#play

‘Will You Dance with me, Cirro.’

Cirro glances up. His eyes are sharp and he takes in the person who is asking.

‘You are not supposed to ask me that. I am supposed to ask you.’

‘Well then.’ The one who has asked turns and begins to walk away. The one who has asked will sit down, and wait, if that is what is required. Perhaps, someone else will ask them to dance instead, or they will ask someone else.

Cirro leaps to his feet. ‘Wait.’ He does not grab the one who has asked him to dance by the arm, nor does he touch them, but they stop anyway, and turn to face him. ‘How do we do this dance,’ asks Cirro, because he was not the one who asked to dance in the first place, he is merely watching, and he has been watching for a long time.

‘I think you know,’ says the other person, and she smiles. ‘But I will show you anyway. Let us “expand” on this idea of one hundred and eighty degrees.’

Cirro begins to smile. He knows there are many things that are one hundred and eighty degrees, although some other people do not. ‘Do I turn my back on you now?’ he says.

‘Yes. And I will turn my back on you as well. This way, we are both facing outwards, and we are both at exactly one hundred and eighty degrees. Extend your arms, Cirro.’

Cirro extends his arms from his sides, and spreads his stance just enough so he is comfortable and strong. He feels the pressure of the other’s back against his, and knows the other is gazing out just as he is gazing out. What he does not see, the other one can see. This is the purpose, in this dance of one hundred and eighty degrees.

‘Now turn,’ says the other from behind him, and Cirro begins to turn.

‘Are we still at one hundred and eighty degrees,’ he asks politely.

‘I am, and you are. Despite our turning, we are both still at one hundred and eighty degrees. This is good.’

Cirro knows now that this is his friend. This one protects his back, just as he protects hers. This time, and by this person, he has not been asked to turn and face them, nor has he overstepped his mark. He has not gone to three hundred and sixty degrees, nor has he overstepped by five degrees. He is comfortable at one hundred and eighty degrees and knows his back is always protected, just as he protects the one who protects him.

‘Thank you,’ says Cirro.

‘And thank you,’ comes the reply.

And it is good.

To Simply be a Tree.

There is often the assumption when a child is given a part in a school play that if they are in the position of acting as a tree, it is simply to include that child in the experience of being onstage.

Think about this.

I know when I look at trees, they are not still or unmoving, unless there is no wind. They do not stay exactly the same colour, unless there is no sunlight or rain. They do not stay the same size unless they have been pulled from the ground.

One might get a particularly precocious child who may ask, ‘If I am a tree, then what kind of tree am I?’

The teacher may respond, ‘You are simply a tree.’

Simply a tree? What does this mean? How does one simply be a tree, when there are so many to choose from? But, the child, if they decide to be less argumentative than usual, may think to themselves, ‘Okay then, I am “simply a tree”.’ And they will look at a tree and see how its branches sway with a breeze, how its leaves may shiver and shake, how, depending on what type of tree it is in the child’s mind, it might lose a leaf occasionally or perhaps all at once.

The teacher, depending on how tired or not they are, may look upon this child and think to themselves, ‘This is a wonderful idea. Why have just one tree in my play, when I can have an entire grove of trees that change with the seasons, that give us the idea of light and movement, seasons and weather, simply by being trees. I can work with this. I will make this play both magical and realistic, simply by adding trees.’

Many years later, someone may come across this child or these children as adults and ask them, ‘Did you have experience in acting as a child?’ and the former child or children may answer with, ‘Yes, I was a tree in a school play once.’

It is the intelligent and thoughtful person who hears this response and may think to themselves, ‘This person played the part of a tree. I am really quite envious.’

‘How wonderful it must have been to be a tree,’ the person might respond.

Being a tree is a wonderful thing indeed. One may not use their voice as others use their voices. One may not be moving around as others move around, but one is still expressing things through movement, however small, and through language, however different.

All this from simply being a tree.