Defying Gravity

You're supposed to laugh at this.

In high school I auditioned for my school’s production of The Wizard of Oz. It was my first time back on the stage since I stole all the attention as poodle #3 in 101 Dalmatians Jr., four years prior. As a high-schooler, I’d tried running cross country and though I liked the muscles that developed under my until-then soft skin, I stopped eating and my self-confidence plummeted.

What better way to heal all wounds but under shining lights?

I knew I’d be cast as Dorothy. It was a knowing that I found deep-down, stuck to the truth like the annoying pimples littered on my pre-pubescent skin. It was just a matter of time before Judy Garland rolled over in her grave, certain I’d completely outdone her once and for all. This was during the time in my life when I was still telling myself the myth that I was special. That my talent was undiscovered, just waiting for that acting scout to notice me at the local shopping mall or Stephen Spielberg to find an Instagram of me singing.

I was an okay runner, a pretty good student, but I’d assumed there was talent hidden elsewhere that I’d been unable to harness until then.

I wore my best outfit the day of the audition. Tiny-maroon cargo shorts and an off-the-shoulder black top. A fake diamond on a translucent piece of string that hung around my neck; I pretended as if I’d somehow pierced my clavicle.

I probably had hairbands on my wrist and showed up at the audition without a single additional thing in tow but my blinding, soul-numbing self-confidence (read: delusion).

When the conductor asked what key I’d be in, I looked at him in disgust. Need he ask?

“Original,” I said aloud, without the slightest idea of what that was.

It didn’t matter because I’d practiced to Idina Menzel’s Broadway recording in my bathroom mirror.

Something has changed within me/something is not the same…

There was an established theatre hoard in school, as there always is. The plush, throat-lozenged girls and their gay best friends and the occasional jock who took a season off after an injury. I knew them, of course. I’d seen all their shows up until this point. I was coming in as a sophomore, though, and they knew as well as I did that I was an outsider. But I’d assumed superiority, elder to the freshman I was auditioning with who’d better think twice on their way down the yellow-brick road.

I coughed out phlegm, nodded with gusto at the conductor, and continued—

I’m through with playing by/The rules of someone else’s game/Too late for second-guessing/Too late to go back to sleep…

I couldn’t see anyone in the crowd; not the casting director who was collectively-feared by everyone who knew her nor my best friend Kaleigh, who’s ardent support shielded me from the cruel whispers of the others.

The light blinded me. I couldn’t even see the conductor anymore, nor hear the chords he was supposedly playing. It was just me, green-skinned, about to jump on my broomstick and fly off into the darkening skies, belting how I’d “defy gravity!”

By now you’ve probably realized that I chose to audition for my school’s production of The Wizard of Oz with its revisionist musical’s biggest hit. I decided that I’d get the role of Dorothy Gale—innocent girl from Kansas—by belting the hard-wrought solo of her sworn enemy. Not to mention, Defying Gravity by Stephen Schwartz is widely considered one of the most challenging and iconic songs in all of musical theatre.

Idina Menzel’s version was throaty and dry. I would make sure that mine put me directly on the yellow-brick road, skipping to see the wizard.

It’s time to trust my instincts/Close my eyes and leap…

There is not a doubt within me that I fumbled every note. There was something in the leap of it—literal and metaphorical—that I could not surmount.

It was a self-aggrandizing gesture of confidence; an ambitious attempt at mattering; a whistle in the dark theatre of self-significance. I figured that since morale was low, might as well aim high.

I was cast as tornado #5.

Did you know that there were multiple roles for the tornado in The Wizard of Oz? Me neither.

It was a blow (pun intended). I’d ascended to the stage with such high hopes, dashed in the immediacy of the aftermath when the casting list was posted and I had to scroll to the very bottom of the page to find my name.

Not only had I suffered defeat in the face of the snobby hoard of the theatre-crowd, but I was once again reminded that no, I was not special.

There was no hidden talent undiscovered nor waiting to be released. Just plain old Kiera with her maroon cargo shorts and an attempt at grandiosity.

I was Dorothy after all, waking up from the dream of my imagination where nothing I’d experienced was real. The tornado had not in fact lifted my house and planted me in a magical land but I’d fallen asleep and ended exactly where I started.

I said hello to my old, trusted farmhands and Uncle Henry, tucked Toto under my arm again, and wished that the wizard I’d conjured was real.

My experience auditioning for The Wizard of Oz is perhaps a mirror of the story’s underlying message: no wizard (aka Dee from the New Canaan High School’s Theatre Department) was going to grant me power nor presence. I’d have to find it on my own.

Until next time,

Kiera

If you ever wondered what a tornado looks like, look no further…