Last weekend I took a crew of teenagers to see The Shape of a Girl at SCT. I didn’t know what to expect; the tickets were in my pocket all week and I never looked up information about the show.
The narrator of the play is unreliable, not a bystander but actually complicit in the torment of another child who was once her friend. The character evokes the female culture of censure, the desperate danger of isolation, and the risks inherent in speaking out.
During the performance there were moments when I was literally doubled over with the horror of the piece – it was a visceral experience for me not only because of the rural NW setting but also because I was victimized by other children during the cancer years.
It would have been hard to watch the play just on that level, but it is also true that I was never simply a victim. I fought back – with words but also with my body. I learned to fight not just for myself but for others who were weak. I could never, would never, passively allow someone to be injured. I would rather not have a community if the tradeoff means looking the other way and ignoring abuse.
I’ve walked away from relationships, friends, more than I care to contemplate because I refuse to compromise this belief.
As we left the theatre my daughter urged me to tell some of the stories from my reckless youth but I shook my head, too overwhelmed. I said that my tooth hurt and that she could tell the stories later.
If you have an opportunity to see the play – you should. It is really very good.