The Beginning of the Play or the Wrestler and the Friend

In June of 2006 I was doing Shakespeare in a park in the middle of Iowa. We were in rep and I had a small role in the second show so I'd use the time to write. I was trying to write a play for my friends. I grew up in Pine Bush, NY- a small town outside Poughkeepsie- my friends were in Iraq. One was a friend from high school, another a teammate at wrestling camp, one joined up after a close friend of ours died while doing carpentry at the World Trade.

So, I began to write them. My version of them. My version of this world.

Not a play about "Iraq is bad," not a play about "Republicans are evil," not a play about what it's like when people come home... my friends weren't home. My friends aren't home. The wrestler is dead. My friend from high school has been re-assigned. See, politically I didn't know what I thought of the war. I was scared 9-11. Terrified. I wanted retribution. It's not popular to say. But I wanted to feel safe. And bombings sounded safe, attacks sounded safe... and then my friends left.

The wrestler is dead.
The friend is re-assigned.

And I still couldn't say outright that the war was evil. I couldn't paint it black and white.
I didn't agree with it.
But I liked feeling safe.
I didn't agree with it- but that was easy to say. To just say other people made this choice for me. Stupid leaders. Stupid policy. Stupid countries.

Doesn't change the fact that my friend is re-assigned. The one I have left.

This is my dialogue with him.

With you.
With these cities. I'm lucky they'll let me share it.

And this blog will let me share more as we go on. Please comment and visit. I think it'd be nice if we talked. I think it's time we should...

Best,

SCL