This is the workshop I was fortunate enough to take part in before I left Breckenridge this summer. Directed by the brilliant Aileen Wen McGroddy, she formed the five of us into a team (“like sports” she called it), and created the container for us to make some art.

We spent 6-8 hours a day for two weeks breaking down the chapters in tablework, learning the two gorgeous songs that Russo wrote (the Lobster Quadrille was such an earworm we found ourselves singing it on hikes and at meals, and it was just assumed to be in all our heads 24 hours a day), and sharing the language among each other while we ran around on the simple-yet-way-too-fun set Keith designed and set up for us: five black platforms of different heights and rectangular shapes.

There were different rules for every chapter: when one person changed platforms, everyone had to change platforms; the current narrator got to assign caucus race roles with chalk; when you were “out” during the card game we opened up with after intermission, you had to pick up the book and start narrating again; when the White Rabbit’s house was mentioned, we all had to make a house (which meant we all had to gather together in a single random place on the set) and the least comfortable person would read for Alice. And so much more. We played within those rules (and sometimes broke them) and through the process we learned how to work and play together to swim through this story. Each day exhausted us physically and mentally. We came out through the other side with new strength and insights about the book, each other, and ourselves.

Finally we opened. We ran. We closed. Three performances. We learned so much from each, because the audience was the sixth scene partner in this. And we were so excited when they showed up! They killed it!

The gentleman I danced with. Becky the Front-of-House Manager. People who stayed out past their bedtime to finish watching the entire three-and-a-half hour experience. There were people who mouthed along with the book because it meant so much to them. They sang the songs with tunes they did not know. These audiences were special, which made these performances special (which is not strong enough of a word). After playing with my other actors and the audience, I felt like The Loooong Fall was The Reason. Why I decided to act. Why I took all the classes and traveled to all the places. Why I had my life experiences. Why I was cast and performed in all the stuff I ever had. This was the reason: to run around and play on the stage and say these words with the people I love. That’s all. It was all worth it because of the meaning it had to the people who saw it.

I’m done. I’ve fulfilled my purpose. Everything else is just icing.

Until I get to do it again.