A friend of mine invited me to audition for the Vagina
Monologues. I’ve acted in some student films and done a little rabble rousing
here and there, so I thought, why not? Could be a little scary in a fun way. So
Sunday after my long run and a shower, I hobbled over to the community room at
the women’s shelter where auditions were being held.
Inside, I wasn’t quite sure if I was in the right place.
There were cookies and fruit and sparkly party favors everywhere. But a very
friendly women directed me first to the restroom (I’d hydrated really well
after my run) and then to the sign-in sheet. I picked up a couple of pages from
the script to peruse and found a chair. Scattered on the table in front of me
were construction paper, glue sticks, glitter, and fun vagina facts printed in
pink ink. So of course, while we waited, we made construction paper vaginas and
read the fun facts out loud and laughed and talked about our motivations and
said the word ‘vagina’ loudly and often.
I was reminded, as I usually am when I’m around a bunch of
activists, that I although I am extremely unconventional in the corporate
circles where I spend most of my time, I’m strangely
normal-looking-and-sounding around the confident, creative women who make
activism a way of life. I am neither a slam poet nor a trapeze artist nor a
pierced and tattooed goth nor a woman of color with a deep thrilling voice and
braids. I’m just a rather slight, middle-aged blond with a soft voice and faded
jeans. In spite of this, I am probably one of the more radical people in any
such gathering. You gotta watch out for the quiet ones.
After a few minutes I was called back to read. I sat at a
table decorated with lace, with four excerpts from the script laid out in front
of me. I have only once before auditioned for anything, so I wasn’t quite sure
what to expect or how to play it. They asked me to read two different excerpts,
which I did, without a lot of drama, just thinking of the things I had in
common with the stories I read, how that old lady could have been my
grandmother, or how that dominatrix had once been as corporate as I. It felt
good, reading these things aloud, even though they weren’t my stories, because
it was an acknowledgement of some else’s experience and pain, an homage to our
common sisterhood.
When I left, I called my husband who had given me a ride, to
let him know I was done. He was down at the river skipping stones with our
daughter. As I waited outside for him to arrive, I noticed that the recent
rains had brought out the dandelions. One of them was blooming. I reached down
and plucked several tender green leaves and stood by the road nibbling their
bitter greenness while I waited.
So now I’m a ‘vagina warrior’ and making time on my schedule
for rehearsals. I’m thinking of how to work this new skill into my Linkedin
profile. I’m wondering if my boss will freak out when I invite all my work
colleagues, which will require a mass email with the word ‘vagina’ in it. And
I’m also thinking about stories, my own and those I’ve heard. Could be that’s
the most important part of it.
