Backstage eons ago in New York City after a performance of The M104, with my fellow actor Tom Yewell.F

The kind of journey I take down memory road when I find a printed photograph I haven’t seen in a long, long time, is a decidedly different journey than one I might go on when I am scrolling through photos on my iPhone, iPad or computer, where each photo inevitably blends and blurs one into one another, all of them fitting into a technological grid, competing for attention, begging to be seen, tarried upon for just a minute before the inevitable swipe right discards the last image and replaces it with the next one.

Why did it suddenly appear today? What is the message in its sudden reappearance. How I wish I could bring back the days of dropping off film to be developed, and waiting to pick up the small envelope with its little square of glassine paper, and standing on the sidewalk going through the images hastily, and rushing home to decide which ones to frame, which ones to send to friends, which ones to use as bookmarks.

There is the a special Black & White aroma to this vintage photo from my life, which forces me to go back into my memory of that performance and re-imagine the colors in my costume, the feel of my jacket. I played, what? A hooker…of course, and my dog was stuffed, otherwise why would I dare hold a cigarette so close to its face, its fur?

Oh, and Yes I remember well the conversation about the cigarette – herbal it was – because the NYC Fire Department doesn’t allow theatre productions to use real cigarettes so I picked an herbal scent that was palatable for the run of the play.

And that real rabbit fur jacket, which I found in a thrift shop, I remember the internal conversation I had trying it on, ‘No, I would never own a rabbit fur jacket, but, Yes, a hooker…this hooker, I as a hooker…would own a rabbit fur jacket,’ and I bought it with glee.

And my leopard skin-patterned leggings, shiny and so tight I could barely get them on (or off), and the spandex black bandeau bra. I have everything somewhere, all but the coat, the earrings and the necklace, I remember tucking them into a round straw box.,,where is that box?…and I remember most everything else except how short my hair was, and permed, and white nails? Did I really paint my nails white? Clearly I did, but that must have been the last time, ’cause I ain’t bought no bottle of white nail polish any time since.

I may not have remembered painting my nails, but I do remember wearing a pair of stiletto heels, black suede with little colored satin cut-outs, (which I had worn years before in a music video) which had a hole for my toes which I painted red, and worrying that one or both of my heels would get caught in the floorboards of the stage, which were never great in old off-off Broadway theaters, and I imagined tumbling off the stage, just like a hooker might topple into the street if she weren’t careful, wobbly as she might be in her too high stilettos…

…in the middle of the night, looking for a trick, a chance to make another buck, hoping her luck would change soon enough, trying to keep her spirits up, never in her wildest dreams did she wake up one day and say to herself, ‘I dream of being a street walker,’ No, she didn’t, and even though it is her reality she still pretends she’s a regular girl…

…then one night she gets lucky and a real fella, with manners and charm takes notice…

…and kisses her on the cheek back stage after the show…

…because, thankfully, it is just a play, not a work, not real life…

…at least not that night.

#TheM104 #AllTheWorldsAStage