Act One: “Yea, Alabama!”
I am 18. I pack my bags and drive fast to Tuscaloosa. I want to start a club. I’m going to be an activist. I will say and do important things for important causes.
“A” for access, “B” for Bama Cash. I don’t know where Northport is. What machine? I almost step on a squirrel.
I read D’holbach and Descartes, Pound and Stein. My English composition professor gives me an A+ on my essay on ambrosia salad. Law schools will give me scholarships.
I’m standing in the cold at 2 a.m. because someone pulled the fire alarm for the 13th time this week, but it’s okay. I have houndstooth rain boots.
Act Two: “Drown ‘em Tide”
I am 20, almost 21. “Philosophy and religious studies … what are you planning to do after graduation?”
The more I know, the less I am.
A cog, a commodity transferred laterally and horizontally, laterally and horizontally.
The Alabama Constitution is the root of all evil.
The instructor interrupts my presentation on The Feminine Mystique by sharply asking, “Are you done yet?”
Through allegiances, hierarchies and structures older and stronger than me.
Business, business professional, business casual, smart casual or casual?
“We had so many strong applicants this year.”
Pink Floyd was right.
I try to give my rain boots to my roommate. She doesn’t want them.
Act Three: “Hit your Stride”
I am 22. Achievements are marked in certificates and $18 cords. My name is on a plaque, but soon no one will know or care why.
“Pomp and Circumstance” is stuck in my head.
I almost step on a squirrel. Some things never change.
When I came to the University, I thought I could be a playwright, telling the stories I imagined, naming the sets, players and directions. I soon found I was mistaken.
I am an actor, speaking, moving and dressing as instructed.
So, I act and wait – wait for the brief, fleeting moment when the script reads “ad lib.”
Then, I write my own play.
As I walk across the stage to receive my diploma May 4, I’ll hit my stride, recalling the stories I wrote, the ones I didn’t, and fellow playwright/actors I met along the way (here’s looking at you, Philosopher Kings and RSSA).
Those houndstooth rain boots are still in my closet. I’ll probably keep them.
Hannah Hicks was the recipient of the John Frasier Ramsey Award.
