Lost Lines #dreamdiary 117

I used to dabble in a spot of acting. There would be six of us that met once a week and do improvised exercises and occasionally we’d do a low-key show in a community hall. One year we decided to do a production like Miss Saigon and I’d be cast as a narrative character. I got given a script and we began read-through rehearsals. Then the pandemic came along and everything had to stop for the lockdown but it was agreed that we’d all commit to learning our lines. Then before I knew it, the lockdown had lifted and a performance date had been agreed without any further rehearsals, or at least I hadn’t been invited to any. I hadn’t learnt my lines and wondered if I’d been replaced. Then came opening night. I decided to attend anyway and expected a very small audience and that everyone would be carrying their scripts around on stage. In the confusion, I left mine at home. When I arrived, I discovered that it was to be a fully billed cast and my name was in the programme. I went backstage and discovered that although the cast wasn’t in period dress, they were wearing a mixture of brightly coloured T-shirts and blue jeans. There was no way that I could perform without help and began to look around for a familiar face but I couldn’t find anyone. Then the bell rang for curtain-up. Panicking, I ran into the audience and took a vacant seat as the lights dimmed. Perhaps I could feign sickness or a lost voice. The show began and some of the players were holding scripts as they trooped out onto the stage. The first opening lines were read then the cast went quiet as my cue approached. All around, expectant heads began to turn as they awaited my lines. All I could do was slink as low as I could in my seat.