Drama

Bien dans sa peau

One performer, one wheeled suitcase, two bags, three chairs: Chair 1 CS,  Chair 2 USR, Chair 3 USL.  Throughout the performance the performer comes DSC ‘in character’, dons and discards various items of clothing, and creates an increasingly  huge pile DSL.

‘GHOSTS’ by The Jam  playing as I enter. 

AV1 Slide:  ‘Bien dans sa peau’ French phrase meaning ‘well in one’s skin’, usually used in the negative to express teenage angst, awkwardness or general dissatisfaction with who one is, like one’s skin doesn’t fit right.

OPENING        

She enters all dressed in black and barefoot, pass the audience and come on, laden down with bags and wheeling my case behind the chairs. (stand DSC - MUSIC fade out) Pull a piece of paper out of my pocket and read out the following:

Skin. The human body’s largest organ, when stretched out the average skin covers 2 square metres, and accounts for 15% of bodyweight.  The thinnest skin is on the eyelids (point) and is 0.02mm thick, the thickest skin is on the feet (point) and is 1.4mm deep.  Every 28days your skin renews itself, and every minute your skin sheds over 30,000 dead cells.  Over 50% of the dust in homes is dead skin.  Your skin has over a thousand different species of bacteria and around a billion individual bacteria, with an average of 14 species of fungi found between your toes. (spread toes and look down at them)

(go sit on chair, screw up piece of paper and toss away, pull hand mirror from pocket and start examining your face – sit side on so audience can see your face)

PRESENT          (hand mirror.  SIT 1 – CHAIR 1 CS)

(touch each part in turn) The forehead’s more lined than it should be, from hitting the sunbeds in my teens.  And there’s a slight bump on my nose, the right-hand side, noticeable only to me.  I walked into a revolving glass door after a long day at work.  I quite like my smile, even the chipped front teeth from falling down the stairs of the bus.  But it’s sometimes strained.  Due to nerves not happiness.  I wonder if anyone else realises?  (mirror down face front)

It’s a face that makes strangers stop and tell me the most intimate things.  Like that time on the train from Scotland to Lancashire, earphones firmly fitted and reading my book.  (mime actions of reading, look up smile, turn page)

I reached Berwick on Tweed before the middle aged woman opposite interrupted me.  On her way to her father’s funeral, she started talking about her life.  She paused and offered to let me get back to my book, but it didn’t seem right somehow.  She needed to offload, and I guess my smile meant she picked me.  (get up, place mirror on PILE walk around back of chair and get CHILD bag and place by side of chair – take out green skirt and put it on)

CHILD          (spotted skirt, flower clips, woolly hat)

(walk to USC in Child character)

I look stupid.  Flouncy frilly dress and stupid skinny legs.  Look at these bruises.   Mum said if I scrub hard enough, (bend down and scrub) they’ll wash off.  But they won’t.  They call me ‘Sparrow Legs’ and I hate it!  (stamp feet) Why pick on me?  I’m the littlest.  (return to chair for hat/clips)

I was a small and slight child, often cold, and tended to bruise easily.  I couldn’t put on weight either so the doctor prescribed daily doses of Minadex tonic to build up my strength.  And when I was out shopping with my Nan people used to stop us and say ‘oh, she’s so tiny, such a bonny little thing – like a little doll’ and pinch my cheek. (action-grimace)

I had lovely hair too, thick, wavy and all down my back - so long I could sit on it. (grab hat and clips)  Every week Mum used to treat me to a new pair of hair bobbles, or ribbons, in all the colours of the rainbow. (start putting flowers in – approach audience and ask someone to help with clip break 4th wall) Butterflies, flowers, you name it - I had it.  My sister would brush it until it shone, even my brother sat for hours plaiting it.  I was like a living Girl’s World toy and loved the fuss.

But my great-grandmother was really superstitious, and full of old wives tales.  She told my Mum ‘It’s her hair, that’s why she’s so thin.  It’s sapping all her strength.’  So next thing you know I’m in the hairdresser’s chair.  Just a fringe trimming, my Mum said. 

The tears started falling as I saw my hair floating to the ground. (pause – look to both sides) I gained a pageboy cut and cold ears. (Pin up hair and put on woolly hat) But no weight.  (look down at legs) So the Sparrow Legs label stuck.

YOUTH          (green trainers)

When I was 9 we moved, and I had to spend the last year of Primary school trying to fit in with a group of strangers who’d been friends for years.  It didn’t help I’d had a bit of a growth spurt, and was 5ft tall.  Head and shoulders above most of my classmates, (look side to side then shrink/slump) even the boys.  So I developed a hunched way of walking, so I didn’t stand out too much. (Walk across stage hunched over whilst speaking)

Did I mention, I’m clumsy?  No sense of spatial awareness and I’m always bumping into things, even (fake trip) tripping over my own feet.

(SIT 2 – CHAIR 1 CS  sit down and pull out trainers and put on)

And there’s the family feet, for you.  Massive.  I’ve gone from size 5 to a size 7 overnight, skipping a 6 altogether. (start walking towards the audience) Hardly likely to blow over in a breeze, am I? (stand DSC) And thanks for the Day-Glo green trainers, Mum. (turn side on) The lads said I look like a golf club today.

I spent the next year and a half staring at the ground, I kept my head down and became a world-class wallflower.  (dump clips and hat on pile)

TEEN          (jumper, DMs and scarf)                                                 

High school was even worse.  Mum wouldn’t let me go to the same school as my older brother because he was always in trouble and the teachers might pick on me.  So my best friend and I ended up at different places.  Leaving me with the snobbier kids, the ones whose parents drove Bentley’s or owned shops.  The same kids who’d taunted me.

I was still gawky and a bit of a tomboy really. (round shoulders/stand blokey)  So when puberty kicked in, (pull top out in points to symbolise breasts) it was a pretty unwelcome, and I spent most of my time wearing a jumper 4 sizes too big to hide my curves. (put on jumper) I didn’t want to be girly, or attract any attention, I just felt graceless. (pause)

At 13 I rebelled.  Stopped trying to blend into the background and became a punk. 

(SIT 3 – CHAIR 1 CS dump jumper, sit, ditch trainers and put on boots and scarf)

I got my first pair of Doc Martens from my brother’s friend, and scrounged my granddad’s old Tootal scarf. 

I spent hours listening to my brother’s Clash records or hanging out with older friends discussing political causes and whether or not to go veggie. (laugh) Pretentious, I know. 

My hair was spiky on top and I got it shaved at the sides and back at the local barber’s Dad’s and Lads. (pause) I used to get tramlines etched into it too, but I had to cover these with waterproof mascara when I got home, or Mum would ground me ‘til it grew back.  (return to chair and pick up photo)

It was class photo today, and just before the photographer took the shot (fake grin) I heard somebody behind me shout ‘I’m not having a photo taken with her in it!’ (action) I turned to see one of the boys pointing at me, and blushed bright red.  Shuffled away to stand at the back.  Bloody boffs!  (Hold and look at photo, let it drift to the ground)

EARLY ADULT          (wine bottle, sleeping bag, plate, cup, bowl)

The last couple of years of school I started going to the pub.  I’d meet my older friends off the bus from college and spend the weekends at their house to avoid Mum’s curfews.  My brother and his friends were usually around and would buy me the odd Cherry B and Cider, and keep a watchful eye I guess.  We’d go on to the disco above the local pub or the nightclub on top of the moors, and a few of my friends would take drugs to enjoy themselves.  But I was always too scared, and drew the line at the odd cigarette, (take a drag, inhale and cough) which was more for show than pleasure. So to get into a similar state, and take the edge off my shyness, I’d down a full bottle of wine by myself. (Take a bottle out of bag.) But no matter how much I drunk, (Swig, stand up) I still couldn’t shake off my inhibitions.

MUSIC starts  ‘EMBARRASSMENT’ by Madness   (hand bottle to audience member, drag someone up, and a couple of others and make them dance with you)

(Pause– step away MUSIC fades lower) I hate my friends dragging me up to dance. (make a few awkward dance moves while speaking) And I always think everyone’s watching me, judging how badly I move.  But I feel I’m missing out, and I’m tired of not joining in the fun.  I wish I was braver, or cared less.

(SIT 4 – CHAIR 1 CS  sit down again MUSIC ends)

I left home a week after my 16th birthday, missed my exams and gave up on any hope of A-levels.   Yet another run-in with my overbearing mother, and an unwillingness to controlled anymore.  So I found a job and a place, and got on with living. 

MUSIC starts ‘Jesus is a Rochdale Girl’ by Elbow.  (stand up, dump skirt, scarf, boots.  Pick up and unroll sleeping bag onto pile, place bowl, cup and plate in front)

DUO         (Camo jacket, Dependant pass)

(put on Camo jacket and stand CS) MUSIC stops

I ended up with a local boy, he joined the RAF and we went travelling with his job.

It was an odd life, and Mum summed it up perfectly when she said I’d be ‘excess baggage.’  I thought she was joking, ‘til I got my identity card (take out of pocket) with the words ‘Dependent’ (make  sign shape above head) stamped in big letters across the top.  I needed this card to get into my own home.  Every day, anytime I left the house, I had to pass 2 armed guards and go through a remote controlled gate to gain access to the ‘real’ world.  Known as ‘partner of AC R8417365’ (stand to attention, hands by sides) in the medical centre and elsewhere, I didn’t have a name anymore, or an identity.  Ironic really, when my friends had nicknamed me ‘Little Miss Independent.’

I’d been such a bolshie teen ready to take on anything, the government, the fox-hunting fraternity – the whole world really.  But a life of rules and regulations (pause) segregation – just wore me down.  We weren’t allowed in the section bar, where the RAF guys congregated to socialise, and working partners were viewed with suspicion, more so if you didn’t have children.  I tried to fit in, even joined the Wives club to become more acceptable.  But as the partner of a non-officer type I wasn’t even entitled to fitted carpets, let alone consider myself their social equal. 

Everything has a label, and a sense of them and us: Civvies-civilians (point to audience), Lumpy Jumper-WAAF (pull top out for breasts) also known as the Station Bike, Rodneys-officers (push tip of nose upwards), Rock Apes-RAF Regiment (monkey arms) unskilled so obviously stupid, and Snowdrops-RAF Police (cap shape).  I don’t like being pigeon-holed, or hiding the fact I have a brain and my own opinions.  Constantly having to watch what I say and do, so my partner doesn’t get taken aside and told to keep me in line. 

My friend lived around the corner with her Sergeant husband and 2 children, and spent her days (action) nursing endless mugs of black coffee.  I found out later it was Brandy and cola. (pause) My personal coping mechanism was to throw myself into study around various jobs, attending night school to take my missing GCSES.  6 moves in 5 years and having to suppress who I am, began to take its toll.  Then 5 weeks before I started at Bath University my partner accepted a 2 year posting to Germany.  And my dreams of uni turned to shit.

(flop onto seat SIT 1 – CHAIR 2 USR)

GERMANY          (dressy scarf)

In Germany I rebelled. (throw jacket onto pile) Got a job on the General Engineering Flight with 50 men and the section bar was now my bar. (smile) And with my workmates staffing most of the other bars and clubs on camp, my social life sky-rocketed.  Overseas camps are this weird microcosm of home, people are happier speaking English and tend to do all their socialising on camp, so weekends are pretty manic.  I was treated as ‘one of the lads’ at work, and spent a lot of time with a graduate friend, so my confidence grew and grew. (put on scarf)

It was there that I got my first tattoo, something I had wanted to do since I was 16.  A workmate had some beautifully detailed ink.  So I asked where he’d had the work done and went on his recommendation.  My new friend was also keen to have a reminder of our time in Germany, so we booked a double appointment.  I found a design I liked, something simple in black that had personal meaning to me, and waited for the big day to arrive.  When we got to the studio the artist didn’t speak a word of English, and we didn’t speak German – so the whole thing was carried out (while speaking pretend to hold design and pointing to ankle – thumbs up) with a series of gestures explaining what I wanted and where.  My friend didn’t tell me until after my ink, that she’d changed her mind.  She couldn’t find a design and didn’t want to rush into it.  That night I did have a slight panic, laid awake in bed wondering if I would regret this in time.  But then told myself not to be so stupid and went back to sleep.  I never did regret it.  And I still smile every time I see it (show tattoo and look down at it), even though I’ve had to cover it up for job interviews and in most of the schools I’ve worked. (cover it up) It’s a part of me now, my experiences.      

I got a bit carried away, (half-laugh) wanted to do something significant.  So decided to get my tongue pierced next. (stand up, step forward towards audience) I went with a lad from work, this time over the border to Holland, and had several beers in a local bar beforehand.  Dutch courage I guess.  But when we went into the shop they examined my tongue (stick tongue out) and refused to do it.  Something about an inconvenient vein running up the centre of my tongue. 

I’m gutted.  All that build-up for nothing.  I can’t leave here without getting a hole in something. (pause) I know, I’ll get my eyebrow pierced. (SIT 2 – CHAIR 2 USR move back to chair and do actions)

Right, sit down yeah?  Put my hands under my bottom?  Why?  So I don’t jerk my arms up and knock the needle flying.  Ah, I get it now.  Bloody hell that needle’s big. 

(grab eyebrow and do needle action) She grabbed the flesh of my right eyebrow with some pincers and BANG.  She punctured it. (put on fake brow ring-let audience see you doing so) It hurts like hell! (stand up)

It was still throbbing 2 hours later when we got to my doorstep and my partner opened the door.

(do actions throughout) I stood there pulling my fringe across my forehead. He smiled and said ‘Did you get your tongue done?’  I shook my head, tugging at my forelock.  He looked at my workmate and then back to me.  ‘So you didn’t get anything done?’  I nodded.  Pulled my hair away from my eye. (reveal to audience) He went crimson, his mouth a thin tight line. (mouth the shape) I stared at him.  Heard my pal behind me say ‘I’m off, see you Monday’ before he exploded.  ‘What the fuck did you do?’  ‘It’s awful.  Some huge chunk of metal sticking out of your face.  At least a tongue stud’s hidden.’ 

I followed him inside (action) feeling like I’d just been told off by my Dad.  He glared at me for 3 hours, before I gave in and took the bloody thing out. (turn and throw onto pile) It wasn’t that bad.  Maybe it did look at bit harsh staring back at me in the bathroom mirror.

My new-found confidence was popular and things got a bit nasty over there.  But I’d rather leave that in the past – where it belongs.

UNI          Graduation hood

So, back to the U.K. and finally into Uni. (remove scarf, put on hood) A total mindfuck – and the most gratifying thing I’ve ever done.  Apart from the welcome speech from the Head of the English Department though.  The bit where he waxed lyrical about: (step forward in snobby professor character)

‘how wonderful it is to see so many female faces in the room, something that would have been improbable 10 years ago.  Aren’t you lucky girls?’(scan audience, nodding) What a jumped up upper-class prick! (shake your head in disbelief)

The 45minute drive each way every day prevented a lot of the usual student lifestyle, and the distance between myself and my partner got bigger too.  It doesn’t do to get too wordy around a Forces bloke who spends his downtime watching sports and getting drunk.  And university work wasn’t allowed to get in the way of my role as chief cook and bottle washer, I even had to get part-time work to contribute to the household.  No slacking for me.  Being in education opened my mind whilst simultaneously closing down my relationship. (SIT 3 – CHAIR 2 USR sit down)

It was during my teaching post grad, when I was pulling 75 hour weeks, that I started finding empty beer cans in the car when he got home from work.  With a crippling workload of academic essays as well as full-time hours in school, life became a blur which I travelled through on too much caffeine and not enough sleep.

That’s the point when I realised he’d traded me in for a new model.  Not younger or even prettier (pause) but 7 years older, with two teenage daughters.  She was short and blonde, a bit plain and had a mouth like a brickie.  The first time I met her she was wearing a belt with ‘Fucking Criminal’ written across it in metal studs. (make shape of belt/wording with hands in the air)  I didn’t know whether to laugh or be upset. 

It really messed with my confidence trying to figure out why.  But then I realised. A buddy to binge drink with when he arrived home from work at 4am, not likely to question his opinion or want to her own career. (stand up) The perfect woman. (walk to case, kneel down and check contents)

It is freeing, packing your whole life into the back of a small car and driving off into the distance. (taking a few out then putting them back in then zip it up and stand up)

Once you’ve gotten over the hurt and anger of being screwed over by the one person you thought you could trust.  Then you kick yourself for all the time you wasted. 

MUSIC starts    ‘Mouthwash’ by Kate Nash

(wheel case to pile and dump)

SOLO          (gaiters, name badge, glasses)

(throw graduation hood on pile, SIT 1 – CHAIR 3 USL  sit put on gaiters) 

(Stand DSC  MUSIC stops)

I started walking, (walk quickly in circles around pile while speaking) it numbed the pain and worked off the anger.  4 miles a day on the local moors and later along beaches, depending on where I was.  Because I moved around a lot, wherever the job took me. (put on name badge)  Ending up on a short-term contract in a boarding school down in Devon. (put on glasses) It was totally outside of my usual sphere, but somehow I fitted in, with the, scruffy surroundings and posh accents, old money and new – it was a place of juxtapositions.  A bit like me.

INNER ME      (wrist splints, pills, surgical stockings, hospital wristband, sticks)          

Then one day I couldn’t move. (collapse onto pile)  I don’t know what happened, I just tried to get out of bed and couldn’t.  It took me 2 hours to get up and get dressed. (start scrambling up slowly) My knees were so stiff and painful they felt like they were on fire.  I tried to brush my hair, (do action) but I couldn’t lift my elbow high enough.  Went to fasten the buttons and zips on my clothing, but my fingers wouldn’t work. (flex fingers) They were so swollen and stiff just holding a pen was impossible.  I tried to keep going, but I got iller and iller. (SIT 2 – CHAIR 3 USL  sit on chair, dump gaiters/glasses/badge on pile, put on glasses.)

The doctor did some tests and told me my body was attacking itself from within, my antibodies mistaking my own cells for a foreign invader.  (What the fuck? mouth this - Pull on wrist splints)  I was given steroid injections and put on tablets to reduce the inflammation, limit the damage to my joints. 

After a few months, (pick up bag of meds, start throwing bottles and packets onto pile) and a lot of medication, I began to feel much better.  The swelling subsided and my blood tests were back to normal.  There were side effects, and some other shit happened (pull out hospital wrist tags and surgical stockings, pause.  Look directly at audience and throw them onto pile) but I don’t really want to talk about that. (add sticks too) 

OUTER ME          (pills, insoles, heels, Converse, small bag)

(pick up FAKE pills try clumsily to open bottle) A classmate joked recently that I’m often late for morning lectures. (stand) I didn’t admit it’s because mornings are a bitch.

(approach and ask audience member to do it for you, offer a pill to audience ‘Want one?’ Go along row,’for you, and you, and you – pass them on’)

That it takes 5 tablets, 2 coffees and an hour listening to the radio and waiting for them to kick in, to get me moving most days.  But I’ll never tell you that. (pause, turn back to audience, pick up Converse and face front again) I don’t want to be asked if I’m okay, or have people treat me differently.  (start putting insoles into Converse, sit and put them on – get frustrated, remove a wrist splint and throw onto pile) Like my ex-boss in Scotland, who was aware and caught me wearing heels to work (stand up put on heels and do action in character voice) ‘are you sure you’re okay in those, you won’t hurt yourself or anything?’ (look from him to audience and back to him, shake your head) I AM a grown-up you know.

(ditch heels on pile. Walk to CHAIR 1 CS) Or the new chair that intrigued my curious colleagues, and the good-natured teasing that followed.  Then the day I came in to find a sign attached to it.  (turn the back of the chair to audience – displaying THE CAPTAIN’S CHAIR sign, pause) I never sat on it again.  Preferred to perch on the end of the pupils’ desks, or keep moving around the classroom.  Better for my joints and stops me stiffening up.

So I ignore the fact I’ve got... (pause) No (to yourself) You don’t need to know that. Well, I’ve got a life to live and don’t need a label.  So, sometimes I screw up, spend 4 hours straight on the computer writing an essay. 

Then spend the next couple of days with my jaw clenched, (do actions) a rictus grin, and unable to move my neck properly (try to turn head and use whole body – mime dropping a fork) or hold a fork. (visibly relax) I just buy takeout, pop a few extra pills and wait for it to pass.  No big deal. (shrug – half smile)

It doesn’t define me.  It’s not who I am.  Any more than my genetically big feet or my complete inability to master any kind of hair-styling technique or apply eye shadow without looking like a panda. (pause, then in quieter tone) It’s just a small part, (normal tone again) and like my tattoo, marks a certain point in my life.  A reminder I’m alive. (smile)

(stop dead in tracks, pause – suddenly remember a long forgotten incident)

Light State Change – lower lights, focus on CHAIR 3 USL.

REALISATION       

(SIT 2 – CHAIR 3 USL  slowly walk to chair and sit. Look into distance, above heads of audience, speaking quietly but clearly) 

I had a boyfriend once, who lay beside me in bed and touched every scar on my body in turn, asked about them all.  (touch each place as you speak about it) The TB inoculation when I was a day old, my marked knees and elbows from when I got run over at 13.  I thought he was pointing out all my imperfections.  And I started to feel really uncomfortable (hug yourself and pause.  Look up) But I realise now. (slight disbelieving, questioning tone) He just wanted to get to know me better. 

(Slowly scan audience then freeze) MUSIC starts ‘All These Things That I have Done’ by The Killers

(Freeze until line ‘hold on’ then start looking at piles at beginning on either side.  Pick up small bag and at the line ‘I wanna stand up’ stand up.  Start picking up a few belongings, INVEST IN CHOICES, some pills, splints, throw a few back, put the rest/minimum needed into a small bag.  Pick up DMs and step over the pile in a big stride, smile at audience and slowly walk around back of chair towards audience DSR, rush back and grab wine bottle, wink and then leave.  Lights fade down as leave stage)

Hayley Alessi

© 2013