Playing Catch Up: Part IV of V

"Rabbit Hole" is not an easy play. It was never meant to be. David Lindsay-Abaire isn't shy in making that clear. I applaud him for that, because life is not easy. He painted very real characters, each of them grieving in their own way. But like most people, they're functioning, spirited, funny, and alive—even in the face of tragedy. Quite simply, they're human. The theme of other versions of the self is touched upon within the play and it's that idea which drew me to "Rabbit Hole" in the beginning—exploring the people we are and the people we become in any given circumstance. In taking on the task of bringing this play to life, I had to go down the "Rabbit Hole", so to speak, and imagine a universe in which I wasn't there. More than two decades ago, I was Danny—a slightly different chain of events and an obviously different outcome and I was just the luckier version of him. Death is something that connects each of us, and yet it can also separate us just as quickly. Whether we are expecting it to enter our lives or are surprised when it kindly stops by, we think we get it, and yet none of us can ever really understand how it effects those around us. How it changes us. It is the one constant in a universe of never ending possibilities. And I'd like to thank David Lindsay-Abaire for reminding me that life keeps moving among those endless possibilities; beautifully, painfully, exquisitely, it keeps moving. And that's... fine, actually.

Sometime back in the middle of 2007, I picked up a copy of the script of "Rabbit Hole". It was being slated for production at Emerald City Players, another local theatre that I was also prepping to audition for (they produced "A Few Good Men" by Aaron Sorkin in October of this past year). A good friend of mine who has taught me much about directing, we'll call him Moist (yes, that's what I called him), has been scheduled to helm the project but had to step down as he was moving. So a vacancy opened. And I applied.

Long story short (too late), "Rabbit Hole" wrapped up a three week run in early February. And it was fantastic. The actors really made me proud and my tech was quite something (and the set—I could have lived there).

But this post is not meant to sit here and trumpet myself or my cast/crew. Boasting is unbecoming on most people and I've yet to find a way to make it look good.

It was a learning experience, as most things in life should be. But it was more.

"Rabbit Hole" for me was a mildly surreal experience for it takes a family and examines their grief in the aftermath of an accident that caused the death of their four-year-old son.

A car accident. He was hit by a car. And the fictional Danny shares that uncommon experience with a very real and very six-year-old me. And that was partially how I approached the whole thing. Imagining a universe in which I wasn't there.

That's pretty surreal I would wager. The play brought up this concept of other universes, running parallel to ours, and how each one was different and that there were different versions of everything and everyone. And so I came into the show wondering if there is a universe out there where I wasn't as lucky on that cold winter day.

I can still rmember every moment. Every smell. Every step. I can still feel the ice slipping beneath my feet as I carefully treaded across the street. I even looked both ways. Didn't do much good.

I remember seeing the car, only too late, and I recall the sensation of skidding across the icy road for what seemed like an eternity. Until I hit the curb.

The impact of the car snapped my left femur. One break. Quite clean. I was lucky in that it wasn't a compound fracture. There was no splintering and nothing broke the skin. It just snapped. And no one believed me about it.

When you're six years old and you've just been hit by a car, several things become quite clear. First: none of your neighbors have jobs. It seemed there were a ton of adults suddenly on the scene in the immediate aftermath. Second: none of them believe you when you tell them your leg is broken.

Most of them just told me I was scared and that the doctor would be there soon. None of them took me seriously, even when I politely said "look" and moved my right leg. They humored me with a look. And then I said "look" again and I moved my left left; only it didn't. I pointed to a spot, about mid-thigh, and said "this is where it stops". I could feel the bone, the femur, from the left hip to about mid-thigh, slide back and forth inside my useless leg.

That was twenty-three years ago today. I wonder if there's some guy out there blogging about the day he hit this kid. Never knew who it was. I'm sure my parents knew or the police and hospital knew. But I don't remember.

It's funny how certain events effect us. Months later I would spend the hours after school relearning how to walk. That accident took me out of playing T-ball that year and some might argue that it put me more on the track of the student than the athelete. I never got into sports after that.

So what version of me would exist today if I'd crossed the street in a different place? Or walked home a different way? Maybe I would have gotten into little league and become a student athelete along the way. Maybe not. Maybe it didn't have any effect on me whatsoever except to put me in a cast for three months.

The thought of parallel universes has always intrigued me. And I wonder some days about the different paths my life could have taken. On a crisp fall day back in 2003, I read a notice about an audition for a local play, "Greetings!". And I remember thinking it would be fun. I recall driving to a local senior center to pick up a copy of the script and as I went through the last intersection, something triggered a memory from my college acting days. A scent in the air. Couldn't tell you what it was. But it took me back to the auditions I'd done in college. And it was just enough of a sign that I was on the right path. And I wonder how very different my life would be right now if I'd not read the paper that day, or pursued something as seemingly unimportant as an audition.

Very different.

I wasn't too fond of being hit by that car. But in retrospect, it, like every other event in my life, did its part to shape me into the man I am today. That's why I loved about "Rabbit Hole". The idea it presented that there are other versions of us out there living different lives or the same lives with only a few things changed. And while my entire post would seemingly preach the wonder of fate and how everything is so amazingly interconnected, I think a subtle message in that play is that we make the choice to be the version we are. Our actions make us. Choices we make every day dictate the path we walk. Smart choices, dumb choices. They all do something.

I chose to cross the street where I did. I should've known better. I do now. I chose to audition for that play because I had the confidence to do so. Had I chickened out, the number of wonderful people I've met in my life since then wouldn't know me. And vice versa and that would suck. Didn't know at the time how much one moment could radically shift my world.

And so I try to make decisions wisely. I don't always. I'm not perfect. But I strive to be confident and smart in my choices. I strive to be clear in my actions. I think that if I'm at least going into each moment with my eyes open, then I'll be fine with the path I find there.

All right... playing catch up is almost done. Almost. Going to tell one more story about the last few weeks and then get back to good ol' living in the moment stream of consciousness writing that I miss so terribly. But that's for tomorrow.