Wide Awake

Sleeplessness is a Time Machine

I couldn’t sleep the other night. Some people go to sleep right away and then wake up “in the wee sma’s” to worry their worries, but I like to start right out with them. Some nights it’s work (how am I going to fit in the last 4 math standards in the next two weeks before state testing?), sometimes it’s kids (am I actually ruining their lives?), but most often it’s just my memory, dredging up some moment of cringe from my past and poking it over and over, like the psychic bruise that it is.

I have a lot of these bruises, as I’m sure most of us do. The majority of my heavy hitters are from my college years, because WHOA I made a lot of Sliding Doors-type choices back then. The one that was keeping me up the other night, however, goes a bit further back.

When I was in 7th grade, I was cast as Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz. A lead role would have been a big enough deal to a 12-year-old on it’s own, but I just so happen to be born in Grand Rapids, MN, Birthplace of Judy Garland. The play was to be the centerpiece of the city-wide festival honoring the 50th anniversary of the 1939 movie, attracting tourists and Judy/Wizard of Oz lovers from literally all over the world.

The part of Dorothy came with publicity requirements: a commercial, parades, meet and greets. I was in the middle of it all, surrounded by adults — two witches, a Lion, a Tin Man, and a Scarecrow (I often referred to the later bunch as “the three guys). It helped that my mom was cast as the Wicked Witch of the West, so that the other grown-ups didn’t have to feel like babysitters. For a while, I had a pal as well — my friend Katie had been cast as my understudy. We had been in Annie the year before, and had gotten along well. I was happy to have her with me on the ride. Spoiler alert, Dear Readers: I wrecked it.

Think back to when you were 12/13, at the end of your 7th grade year. It isn’t the most emotionally stable or comfortable time in our lives. I was dancing around groups of friends — I had kind of an at-school peer group, but also people who were in plays with me who weren’t necessarily in the same grade as I. We aren’t tactful at that age, and I often ended up “in fights” with my best friend for reasons I didn’t understand. I was awkward with people my age, but I can’t be the only one. Can I? It sure felt like it at the time.

One of the aspects of this time that keeps me sleepless and red in the face was on the morning after I found out I had gotten the part. Yes, I knew several of my friends would have liked to be cast as Dorothy. But if they would have gotten it, I imagined that I would have been happy for them while also being sad for myself. So I ran around the middle school that morning, shouting at everyone I knew, “I got it! I got Dorothy!” By the time 7th hour Pre-Algebra rolled around, Mr. Becker — my nemesis — sardonically said, “I hear you will be playing Dorothy, Miss Saxhaug.” I blushed and looked down at my desk. It was then I began to suspect I had been a bit too jubilant, and wished I could take the day back.

The worst part of it, however, was during a rehearsal. It was a crowd scene — either in Munchkinland or Oz, I don’t remember — and the whole cast was in the background. The 3 guys and I were at the front of the stage, learning some kind of business. I was (again) feeling awkward because all of my friends were in a group behind us, chatting and laughing and having fun with each other while I was up front, taking direction. No, I’m not complaining! I wanted the part, I wanted to do the work, I wanted the attention. But right at that moment, I felt left out. So, as awkward people do, I tried to make a joke. I turned around to my understudy, Katie, and said, “Hey, are you getting this?” — meaning the blocking we were learning that she would have to do in my place if the worst happened. I was commiserating, I thought. I was being funny, I thought. I didn’t see the exchange of looks between adults, between kids. I didn’t realize how it all came off until I was pulled aside by the actor playing the Lion. He sat down with my mom and me and explained that he thought I was a great kid, but he was worried that all of the attention was going to my head, and I was getting full of myself.

This is hard to write, even now. Well, obviously — it had me tossing and turning a few nights ago. I felt so ashamed, and so misunderstood. I could see immediately how the comment had been taken, but nobody believed that wasn’t how it was meant. Nobody could see that I was feeling gawky and uncomfortable and isolated from my friends. I didn’t think I was better than anybody — in fact I was dealing with some pretty major imposter syndrome at that point, and there were a few girls who liked to make comments that certainly didn’t help. Luckily there were also some older girls in the cast — high school age — who were very kind to me and built me up.

Katie, understandably, quit being my understudy. I apologized to her for the comment, and she readily forgave me, but she didn’t like being in that position and I don’t blame her. I even understand why the Lion said what he said. I think he cared about me and didn’t want me to become a jerk. I just wish someone had seen that I wasn’t.

My hope is that, by writing my insides out for all of you to read, I can finally let this go. There’s no reason for me to be hanging onto this long-ago shame, and perhaps bringing it out into the light will be a balm on the sting.

If it works, I’ll probably try it again. Be warned!

Thanks for reading.

Love, Susie