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...nervous I could not hold my voice steady. Couple this with the fact that the readings where from some rather ancient Molier scripts containing a language that barely resembled English, I did not feel to confident that I would secure a decent roll. When I arrived at school the following day I went promptly to the arts center to look at the list of rolls that was to be taped to the director’s door. I was ill prepared for what I saw there. I was cast in the roll of Angelique in the play The Jealous Husband. I was to be the source of the jealousy, a French sex crazed wife to an over protective and callous husband. To say my jaw dropped would be putting my reaction in a mild light. My apprehension faded only slightly when I realized that I was not the only male sentenced to donning a dress. In one stroke of good fortune one of my closest friends was cast in a cross gender roll as well. Dave Underhill was to play my nurse. Needless to say the rehearsals were amusing. As the crew slowly wrestled to memorize that which to us felt like and out of date dialogue, we where coached by multiple teachers to recite these words with a feigned French accent. I spent the majority of the time talking in a high falsetto while trying desperately to commit to memory my lines so as not to repeat what I felt was a substandard performance from the previous play. Much to my relief I found that the absurdity of the roll, coupled with the difficulty of the language made my resolve stronger and my memory more absolute. When show time drew near I found my level of anxiety rising ever higher. I was to take the stage as a French female in front of countless students at a small private school! This is the sort of event that typically haunts the nightmares of the just-pubescent, and I was about to do it willingly. Ok, somewhat willingly! The stage itself was set on an incline, faux finished to look like black and white marble with two massive Doric columns framing the scene. It was designed with two slides placed at opposite wings of the stage so that the actors would make a grand entrance from the darkened wings. I was determined to be one of the first two people to don the stage, scheduled to slide down stage left in a pale yellow dress and corset the moment the lights began to burn hot. On opening night my fears climaxed. After seeing myself in full fem regalia during dress rehearsals I realized just how hideous a female I made. To date I have never felt such trepidation and yet I somehow mustered the strength to make my way to the arts center. I remember pulling on my dress in a cold sweat. As fortune would have it, the makeup when applied dried the nervous beads from my brow. After completing the cross-dressing I begrudgingly made my way from the green room to the shadows on stage right. As I ascended the slide’s ladder I found my anxiety grow with every rung. While perched atop the slide for the few seconds required to open the curtain I felt the sensations that one must feel in a near death experience, an empty doubt filled remorse that everything you know and care for is about to change. The curtain opened, the lights illuminated, and despite my fears, I somehow gained the strength to slide. The sensation I felt when my feet ran aground that first night is unlike any I could have possibly foreseen. As I touched down I could hear a faint murmur erupt from the audience as a hundred fifty plus people tried to discern who had just graced the stage with his/her/it’s presence. But despite the laughter that erupted when my identity was determined, I found that under those gleaming lights all trepidation faded away. The fears of the social implications that this roll held seemed to disappear. Every apprehension fled leaving only my three months ...