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"They say the world is a stage. But obviously the play is unrehearsed and everybody is ad-libbing his lines."

-Calvin, Calvin and Hobbes

            Today was the first day that I auditioned for anything since that last time I bowed on the high school stage, an unimportant part crying tears of sadness and of loss of friends and experiences. And today was the first day I found my love for performing back since the unfortunate experience of the last fall.

            Recently I found my college essay, my journal entry from those months, and I would like to share the infamous “Richmond Essay.” My writing style hasn’t really changed much during this past year. I’m glad I can get away with this. Because I’m tired:

            “‘It’s time,’ mouths the stage manager.

            I hesitatingly tip-toe over to the edge of the backstage, perilously close to being seen by the attentive audience. Ever since intermission, I have been waiting behind these tall curtains, running nervously over my lines, sweat ruining the wrinkles created by layers of heavy makeup. With a cue from the orchestra, I gallop, stick-horse clenched tightly in my fist, onto the beaten black stage. The stage lights bearing down on my face highlight my long white wig bouncing up and down, as I make my way to center-stage. I look, and feel, like an idiot.

            The audience applauds.

            I’m caught off guard, my gleaming handle-bar moustache hiding a wide smile. I know, affirmed by a quick glance to the crowd, that the source of the applause is a large group of my friends from school. They understand, on this hectic opening night, the amount of time that I have put into this production, the amount of sweat and tears and slowly-tumbling grades that have gone into this moment.

            I have been acting all my life. I began making movies starring my faded action figures when I was four and experienced a career-changing role at the age of eight when I played a ridiculously clumsy Scarecrow in a summer camp’s adaptation of The Wizard of Oz.

            With the heavy workload of high school, I managed to only squeeze enough time from my schedule for the Cistercian spring production during my Sophomore and Junior years. My experiences during those two productions were perhaps some of the most enjoyable of my entire time spent during high school. I loved the friendships with the upper-classmen that were enkindled. I loved the adrenaline rush when I first walked onto the stage. I loved acting.

            And so it was with this state of mind that I audition for a production of Shakespeare’s The Taming of the Shrew at the area’s all-girls’ school, during my already-hectic Senior year. The enormous flier boasting the times of the auditions had been plastered over our school’s bulletin board and, on a careless whim, I decided to try out.

            Of course, Ursuline desperately needed male actors to fill up the holes in their cast list; so, naturally, I was given a part. Flipping through the script, I realized that it was a small, but important part; I called it the “perfect Senior role”, something I was willing to take on enthusiastically.

            But, as I was quick to discover, this theater department was much different than its Cistercian counterpart. The strict atmosphere mandated by the stern director almost ensured that an environment of laughter and friendship, like the enjoyable Cistercian stage, would be almost impossible. The weeks dragged on. My “perfect Senior role” devolved into a nightmare. I was required to go to every practice, even if I wasn’t needed (as often was the case.) The nights crept by and my love of acting slowly began to slip away.

            But I persevered, somehow.

            The rest of the cast felt the strain, as well, and the show obviously was suffering. I began to show heightened support for the actors around me, as we collectively pushed towards that final closing of the curtain. In one instance, a simple phone call to a distraught cast-mate provided enough strength for the both of us to show up to practice the next day.

            The director’s attempts at excessive strictness ultimately failed. The cast emerged collectively stronger, bound together by a common resilience and shared experience.

            And so when I raced onto the stage, my heart pounding out of my chest, the exuberant cheers from my friends made every day of the on-going struggle worthwhile. I turned my head slightly, looking around at all my grinning cast-mates. I knew that I was a stronger actor, a stronger friend, a stronger man.”

            The University of Richmond was the only college to wait-list me.