It was no secret that William F. Cody craved attention. He always had. It wasn't that he ever really lacked it but he loved and desired it all the same. He supposed every boy dreamt of being a hero, of having the pats on the back and the grateful words of those he had saved from certain death in an accident or fire or something. Through his time with Sam and Teaspoon he'd learned a little about the quiet dignity that could come from keeping those good deeds quiet and knowing you'd done them all the same. Still he loved being the center of attention and always felt he had a great destiny to fulfill. Someday everyone would know the name William F. Cody.
Jimmy gave him all sorts of grief for reading the dime novels but it wasn't only the clearly made up tales of adventure he loved, it was the flair, the flourish with which they'd been written that drew him in. The description of a gunman's glare or the ruffle of a saloon girl's dress, those details and those little bits of texture were what set his own imagination on a journey. Since he had been a young boy he had loved his imagination best of all. Countless were the nights he had drifted off to sleep thinking of far off places with brave men battling evil for the safety and virtue of lovely women.
It should have come as no surprise to anyone that he was drawn to the theatre and to plays. He loved them. He loved watching the words come to life and the passion and emotion played out on the stage. He loved being transported to a different place and time and even having his own emotions manipulated to fear or love or joy or even anger. There wasn't a much better way to pass an evening in his estimation. There was such excitement to seeing people live in front of him acting out some wonderful scene. Being live, there was a feeling that anything at all could happen once they took the stage.
In all his days he had sometimes thought to dream that perhaps he could find himself before the footlights and performing but he never really gave it much thought. He had no training and didn't live the kind of life that allowed for fanciful endeavors such as acting in plays. He had work to do and responsibilities.
When he first went behind the scenes, the night he stood waiting for Miss St. Clair who never did come out, he thought how strange it was to be what amounted to inside the illusion of a magic show and yet he found the magic of it all still intact. For seeing the masks and pieces of sets and costumes only drew him further into his fascination and, yes he would say it, love of the whole world of the theatre.
None of the power of it all hit him at his first performance. He was far too terrified of messing up or of Mrs. Herrick grabbing his gun again. But once he felt himself sink into the role it became natural. He didn't need the gun in his face to believe in it. He just did. He truly felt he became someone else for a time. It was freeing in a way he never knew before.
That free feeling was something that might surprise people. To hear him talk there was no better soul to be than one William F. Cody. Most days he even bought that as well. But then there had been things that happened out of his control that hadn't been so good. He wouldn't wish them on anyone else but he'd gladly have wished them off himself. For a start, he had loved and idolized his father and the loss still stung him to this day. His dear mother who nearly deserved sainthood, he felt, was nearing death herself. Her health had been so fragile since his father had been killed. He loved playing the hero, fancying himself something out of a dime novel or even someone from a truly great adventure story. He was no hero at all. He still felt he had abandoned his mother but there was no way to provide for her at home, not like he could by riding. So sometimes it was good to have another person to be besides Bill Cody. Bill Cody wasn't that great at all even if he was the only one who knew it and even if he'd never admit it to anyone.
As incredible as becoming someone else had felt, returning to himself and hearing the cheers and applause may have been even better. He'd never felt adoration such as that and it made him giddier than being drunk or even winning the attentions of a pretty girl.
It was the next performance that he felt it. The moment before Jonathan opened the curtain the lights had been lowered in the audience and the footlights couldn't permeate the thick fabric. It was nearly quiet as the audience anticipated the play beginning and nearly dark as well. He could hear his heart beating in his chest but it wasn't fear that caused it that night. It was excitement. It was being on the cusp of bringing something from a written page to life, of embodying someone else, someone noble. There was the tingling feeling in the air as there is before a lightning storm. He closed his eyes and just settled into that moment. For in that one moment everything he had ever wanted, wished or dreamed of was possible. This moment was the very definition of possible. He was now part of something that had been before he was ever a thought in the back of anyone's mind and it would soldier on long after his passing. To absorb into something as old as time itself it seemed carried tremendous power and weight yet it felt light upon his shoulders. His breath caught in his throat as the tenuous tranquility of the moment washed over him. Better than the thought of being what he felt he could only dream of in his life away from the stage and better than the applause and cheers was this feeling. If he had wanted to fly right then he felt he could have just spread his arms and floated over the crowd assembled and soared with eagles.
As quickly as the moment came upon him, it was gone. The curtain was opened and Jenny and Harold took their places and the show began. His performance was better that night, he felt. Perhaps it was more honest and perhaps he was gaining confidence in his ability. He thought it more likely that the moment of the possible fueled him, drove him, touched him with its magic.
His time as an actor with the Herrick's was short and ended badly. As always Teaspoon was there to bring him some comfort. And Teaspoon was right too. He would return to the stage and she would be the blissful mistress she was meant to be.
Yet every single show, before he took to whatever stage he was on, before he walked out in front of the crowd, he took a moment to let the power of the possible wash over him.
I needed a break from some other things and got to talking to a friend about this moment that happens that truly is the best part of performing. I love applause, I really do but this moment of possible is the best feeling there is. If you could bottle it, you'd make a fortune. I rewatched the episode The Play's the Thing and when he is talking about acting and nearly tears up, I knew he felt it too. Hugs to the Codester because I totally understand where he's coming from.-J