Series of moments from the Vagina Monologues Auditions at Gorse Hill Studios.
Small Stone: Vagina Monologues
There are custard creams and teabags in a sodden pile in a cup. We gather to watch a short video with no words, just images. My eyes are hot and wet and I look away, concentrating on the floor.
There’s a woman signing to another sitting next to me. Her hands billow and open doors, open windows that I cannot see as they communicate.
I practice saying, ‘vagina’. In my mouth it sounds like a tool, a disinfectant, a curiosity. I practice until it is just three syllables, stripped to normality.
I read from the sheet of A4 my piece, catching hold of the words like a climber does handholds on a rock. I ascend to the top of the next page and it is over.
On the bus home my blood burns as if I have run many miles to get here.