Two
years ago, minus one day, I spent a wonderful evening watching the very first
performance of “Decision Height”, a play written and directed by my good friend
Meredith. The play was her
undergraduate honors thesis project, and it was very much a nod to our
university and the ties of sisterhood we learned there. The play takes place in World War II-era
Texas, where a school of aviation takes on a group of rather unique pilots:
women. Six women explore their reasons
for flying, and their pasts, their successes, their failures, and their
friendships make for a touching and inspiring story.
Of the many times I have seen this
play produced—and it has enjoyed its own level of success, appearing twice since
its debut in area theatres, as well as elsewhere across the States—the first
performance remains my favorite. I
remember the tiny dark studio where it was performed, the familiar faces making
up its cast and crew, the tossed-together sets and music which just so
happened to include piano themes by yours truly. I remember the rush of pride in my friend,
the tears stinging my eyes at two different points in the story. I had heard about the play for months, had
been just down the hall for all the playwright’s stressful moments, had
attended the very first experimental reading.
Back then I was still a part of the process, and I was honored to be a member of the sisterhood.
I think moments like this, moments
of first success, are incredibly poignant.
They are filled with a strange kind of forward-facing nostalgia, an
awareness of coming joy. It is both an
ending and a beginning, a branching of the path into new things and away from
the old. I felt that, watching my friend’s
work come alive, and I felt it a few weeks later on the day we both walked
across the stage and switched our tassels from one side to the other. My wish for her, and for me, is many more
such moments to come.
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