In Her Official Capacity
Today I began scouting locations around the park to perform at. I’m looking for places a little off the beaten path where visitors, particularly those with the time and inclination to stop and chat over tea, can come across me. I found the perfect location about a half-mile up The Chimney’s Trail. The thing is, I haven’t been hiking since, oh, March? So I got a little bit carried away. I mean, sure, this is was great place for a future performance but how would I know if it was the best place unless I hiked for another hour, follow a forlorn little side trail, and cross a 30-ft stream?
I know. I KNOW. But I mean, I felt great! Like, REALLY great! Sure, my feet hurt, but I took time to stretch when I got back to my car and I’ve been doing physical therapy for an hour every day for nearly four weeks. I’m not going to go bushwhacking in the backcountry right away but it’s good to know that I can traverse a little uneven terrain.
On my way home there was a cop car at the end of my street behind park headquarters and the car it had pulled over was blocking the turn I needed to make to get to my apartment. The cop got on his megaphone and told the other car to back up six feet so I could get there and then apologized to me for the inconvenience. Police? More like the Polites!
On the other hand, there is Joan. Tonight’s Synchronous Fireflies staff meeting was run by Keith, the Senior IC but before the meeting even began his second in command, Joan, said “Is there a Jessica here?” I said, “Yes, there is.” She said “You’re going to be stationed at check-in tonight with Andrea Sr, Andrea Jr, and Lisa.” “Actually, Sheridan instructed me to begin officially working tonight as Artist-in-Residence.” Cue derisive laughter by Joan. “Well,” she said. “You’ll be working check in.” She turned her back to me.
Don’t get me wrong, I think passing out red cellophane is important, I really do, but so is the job I was brought here to do. There’s a reason it’s an Artist-in-Residence program and not a Banker-in-Residence program. The Arts and the Parks are allies. We’re both on a mission to awaken the denizens of the world from their passive slumber and inspire them to behave better. ::cough cough::
Before I could muster the courage to say any of this Keith strode into the room saying things like “Seat belts! They need to have enough seat belts for everyone in the vehicles. We’ve been giving out tickets all week. VP units at Elkmont Junction, this is a 6/12. VP2 will be at the junction, is that right Tom? Now we don’t have any special people tonight, not that I’m aware of, not… that I’m aware of, but we want to keep an eye on people sneaking in through the outer loops. This is our last night people, let’s make it a good one. Now, does everyone know where they’re going? Jake’s Creek: Drew, Jessica-“
“I think I’m scheduled to be in three places at once.”
“You’re in high demand.”
“Go with Drew to Jake’s Creek,” said Joan, practically oozing subservience. No secret that Keith wears the khakis in that relationship. And Drew, reasonable human that he is, said I was welcome to hang out at Jake’s Creek or go off and do my job as AiR at my digression.
Since my residency here is focused on improvised, communal, storytelling, I decided to play a game of Exquisite Corpse along Little River Trail to get to know park patrons and entertain them a bit while they waited for 9.29pm to roll around.
Exquisite Corpse is a game where a group of people write a story but each person is only allowed to read the sentence that comes before the sentence that they add. Sometimes you get a chain of sentences like:
“Then the mama black bear who was stealing trash from our garbage can told the baby bear to get on the merry-go-round. And then the baby bear jumped off the merry-go-round and broke it’s foot and couldn’t drink for 300 years. But luckily a park ranger came along and fixed the bear’s foot and the baby bear walked back to the mama bear and said “my foot’s better.” And then he died.”
Thank god for nine year olds, am I right? People got so into it! One woman spent five minutes trying to think up the perfect sentence to follow
“Once we arrived there was nowhere to hide.”
and a gregarious little boy followed me around to other groups and came to visit me with his Dad later on down the trail. Five little girls and their mother contributed five knock out sentences about a bear and the rich king of Sweden, and the last family I talked to told me the true-ish tale of how Jake’s Creek got it’s name. Parents initially wanted their kids to do the writing but then couldn’t help but add their own sentences: “Emily, what sentence do you want to add?” Emily shrugs. “Maybe something about the bears?” Emily is silent. “Or about the crumbs?” Emily whispers something inaudible about three words long. “That’s great! ‘The bears danced.’ How’s about ‘the bears danced so hard that they…’ “ Emily remains silent. “The bears danced so hard that they stepped on the tails of squirrels and foxes.’ “ Emily nods her approval. Dad doesn’t need it, he’s pretty damn proud of himself already.
I was terrified but intrigued by three adults who were leaning against a big rock with their arms crossed, wearing matching green and red sweaters with a bunch of badges on them who hadn’t moved in a muscle since I had walked down the trail 45 minutes before. From the way they were frowning you’d think they were at a firefly funeral rather than a firefly orgy. I took a deep breath and asked them if they wanted to play Exquisite Corpse. Lo and behind, they smiled. Not only were they incredibly kind and thoughtful, they were the best writers I came across all evening and they told me about a storytelling festival about 2 hours from here in Jonesborough, TN that I might want to check out. My heart is full.
When it got too dark to approach strangers I set off to find a good viewing spot. Last night I wandered most of the night so tonight I picked one location and sat down to enjoy the show. Not only were the lights ridiculously in sync in this part of the woods, I could hear the murmurs of families on either side of me debating whether they needed another piece of cellophane for their flashlight and how long the trolly line would be if they left in ten minutes. If last night was about the epicness of the event, tonight was about the coziness. I was nestled between an older gentleman and his wife and a little boy and his parents on the other side of me. The boy wanted to leave and lied his head off to try to convince his parents that they were “The only ones left in the whole place” when that was pretty obviously a hail mary of a lie. “This is our last time seeing this ever, huh Mom? And we have to catch the trolly before they leave us behind? Tough decision. Tough decision.”
The world is full of liars. I mean fiction tellers. I mean artists. I mean truth tellers. I mean…
