DID I TELL YOU I WENT TO JAIL TWICE THIS WEEKEND?

DID I TELL YOU I WENT TO JAIL TWICE THIS WEEKEND?

                It all started when I went to the Duke Theater on 42^nd Street to see “When I Come to Die”. The theater is easy enough to find if you are looking for it, and easy enough to miss if you are caught up by the temporary unseasonably warm February Friday night weather, bright lights and hordes of people in the streets. As I entered the third floor to be seated, immediately the audience is engulfed into the world of the play: A guard patrols the upper echelon of the stage and the perimeter of the seating area around the third floor, actors are already on the stage (set as prison cells) either on their beds, on the floor or pacing the room.  Chris Chalk’s name looks familiar in the program and it should; I just caught his performance as Troy Maxon’s son Cory in the Denzel studded "Fences" in April. While I felt Chalk played it stiff for a teenage boy, he was perfect in “When I Come to Die,” as Damon Robinson, a man who survives his lethal injection sentence only to return to his prison cell with no more answers to the meaning of life than anyone else walking around. The ritualistic behavior of each character reminds one of the regimented environment of the penile system: the guard (Michael Balderrama) with his prisoner transport gestures; Damon (Chalk) as he opens and reads his letters to family-all returned unopened-in order to maintain a personal  practice to “make contact” with the outside world. In this Nathan Louis Jackson (Broke-ology) play, order must be maintained at all times to stave chaos within the belly. Even the only other inmate Roach (David Patrick Kelly) delivers a fetching performance and convincingly earns his name as he scurries beneath his bed after a prison riot initiated by Damon, and never sleeps in his bed-always found somewhere on the floor. The friendship forged by Damon and Father Adrian Crouse (Neal Huff) is endearing and no less filial than two men on a basketball court.   Both men bring their questions about life to one another and walk away from their daily meetings growing closer to small understandings about themselves and one another. “Contact” is made between Robinson and his sister (Amanda Mason Warren) on a warm visit that turns sour once the matter of what will happen with Damon’s prized possession- his letters- is raised. This play is purely about what we consider contact, how we make and maintain contact with ourselves for the sake of sanity, as well as with one another for the sake of community.  “When I Come to Die” is a question raised, much like that of the “Sixth Happiness,” of which each soul must answer themselves.

                So on Saturday, I had already planned to see the  Liza Jesse Peterson performance, “Down the Rabbit Hole,” having forgotten what the subject matter was, that the temperature would drop by 30degrees, but remembering that she was a triple threat of some kind. I received the counsel of the weather as it blew throughout my home, warning me of the seriousness that awaited me outside. At least 200 others received the same feeling as we all huddled into the Brooklyn Academy of Music Café for a hopeful Saturday Happy Hour special or a good place to stand to see the performance. Peterson did not disappoint. This Philadelphia native threatened in the form of Poet, Actor and Activist. The Activist title is somewhat forged by her true profession: that of a teacher. She has been performing poetry for well over a decade and teaching Creative Writing inside of Maximum, Minimum and all points in between Prisons landing at Island Academy for three consecutive years-all quite unintentional. Peterson likens becoming a Poet in Residence at Island Academy to Alice traveling down the Rabbit Hole in the Lewis Carroll novel. Peterson shares her rising and failing aspirations of “making it” in the entertainment business and her bitter/sweet experiences. At one point, Peterson shares, all aspects of her life became wrapped up in being “down there” as her beaux, on a parole violation, also became incarcerated. The honesty and Shakespearian artistry of Liza Jesse was refreshing and funny as she is faced with "the slings and arrows of outrageous muthaf*kers in the street.” After being consistently questioned of her origin in her waitress gig that allowed her the flexibility to perform she answers, “I think, therefore you are, because I am” in her poem, "Poker Face".

My brother Michael probably caught one of her performances while he was locked up. May he rest in peace.

 Anyone can see this woman perform what she originally dubbed, “The Bitch is Back” on tour inside the rabbit hole or here on the outside. Catch a glimpse of this social activist in her witty, funny, truthful deliverance of what it means to walk a mile in her shoes while you are still within your own. Reflective and insightful, Liza Jesse Peterson will take you to places you may or may not have been to give you an experience beyond your everyday life.

I went to jail this weekend and they freed my mind.