"O!"

A (fairly typical) page from the "text work" section of my script

It's one of my favorite words in Shakespeare--the infamous "O" that leads off speeches like the Chorus's Prologue to Henry V. When I introduce Shakespeare to my freshmen, we play the "O Game." Students stand in a circle around me, and I give them only one rule: no matter what I tell them, the only word they have at their disposal is that all-purpose "O." We then wind our way through several scenarios: I bring them a little fluffy puppy to snuggle; I tell them that they get to go to their favorite restaurant for dinner tonight; they watch a prom proposal result in a "no" in a public location on campus; they smell raw sewage from a pipe break while on their drives home. Each "O" becomes its own unique language, and the students start to realize the inflections, intonations, and impulses that can affect how an actor chooses to use the word.

As a result, when I came across an "O" while in rehearsals for act 3, scene 4, of Twelfth Night last night, I realized that I had some choices. In the asides in question (the ones pictured above), I've just realized that there's a very real chance my twin brother, Sebastian, survived the shipwreck at the start of the play; in fact, it seems, I've been mistaken for him by another sailor. At the start of rehearsal, I struggled with the speeches; I seemed to be playing them as a single note, and I had no idea how to employ that "O" in the second to last line to its best possible use. Throughout a 45-minute period, my director coaxed me into a clearer understanding of the meaning; she encouraged me to take her on Viola's journey of discovery rather than just assuming I understood the implications of hearing Sebastian's name from the start. As I worked through the speech one more time, I was surprised to realize that this "O" was not a moment of wishful thinking; it was, instead, a moment of hopeful surety--though I don't know how Sebastian will be returned to me, I finally think it's quite possible that he will be.

And so I left rehearsal wondering if I could use "O" as a barometer for my own life. How often do I assume that my level of exhaustion will result in an "ugh" kind of "O" class rather than an "O!" one? How readily do I defeat myself before starting a run with an "O(h well)" rather than an "O(kay!)"? And when was the last time I really thought "O!" (we will have a family one day) rather than "O?" (there's another inevitable setback in our journey?

Today, I'm putting "O" on the table and letting it lead me where it will. I wonder what discoveries I'll make along the way.