I’m as stumped by this prompt as if I’d forgotten my lines, standing on the stage with a blank in my head, fear in my heart and sweat on my face. As stumped as if I’d forgotten the steps of the dance, the notes of the sonata. The audience beyond the lights pulses and waits, embarrassed for me as the silence lengthens or the frozen body refuses to move. It coughs, squirms until finally someone runs out from the wings to draw me away, out of sight, safe behind the curtain.
Unreachable is the pure, smooth flow of the script etched into memory until it is no longer an act, but me living my life out loud and on stage, the dance steps my proclamation, the piano my voice.
I stare at the blank page, batting away the editor, the critic, the stubborn child who doesn’t want to perform for guests. Slowly, I see the image is the blank page, the bare stage, the empty seats. Describe them. So it starts.