It all started with the couch. The green couch with its smooth velvety cushions, the Victorian design, how perfect it fit in the tiny studio apartment that had been my cave of solitude for months. This couch was going to save me, I was sure of it, save me from days of finding it impossible to get out of bed, of needing to multitask so perpetually that I never got anything accomplished. Yes, this fine, well-made vintage piece of furniture would be the start of a very promising future.
See, I had always thought of myself as an actress. I always knew it was what I was eventually going to become. The summer before 4th grade was when I wrote my first play, “An Indian Enchantment”, which I also played the lead heroine. It was well received by my theater group and prominent adults in the community. It even got me an audition with a traveling theater company for their rendition of “Alice in Wonderland”. After landing the role of Alice, my mother politely declined to the director and explained to me that she simply didn’t have the time to cradle my desire to be involved in theater. A week later I pulled a knife on her in the kitchen. But that’s another story.
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