RE(nt) – Cap (AHHHH!!!)

Posted: November 17, 2009 in Road to RENT

“My mother…is going…to…disown…me!!!”

I sat in the middle of boorish chaos fighting the urge to adopt the fetal position. My mouth dried out and making constant attempts at swallowing felt as though needles were traveling down my esophagus. My head was fixed straight as I tried to ignore the gyrating hips of the dark-haired dude and the fist pounder on either side of me.

And they were actually tame.

To my far left legs were being groped, objects were spontaneously disappearing into body parts while others were becoming those parts. Eruptions were simulated and a kissing fest took place between the nearest faces – gender was of no concern.

Beanie torn pants and the dark-haired dude were lifting the fist pounder, acting as Dorothy, over a metaphorical rainbow, now, to my right, and I couldn’t help but take Dorothy’s famous speech to heart.

I closed my eyes tight, with my hands buried between my legs. Kicking my heels together, I repeated:

“There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home!”

I opened my eyes to find the music still blaring and more individuals engaging in simulated, uninhibited coitus. With Dorothy’s voice intermingled in my mind, my thoughts immediately whined:

Toto ( Jeremy), I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore!

The choreographer continued to assign suggestive parts and I awaited the torture to be assigned to my nauseated body.

I never claimed to be an innocent person but, in the height of the choreographer’s creativity, I couldn’t help but feel like a polished, high-class queen having her kingdom replaced by a junkyard – filth everywhere. And as I tried to attack the filthy images that polluted my mind, I rehearsed my past.

I had engaged in many activities that some people would shy away from, some even highly illegal. Streaking across campus, trespassing, cow-tipping, switching seats with the driver while pushing one hundred miles an hour and swerving between three lanes, and not to mention self-mutilation. But what was happening on stage around me was beyond my physical repertoire. And while the mind may travel to various fantasies, trying its best to bring them to life, my reality included nothing around me.

I have never groped, maneuvered or tantalized anyone like that, to my knowledge. In actuality my last relationship was twelve years ago and the most exotic thing we did was peel glue off my back.

And now this, just when I was confident enough to try new things and seeing my cast mates as true, caring, wonderful individuals, the choreographer threw me into a cesspool of lasciviousness. I tried to swim against the powerful currents.

I slid up next to the heavenly voice, hoping that she would offer me a bit of comfort. Grateful that most of the action had thus-far escaped me, I mentioned:

”I am so glad that I don’t have to do any of that stuff. I’m scared of what she might make me do!”

The heavenly voice looked at me. I waited for her to comfort my uneasiness. Instead, she brought my greatest fear to life:

“You know it’s only a matter of time. The audition flyers said to leave all inhibitions at the door.”

I knew she was right, I couldn’t argue with her. I said the only thing that came to mind:

“Well, the door is stuck in front of me.”

She shot me a look that said:

“You better tear the door off its hinges and get over yourself.”

And I knew she was right. My thoughts continued:

But what would everyone think of me.

I knew I had entered the world of acting, make-believe and the bringing of characters to life. I knew that watching Johnny Depp portray Jack Sparrow in Pirates of the Caribbean, didn’t really mean he was a pirate. I could separate Tony Shalhoub, the real person, from his overly-phobic character Adrian Monk in the series Monk. He couldn’t have that many idiosyncrasies. And I knew no matter how in love Jennifer Aniston appeared on screen she never, oh wait, she always falls in love with her co-stars.

Bad example.

But I knew the fist pounder wasn’t a prostitute in real life and that over the moon is a loving wife and wonderful mother, not all loosey goosey. They were only portraying what their characters would do. But I was having a hard time wondering if my cast mates knew the real me.

Could they separate my actions from my true essence? Would they think differently of me? Did they have an opinion of me at all?

And when the choreographer threw out a disclaimer proclaiming:

“Feel free to stop me if I give you something to do that your character wouldn’t. You guys know your characters better than I do and what they would do at this point of play, so just let me know.”

I fought the urge to raise my hand and decree:

“Yeah… my character is a monk in training and he is taking a vow of silence and stillness for the next two hours.”

Instead, I sat there and waited to be taken under.

As the evening progressed the mantle of sexuality continued to pass over me. I began to calm down and settle into the festivities of the evening, knowing I wouldn’t have to do anything that compromised my comfort.

As we rehearsed through the scenes again, I pretended to be enticed as the dark-haired dude and the fist pounder vibrated beside me. I smiled maliciously and rubbed my hands together acting as if I couldn’t make up my mind as to who to grab first. I pretended to squeeze the dark-haired dude’s butt only to be interrupted in quiet anticipation. The choreographer chimed in:

“Hey, Jeremy, you looked like you were going to smack his butt. Just go for it.”

Before I could respond, the dark-haired dude urged her suggestion on:

”Just go for it, smack it.”

I nervously laughed. I thought:

This is all okay? Nobody is going to think rash of you. It’s acting, pretending. What am I so worried about?

When the part came around again, I prepared myself. I grabbed my confidence, drew my hand back and went to give it a swift smack, sending the noise ringing through the auditorium. In mid swing, I could feel the emotions soaring through the stage. I was finally enmeshed within the spirit of the song. And then, within inches of the smack, my hand stopped. It hit an emotional wall.

I couldn’t do it.

I felt like I was violating his space.

I was a coward.

I retreated into lightly running my fingers up the mid-thigh, cautiously at that, and taking refuge beside the heavenly voice waiting for the next bit of instructions.

We were broken up into small sections to mark out specific phrases.

The first group was given their instructions. I laughed as they had to portray individuals interested in both genders. The second phrase called for a different type of sexuality and the choreographer asked for clarification. I betrayed my silence and opened my mouth:

“Those are the types of people that will try anything once.”

I silently scolded myself for my vocal diarrhea:

“Shut up before you have to try and weasel your way out of doing something crazy.”

By the time it had reached me, the words were tamer and my instructions were to simply act as if I were in heavy hallucinations.

I could do that. I do that every day while pretending that getting dressed is fun – the world is so much more pleasant in my dreams, sometimes.

And then moving on to a phrase of the song that I war with saying, the choreographer asked us to come up with our own forms of action.

I quickly stated, to my group, that we should pretend that one, or two, of the members were gloving up to give a prostate exam. I would hold my privates in total terror and the moment could pass over as comedic relief. The choreographer was not having that.

She placed a head in ones chest and threw me in the back to ride a bucking bronco. Although suggestive, we made it more comical as hair was pulled and butts were smacked.

I was proud of myself. I had stepped, slightly, out of my comfort zone and entered into a whole new arena. I felt the growth. And when the choreographer began to plan the finale to the finale song, calling upon three male and three female volunteers, I planted my hands between my legs, again, stared straight ahead, and pretended to be invisible.

I wasn’t volunteering for crap.

No one else seemed to be as eager either. In response to our silence she began to hand pick her booty. She started to the left of me. I gratefully sighed. Then she looked in my direction, pointed her finger and said:


I could feel her eyes on me, but I prayed that basement voice was standing behind me as he was minutes before. I opened my mouth:


She replied:

“Yes, You!”


The record came to a screeching halt. I knew what was going to happen. I kissed my dignity goodbye and waved farewell to all my hang-ups. I had tried out for the play and I knew the instructions. I braced myself for my orders and vowed to dive in all the way.

It was all in the name of theatre! Then she spoke:

”I need you guys to go out and dance in the audition.”


Rapture! I had been saved!

I ran into the audience, danced on chairs, did handstands on arm rests and threw my legs, upside down, against the wall and had a time of it. It was exciting. I felt like I was back on the stages of my past, dancing for audiences and judges to the latest beats of my time.

I ran back onto the stage and danced with the rest of the cast. I partied with the tall photographer and broke out into moves from old routines. I was heavily emerged in an element of entertainment that I was used to. I felt awake, alive and reborn.

I did somersaults out of moves and caught the choreographer’s attention. She asked me to expand upon my acrobatic abilities for the end of the song and I threw a standing pass to help her define my true capabilities.

She reeled the more outrageous moves in and I had my place in the number. I was walking on cloud nine.

I was so high that I couldn’t even see the ground. I had escaped all forms of overly sexual behavior and I knew nothing was going to ruin my moment. The heavenly voice shot me down:

“Don’t forget about the Contact Dance!”

I tried to ring out in protest:

“Maybe she let me out of that one. You know, ask for volunteers not to do it.”

The heavenly voice replied:

“You have a better chance of crappin’ gold!”

My mind raced back to the callback and the moves me and my dance partner had to go through. A rock fell into my gut.

Oh No! The Contact Dance!

…to be continued…


By the end of this adventure, I will be able to do anything!



  1. Cuz Laura says:

    SPEECHLESS! Except You are a ——- ( I know no word to describe the gift you have been given)writer. Can’t wait to see what the full purpose of your writing gift/talent will be.

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