It was my very first day and I was terrified. Uta Hagen, an acclaimed and vilified acting teacher (maybe one of the best) was in Chicago for 6 weeks and was teaching an acting intensive. I was 20-something years old, still on drugs, and dressing like Emmet Kelly.

But I needed to act. I wanted to learn HOW to act.

I was living on the edge of the north side of Chicago and still working in drag clubs in and around the City and was completely and ultimately bored. I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t get thoughts to stay in my head for a long period of time and I knew something was wrong. I had transitioned already and my parents had left my life for what I assumed, was for good. The only thing I had was an abusive, alcoholic boyfriend, my own heroin and cocaine addiction, two cats, and some Bob Mackie in my closet. I was lost. My soul was empty.

So, I took a chance and signed up for her class. When I signed up, I noticed that in order to even get in to see her for a consultation, everyone had to audition. Having been in the theatre when I was very small, I new I needed some monologues. I went to an actress friend of mine and she gave me something from a play that I don’t remember, and then I put together a Shakespeare piece from “Twelfth Night” which was the show where Chrisanne and I met in High School.

I auditioned on a Monday night, and it was raining. Those big, dew drop sized balls of rain that plummet from the earth and fall with a thud at your feet. I had forgotten an umbrella and although I took a cab downtown, just the walk from the door of the cab to the door of the theatre was enough to turn my teased up-do, into a flat, stringy mess.

I marched myself up the long stairway that took me to the lobby where I sat with about 20 other struggling actors. All of them in jeans and T-shirts, old shoes, scuffed and worn, and some in rented suits. With rented ties.

We were all trying our best to impress Ms Hagen.

“Alexandria Billingsley?”

My head jerked up, I’d been called a lot of things in my life, but never that.

“Alexandra Billings?” I said, correcting her as kindly as I could.

“You’re on deck.”

I had no idea what the heck she meant.

“I am? How’m I doin?”

No one laughed.

I found out later in my life that On Deck means You’re Next. Why they couldn’t have just told me I was next still boggles my mind, but everyone has their own language I suppose.

Finally, a woman walked out in tears holding on to her purse as if it were about to explode and charged out the front door. I was now officially terrified.

I walked down a hallway littered with pictures, ads, comic strips and peeling paint. As I rounded the bend I heard a gruff voice from beyond a huge yellow-ish door say:

“Come in.”

I walked around the corner, pushing the door to my left and was immediately face to face with Uta. She sat there, Grey haired, chain smoking, with a cigarette dangling out of her mouth and another one in her hand, and wrapped up in a scarf and a black coat.

“The weather here is Christ awful.” She said, sounded strangely like Elaine Stritch.

“It’s raining.” I announced.

She stared at me.

“What are going to do for us?” she said, her voice getting deeper.

She was the only person in the room, which initially, startled me.

“I’m doing a monologue from Twelfth Night.” I said shaking.

“My favorite.” She said flatly.

I inhaled and spoke as quickly as I could hoping I wouldn’t forget any of the words. I just rambled. As if someone had punctured me with a pin, I just let out all of the text at once and strung all the sentences together. I finished, sighed, and almost collapsed.

Uta sat staring at me. Her eyes were more slits than anything else, and they suddenly got smaller. The rain began to pat on the window behind me.

“Breathe.” She said to me.

I tried. I failed.

“Breather GODDAMIT!” she commanded.

I did. Immediately.

“Do it again.”

I did.

“Good. Better. Do it again.”

I did.

“Good better. Do it again.”

I did.

“Now…..speak the words.” She demanded.

I did.

“Good. Do it again.”

I did.

“Better. Do it again.”

I did.

“Good. Do it again.”

I did.

We did that for almost 15 minutes, which, when you’re doing Shakespeare is about 14 lifetimes. By the time we finished our repetition. I was exhausted. Every piece of bull I had walking in that room fell away. I was open, ready, and for me, for where I was in my life at that time…..available. I put myself back in the scene, and before I left, I did it one more time, and it was better. It wasn’t great, but it was better.

“We start on Monday. Don’t be late or I’ll kill you.” She said growling.

The class changed me and gave me something, Uta sitting in the back, in the dark screaming, yelling, pawing at the air, and sometimes granting us wishes. Giving us the gift of seeing ourselves naked and in a new light. Giving me hope. Making me believe there was something else out there for me. Wrapping herself up in a big black coat her grey hair flung over her shoulder, on the very last day of class, it was sunny and windy and she turned to me as she picked up her big black suitcase and said:

“Keep going, Billings. You have something to do.”

My kids and I are at the beginning of Repetition. There’s some opening up going on and it’s scaring us all. But we’re in free-fall right now. We’ve taken a huge step off a cliff and now we’re in mid flight with our arms outstretched waiting to see what happens next. And I know that all of them will survive this. Because I know if I have something to do….so do they.