A View from the Bridge

The story is

That I never knew my lines

That’s the distinction I have

Being the actress

Who never knew her lines

Well, just so you know

That story

Is bullshit

I always knew my lines

I just happened

To elaborate on them

It’s not that I think

I know better than a playwright

But let’s face it

Not everything’s a masterpiece

So I paraphrase

I improvise

I add a little color

So sue me

The audiences love it

It’s not like I stand up there and stutter

And break out

In a cold sweat

I smile

I sweep across the stage

And I add a few light touches

To some otherwise dreary scripts

Believe me, some of those playwrights

Should pay me royalties

To the improvements I’ve made

But then we did A View from the Bridge

In 1998

And Samantha

The director

Says to me—

‘No paraphrasing.  No improvising.  No changing anything.  This is Arthur Miller.  We’re doing it as is.’

So I say ‘Fine’

‘Fine, Samantha,’ I say, ‘I’ll learn it as is.’

And come to find out…

I can’t

I don’t know why

I swear, at one point

I could

I could memorize the phone book

If you gave me two days

And a pack of Marlboro Lights

But for some reason

One day

That ability just…

(She snaps her fingers.)

And I’m going ‘Fuck’

Fuck, what am I going to do?

And we’re in rehearsal

Late into rehearsal

And I’m still on-book

But Samantha’s thinking—

Well, at least that shows that she’s invested in the words

But the words won’t stick

They won’t stick

And we get to the off-book date

The third off-book date

And I’m nowhere near off-book

And now I’m stuttering

Now I’m sweating

Now I’m cursing Arthur Miller

And Marilyn Monroe

And whatever other girls he fucked

And I’m thinking—I’m screwed

I’m really screwed

I can’t do this

And I’m still young

But what the fuck does that have to do with it?

It’s a skill

You can lose it at nineteen

Just like you can lose it at ninety

And some people never do

Some people never lose it

But I…

I lost it

I really did

And I go to Samantha

And I say—‘I have to remove myself from the show’

And she must know…

Because she says ‘Okay’

Just like that

‘Okay’

And I leave the theater

I leave the company, actually

And I don’t act again

But every once in awhile

I’ll pick up, you know

A piece of paper

A newspaper

An article

A coupon, or something

Something stupid

And I’ll try to lock it down

To memorize it

To just shove it in my mind

Thinking, Maybe this time, I can

Maybe this time

I’ll be able

To make it stick

And it never happens

Never

But I keep thinking

Hoping

Going—

Maybe next time

Maybe next time

I’ll get it back