me how valuable my friends and family are. Tess's friends and family could have saved her, and I now know to let mine help me, even save me when I need it.
that's beautiful!
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