All Write, Already!

Predictably, when my friend found out I was involved with an amateur production of Hair, the nude-dance-sequence jokes began.

"I never understood the title before. Does it refer to your back and shoulders?"

They could not discourage me from my theatrical passion, and neither could my morbid fear of displaying my naked body to the world. I was going to give it everything I had. Nothing would stop me.

When the music started up, I was ready. I waited in the wings, my dressing gown on a hook, the breeze of the theatre's air conditioners brushing my bare skin. The music swelled, the chorus began, and I flung myself onto the stage.

I danced, naked and free, exhilarated and ecstatic. It was glorious.

When the music faded, I sank to the stage in an exhausted bow, awaiting my applause.

There was a nervous cough, a pause. "That was... lovely. Thanks for coming in. We'll let you know if you got the part." The director shuffled some papers on his desk, down in the theatre's stalls, and said, "Next audition, please."

I walked slowly from the stage, feeling tired but happy. I dressed as quickly as I could, then hurried from the theatre, catching a few mutterings of the word "police". I didn't care about police, though.

It wasn't as if I'd given the theatre group my real name or anything.