One time, my friends dared me to mix everything in the fridge into a cup and drink it. Another time, we dared each other to write dirty limericks about our crushes. On our foreheads. In Sharpie. Another time, we dared each other to run through the snow. Naked. And then spent an hour debating whether underwear and bra counted as naked. This is the best part of sleepovers, and I'd argue, one of the best parts of childhood. Best friendships. Daring each other to climb higher. And digging into each other for bits of hidden truth. I wanted TRUTH DARE to take those experiences, spin cycle them, and discover the quiet, fragile, and (yes, dangerous) truth about friendship among girls.
I've known for a while that something wasn't right in the base of TRUTH DARE. I've loved a lot about the play. I love the girls who live in it. And I love the world they've created for themselves. There was just something a little bit off.
Shifting the base of a play, even a little bit, can be terrifying. But sometimes, that's the only way you can get it to go higher, go further, dig deeper, whatever. The thing is, if you don't have strong people to hold up the sides, the whole damn thing can come down on your head.
This week, I've been lucky. The women in my band have been strong. As we gear up for a workshop at Dixon Place, they've held the sides up, walked on a shifting floor that has nails sticking out, and embraced the story so much that they could tell it back to me and spot where I was leaning out too far. I feel safe with them. Safe enough that I can pull out the foundation, move things around, and trust that they'll keep climbing up, up, up, up. I can't wait to see them up there.