I went to Umpqua Community College at the time of the shooting, and I don't go there anymore. Right before the shooting on October 1st of last year, I got a part in the UCC production of Blithe Spirit by Noel Coward, a comedy about a bothersome ghost set to premiere around Halloween. I even got into the play by writing and performing my own monologue, in which I testified before Congress on the rights of "ethereal Americans," or ghosts. That one made the director, also my drama teacher, laugh many times.
On Monday of the first week into the term, the first rehearsal was cancelled and pushed back to that Friday, I believe. Then, the following Thursday, one of the play's production assistants went to school and killed a bunch of people.
I had a lot more on my mind then, but I also knew that the play would most assuredly be cancelled, since it was a comedy about ghosts.
A few weeks later, I was offered a part in another play, replacing Blithe Spirit, which was A Woman Of No Importance by Oscar Wilde. My maybe-homophobic friend Ruth had the line, "I was wrong. God's law is only love," which I thought was neat.
The play was to take place in Centerstage Theatre, which is the smaller of the two theaters on the UCC campus. It seats maybe two hundred people, and some nights during the performance it was nearly full.
There were other people using Centerstage one night when we had rehearsals, so we had to go next door to Jacoby Auditorium, which seats, I would estimate, about a thousand people. Everyone met in Centerstage's dressing rooms, then got ready to go over to Jacoby.
"I can't find my hairbrush," somebody said.
"Maybe a ghost took it," I suggested, thinking of all the legends of theater ghosts.
"No, Oscar's in Jacoby," my new best friend, whom I had met from the play, remarked. She was a pansexual Christian who called me "Sunshine" after a character from the show Queer as Folk, which it turned out we both adored.
"Oscar Wilde is in Jacoby?!" I asked excitedly, thinking of the man who wrote the play we were all in. I didn't know if I believed in ghosts, but I wanted to, especially this one, whom I hope was pleased with my Lady Hunstanton. I didn't know why he would be here, of all places, but maybe he haunted places where his plays were shown. Maybe if I could get him alone, he would tell me what it was like to be gay (or bisexual, since he did marry and have children) in the nineteenth century. Maybe he would tell me how he wished me to play Lady Hunstanton. Maybe he would tell me what the afterlife was like. Maybe...
"No, he's just called Oscar," she answered. "That's what they've always called him."
"Do you think he's real?" I asked.
"I've heard him. I've also seen the lights flicker."
"Wow! How long has he been there?"
"At least as long as I've been doing plays, so at least ten years."
"That's amazing!" I declared, so excited to go and hopefully see a ghost, even if it wasn't Oscar Wilde. Especially since I aspired to be one someday, in a hundred years or more.
I wanted to tell everyone the good news. I was so happy to meet someone who had had a ghost encounter, much less possibly have one of my own.
"There's a ghost in Jacoby!" I practically sang out, to all the cast members who would listen.
"You told her there's a ghost in Jacoby?" a man who was in the play asked my friend.
"There is. I've heard him," she said.
We went over there. One of the "gels" or colored lenses on the stage lights, flickered high above us in that huge, cavernous theater.
"Is that Oscar?" the skeptical man asked.
"It's probably just a breeze up there," my friend replied.
I was confused as to how even a space as big as Jacoby could have its own air currents. I hoped it was Oscar, or whoever the ghost was.
I did see a mouse. One of the other girls started screaming because she saw a mouse coming out from under a cabinet backstage, so I went over and left food out for it. It came out and grabbed it, and disappeared again.
Ruth was laughing because I was feeding it chunks of my apple, the other girl was screaming and cringing, running away, and the skeptical guy looked at me in horror and said, with a weird look on his face, "You are disgusting!"
"I'm not touching it," I protested. And if it was already there, then it was already there, and there was no point in making it starve. I hid my apple cores behind a trash can, too, so it and its friends could eat off of them. I hoped that an exterminator wouldn't find them in such a big building, or that it would at least be humanely relocated.
Later, Ruth would tell people that mouse story whenever she could. "She was feeding it!" she laughed, pointing at me in class.
So maybe ghosts can take the form of mice, when they want to. Who knows? I saw a video of Obama doing it, one time, so a ghost would be even more powerful. I hope I gained the ghost's trust by feeding it.
So "Oscar" has apparently been there for at least ten years, and his legend did not start with my friend. I did not hear anything of him being particularly sad or angry. He was just there, choosing Jacoby as his home, for whatever reason.
At least I know the people killed at UCC have a potential friend. I hope they're all at peace. I hope the mice are doing good too. At any rate, I'm glad to be out of the play, and out of that school.
I'm kind of disappointed that I didn't get to meet Oscar Wilde, though. If you're reading this, Mr. Wilde, you can come to my house and visit me there, if you like. I hope I did a good job playing the character you wrote.
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