It’s Saturday, August 1. The closing night of Too Many Cooks. This show at the Volcano Theatre Company that I auditioned for in February. Just as I was settling in to life in this tiny town of 187 people. Just as I was deciding I was going to make this move permanent. Just as I discovered I was a witch in a lab coat.
Joel stops by on his bike ride now, sits at the gallery—sometimes with cinnamon rolls, sometimes with sandwiches. Gary makes me a walking stick, suggests we go hike Silver Lake. Lee adds his art to my walls, makes his first official sale at the Love Lab LIVE. Ian, who I first met at karaoke night, hugs me like it’s been years every time our paths cross wherever we are. Judy, Laura, Karen, Alison all stop me at the Farmer’s Market just to chat. A stranger at the supermarket says “Hey, weren’t you in that play? You were so funny!” Dana asks me to help coach dialects for the next production, Jekyll & Hyde.
This is what welcomed in feels like.
South Eugene High School. 1981. Senior year. Third school in four years. My last first day—by now I had a method. Find the theater kids, get instant community!
“I know you!” Aaron says. “You were in Brigadoon at Carnival Theater.”
He was right. He must have been in the audience, because he wasn’t in the cast. He still had my face filed away three summers and two whole Chicago winters later.
“There’s auditions afterschool today,” he offers as I head into the cafeteria.
I sit down next to a tall, geeky looking guy with a shock of curly blonde hair, unusually light blue eyes, and an overbite that gave his whole face an off-kilter kind of charm.
He was alone.
Another new kid.
“There’s auditions after school today,” I say.
His name is Joel—another Joel. I have no idea why I am surrounded by so many Joels. My kid’s dad is Joel… Anyway. 1981 Joel. He’s just moved here—I can’t remember from where. (It is nearly forty years later as I sit at the picnic bench in Fiddletown writing this post.)
Joel and I show up and are cast as the leads in The Rimers of Eldritch—Eva Jackson, a young rape victim with a physical disability, and Robert Conklin, a protective teen with a desire to get out of small town Missouri. (Yes, back in the day, high schools could do shows with challenging themes and parents would let them. But that’s a Mel rant for another day.)
Instantly, I was part of a group of creative, interesting, smart people. Some of them are still friends of mine. I’ve actually written about a few of them here!
Moving on to these 25 acres in Amador County in 2026 and deciding I wanted to put down roots—I instinctively had the recipe. Audition for the next local community theatre production. See what happens. I had the proof from teenage Mel—three high schools in four years, never outcast, never alone.
So tonight, as we close Too Many Cooks—as I get drunk off of the colored water, have my dress torn off on-stage and spend the rest of Act II in a slip, a janky wig, and a broken heel—I’ll look around and see these creative, interesting, smart people surrounding me and know that I am part of whatever it is we are doing.
In this tiny community. In this red county. In this fucked up country. On this planet circling a star.
Somehow I’ll belong.
Love this. Love you, you phabulous phirecracker! xo
"not outcast" ... gave me a whole new layer of meaning based on the theater context! 💜