I feel my butt hit the leather seat of my 2010 Toyota Prius, there is a sigh – signaling the end. I have slowly begun to plant the seed that it’s over, I won’t ever see them again. The smiles, the songs, the sacrifice, the show – now a memory, to stay a memory. I feel a cocktail of solace with a shake of sadness, garnished with the nostalgia of what was. “You’re doing fine Oklahoma, Oklahoma, O.K.,” a line in the titular song echoes through the chambers of my head, a headache that is welcome and unwelcome at the same time. 

I have lived in Chico for three years, and barely feel like I have interacted with my Chico community. A feeling that may – or may not – resonate within a lot of students who travel to Chico for college. I often feel disconnected, occasionally using the community as a day getaway, but never feeling like a Chico local. That being said, another piece of my life felt empty – the part of my life that loves theatre.  

From a very young age, I have always loved musical theatre. The bright lights of Broadway, the chorus, the dance, the lighting, the performance – everything. However, that part of my life left me when I moved to Chico to focus on my academic pursuits, that is until this past summer when I auditioned for and got into the chorus for California Regional Theatre’s production of “The Hunchback of Notre Dame.” This experience was fine, however sitting in the background for the duration of the three-hour show to occasionally stand and sing was dull, especially when there were only six of us; not enough to look resemblant of a chorus. During the closing weekend of Hunchback, our music director, Olivia Cerullo, encouraged me to find a new show to do following the closing, seeing that I wanted more. That being said, the itch was there – aching out of my soul; the itch to perform. 

I auditioned for the Chico Theatre Company’s production of “Oklahoma!,” and after seemingly bombing the audition, I was cast as Slim, an ensemble member with a couple bits and gags in the show. Contrary to most modern theatre performers, I was not a bit upset to be in the ensemble, because after three-and-a-half years, I get to perform and breathe life into a show.  

The rehearsal process started boring like many of mine have before. You play the game of having to make all new acquaintances, learning your blocking/choreography and getting used to what is a difficult rehearsal schedule. 

Slowly, I started merging into a group of cast members who became my go-to people at every rehearsal. Our group at the time wasn’t anything crazy, aside from our group chat where we would occasionally send a funny picture or two. However, it wasn’t until our two-week Christmas break that I noticed a loss in my heart, not just me for the little group, but the entire cast. Was it possible I had started growing closer than I thought to them? 

After reconvening it felt like my friendships were stronger than ever, and I couldn’t wait to go to rehearsals, and be a part of the community – but also to be with my character. I don’t know what it was, but Slim became second nature to me – a close friend, or an unknown brother. One of the most beautiful things about theatre is the best actors will become their characters. By the time we got to our performances, I was Slim. I knew his thoughts, morals, motives, motivations, fears and joys.  

But aside from that, through the struggle of tech week, our cast and crew had become a melody of friendship, harmonized by the joys of being together. This was the most truthful for me on a seemingly normal Saturday. I woke up at 10:30 a.m., knowing I had to perform that night, and be ready for my 6:30 p.m. call time.

I must have fallen back asleep. Then, my dream began. 

My eyes opened again in panic to my apartment shaking, intimidated, wondering if it was a nightmare. I stumble toward my front door as my entire apartment shakes and open it to see one of my cast members, in his costume – white cotton shirt, undone black suspenders, jeans and brown boots; standing in front of me with a phone in his hand, on a phone call. Why is he here? How did he know where I live? Is everything okay?

“Cancel the wellness check, he is here. Are you ready to go?” he said.  

What is a wellness check? Dazed, my nightmare becomes a dream again – is this my ghost of Christmas Past? I quickly throw on my slippers, still in my pajamas and grab my show bag – complete with my lifeless phone. My brain is foggy, l wondered why my dream felt so vivid. As I get down the steps of my apartment, I am asked by my castmate if I am okay to drive. Confirming, I rushed to my car, turning it on and beginning to race down Esplanade– matching the urgency of my castmate, it felt almost as if someone had died.

As I am driving, my dead phone came back to life. I see a flood of hundreds of calls, messages and snaps asking where I am and if I am okay. I know something is wrong, why is my spirit being punished through my dream? Walking into the theatre felt like a paparazzi flood, as people were crying and rushing up to hug me – I don’t understand. Saying hi, and not paying much attention, I get into costume and start the show, my habitual response.  

About 40 minutes into the show, another of my castmates told me, “I’m glad you’re here with us right now, I don’t know what I would have done if anything happened to you.” 

In that moment the fog lifted, it clicked – I wasn’t dreaming, everyone thought I died. I was at the theatre doing the show. The phone call I heard when I opened the door was to the police to get them to come and break my door. The hugs, the phone calls, the texts; it all made sense. My brain fog quickly turned into remorse and apology, startling my other castmates.  

Afterwards, I see my director, she is crying and embraces me as if I was her son. At that moment, I knew that there was something about this group of people, something very special. My own mom didn’t know that I might have died, but 23 people I had seemingly just met were ready to go to hell and back to make sure I was okay. At that moment, I knew community, I knew love and I knew friendship. Built up by acts of love for each other, our cast became a family to me – which is cringey to say, but I mean it. 

The next day, the jokes and heckling came. My ears were flooded with the sounds of “Well it looks like Damon made it today,” and “Who’s going to drive to his apartment this time?” But they didn’t bother me, it was actually the opposite. I know they cared about me, and they were probably happy at the chicken soup I brought as an “I’m sorry” gift. 

When it came to our closing weekend, our cast was full of celebration. I ended up writing cards to all my castmates, something I had never done in my 10+ years of theatre. Our cast party was full of emotion, it was bittersweet. I remember telling someone that – at times – it kind of felt like a funeral. As people said goodbye, and with the knowledge that I might never see them again, it felt like death.  

Now, I sit and write this a week following our closing. I can clearly see my Oklahoma “shrine” on my TV stand, full of flowers, cards and other trinkets from the cast and people who came to see the show. I don’t fully know that I am ready to put it away, although I really want to make a shadow box, so it would never really “go away.” I wouldn’t say I am sad. I have such deep love for everything created and the friendships sown, but I know that dwelling on it won’t make the sadness go away. 

Writing this piece, I haven’t cried, but I do feel my heart break a little as I put it down to the page that it is over. My cast wasn’t full of people who do theatre for a living, it was AT&T workers, schoolteachers, interior architects, retail workers, artists, firefighters and school bus drivers. They became my family, people I would go to for advice and I would take a bullet for any of them.  

To you, the reader, I implore you to go out and do something in our community. Join a group outside of the little Chico State bubble that consumes us. I can’t describe the community to you in written words, community is something experienced, and all of you reading this need that community in your life.  

Go venture forth, it is right here in our tiny town, waiting for you to arrive. 

Damon Gallegos can be reached at [email protected].