"I love it here," I whisper to him, both of us glowing. His face is cartoon-ish, but worn, the eyeliner smudged around his face, the lipstick clinging only to the edges of his lips.
"I love our tech, I love our stage, I love our lights, I love our costumes, I love the smell of the dressing rooms right before a show..." I don't realize that by the end of this, I'm nearly crying. The broken lipstick breaks into a smile.
"You're using your monologue voice," he teases. I laugh away the welling tears.
"It's the only voice I have."
Every actor has a "monologue voice." It's louder. More supported. Projected. Slightly more dictated. For some, it may belong to a different person entirely, but some may be unnoticeable. I don't believe these are the voices of acting. These are the voices we use to tear out out innermost raw emotions, and everything else, is just acting.
Some people belong onstage. Like this boy in front of me, the brilliant star of a brilliant show. His voice can draw you into any world he likes, and within seconds, he's already holding onto your heart. Even standing in the back of the theater, I love the way his voice fills the room, curving into every crevice and mind, painting whatever he fancies. His character is nearly fluid, pour him into any form, and he'll fit perfectly, shrugging into it the way one may put on a jacket one's been wearing their whole life.
Even without being in the show, I belong there. I'm not used to the clunky weight of a tech flashlight against my belt loop, blending with the shadows in anonymity, but I'm recognized in the dressing room, quickly finding my perch on the edge of the counter, even after being missing for months. An extra hot iron is pushed into my hand, and I quickly become a part of the counter itself, belonging. The hairspray mixes with the anxious energy, filling the room with a comforting and familiar smell.
I worried that I was wrong about the theater, that coming back would be disappointing, at best. But I was wrong. How wonderful, how familiar, how incredible, to be back at home. I'm home.
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