"I'm glad that's over." Chuck put down his drill. "Five hundred and thirty two brand new chairs for the Orpheum. It took the whole day, but you don't want to screw up the spacing or the aisles."
Matt bit his lip. "Yeah. But why put new red vinyl seating in a 150 year old theatre? I'm not paying for it, so I guess I shouldn't complain."
Matt stood up and looked down the long curving crimson line. "Hey, these number plates are detachable, right?"
Samantha took a deep breath before she stepped out of the back of the limo and onto the carpeted entryway of the theater. She held onto her husband tightly as she wrapped her pashmina around her shoulders to ward off the cold, blustery winter wind. The doorman nodded his head as he held open the door for them. She checked her wrap at the coatroom and made her way to thier seats. Samantha could hear the orchestra tuning up as she entered the great hall. Oh, how she loved the opera. They had been coming every year on their anniversary since her husband made it home safely from his tour in Iraq. The usher took the tickets and led them to their seats. All around her people were talking quietly, greeting the friends they hadn't seen since the previous show with perfunctory pecks on the cheek. A few heads turned as she walked down the row to her seat. As the house lights flashed indicating the beginning of the first act, Samantha closed her eyes and thought back to that night. The knock at the door, a man in uniform, and then a blur as he told her the news. She remembers only fragments of what he was telling her: "drunk driver.... red light.... hospital.... my condolences." The next few days were a blur also, funeral arrangements, family and friends, total strangers all wanting to pay their respects. It was a month before she could get herself out of bed. Another 3 weeks before she could go out in public and that was just to the lawyer's office to sign some paperwork. Her parents, friends, and co-workers had done everything to get her to come out and face the world, but all she wanted to do was hide. She thought maybe, it was all a dream and he was going to come through the door with his duffel over his shoulder. That all-american smile of his beaming at her, making her feel like a shy schoolgirl who'd just been chosen by the captain of the football team. The orchestra begins playing the first number and Samantha is jerked back to reality. Her first trip to the opera alone, but not really alone. She looks down in her lap and wipes the tears from the urn. She places it in the seat next to her and rests her hand on it, just as she rested her hand on her husband's lap one year ago.
“Thank you! Thank you! Oh no, you are too kind!” Aida mimicked holding a giant bouquet of fresh flowers as she took a sweeping bow under the arch of the proscenium stage. Taking on small step forward on the apron, she looked out over a sea of pretend enthralled faces, and smiled joyously. She took another bow.
After a beat, to the empty Broadway house with its beautiful fresco murals, elegant crystal chandelier and aged red leather seats, she said, “An encore? Well, just this once, because you are such a special, lovely audience. Oh my - yes!”
She waited a moment until the imagined thunderous applause died down and began her wannabe coloratura turn in the guise of her namesake, “La fatal pietra sovra me si chiuse.......”
As she finished the final notes, she heard a solo pair of hands clapping slowly. Blushing, Aida shaded her eyes and squinted to see who it was in the back of the theatre, clapping for her.
A voice said, “Ah, Aida! There you are! Brava! But now, if you wouldn’t mind, please put aware your inner diva. You’re needed downstairs in costumes, pronto!”
“Yes, Mr. Mertens,” said Aida in a tiny voice, “Sorry. I’m on my way right now.”
Taking one last look over her adoring fans. she left the stage and headed back to the stage hands’ rear staircase.
"I'm glad that's over." Chuck put down his drill. "Five hundred and
ReplyDeletethirty two brand new chairs for the Orpheum. It took the whole day,
but you don't want to screw up the spacing or the aisles."
Matt bit his lip. "Yeah. But why put new red vinyl seating in a 150
year old theatre? I'm not paying for it, so I guess I shouldn't
complain."
Matt stood up and looked down the long curving crimson line. "Hey,
these number plates are detachable, right?"
Deep breath. DEEP breath. "No, Matt."
Samantha took a deep breath before she stepped out of the back of the limo and onto the carpeted entryway of the theater. She held onto her husband tightly as she wrapped her pashmina around her shoulders to ward off the cold, blustery winter wind. The doorman nodded his head as he held open the door for them.
ReplyDeleteShe checked her wrap at the coatroom and made her way to thier seats.
Samantha could hear the orchestra tuning up as she entered the great hall. Oh, how she loved the opera. They had been coming every year on their anniversary since her husband made it home safely from his tour in Iraq.
The usher took the tickets and led them to their seats. All around her people were talking quietly, greeting the friends they hadn't seen since the previous show with perfunctory pecks on the cheek. A few heads turned as she walked down the row to her seat.
As the house lights flashed indicating the beginning of the first act, Samantha closed her eyes and thought back to that night.
The knock at the door, a man in uniform, and then a blur as he told her the news. She remembers only fragments of what he was telling her: "drunk driver.... red light.... hospital.... my condolences."
The next few days were a blur also, funeral arrangements, family and friends, total strangers all wanting to pay their respects.
It was a month before she could get herself out of bed. Another 3 weeks before she could go out in public and that was just to the lawyer's office to sign some paperwork.
Her parents, friends, and co-workers had done everything to get her to come out and face the world, but all she wanted to do was hide. She thought maybe, it was all a dream and he was going to come through the door with his duffel over his shoulder. That all-american smile of his beaming at her, making her feel like a shy schoolgirl who'd just been chosen by the captain of the football team.
The orchestra begins playing the first number and Samantha is jerked back to reality. Her first trip to the opera alone, but not really alone. She looks down in her lap and wipes the tears from the urn. She places it in the seat next to her and rests her hand on it, just as she rested her hand on her husband's lap one year ago.
B. Nagel, what a crack up!!!
ReplyDeleteKristina, that was awesome! I really liked the little twist.
I'll have to post tomorrow, gotta go to work, ugh!
@Kristina. Nice. I was expecting an empty seat, but the urn was a neat touch.
ReplyDeleteKristina - what a lovely but poignant story!
ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDelete“Thank you! Thank you! Oh no, you are too kind!” Aida mimicked holding a giant bouquet of fresh flowers as she took a sweeping bow under the arch of the proscenium stage. Taking on small step forward on the apron, she looked out over a sea of pretend enthralled faces, and smiled joyously. She took another bow.
ReplyDeleteAfter a beat, to the empty Broadway house with its beautiful fresco murals, elegant crystal chandelier and aged red leather seats, she said, “An encore? Well, just this once, because you are such a special, lovely audience. Oh my - yes!”
She waited a moment until the imagined thunderous applause died down and began her wannabe coloratura turn in the guise of her namesake, “La fatal pietra sovra me si chiuse.......”
As she finished the final notes, she heard a solo pair of hands clapping slowly. Blushing, Aida shaded her eyes and squinted to see who it was in the back of the theatre, clapping for her.
A voice said, “Ah, Aida! There you are! Brava! But now, if you wouldn’t mind, please put aware your inner diva. You’re needed downstairs in costumes, pronto!”
“Yes, Mr. Mertens,” said Aida in a tiny voice, “Sorry. I’m on my way right now.”
Taking one last look over her adoring fans. she left the stage and headed back to the stage hands’ rear staircase.
Another great set of flash - Woot!
ReplyDeleteLove the nifty shift of your story, Kristina.
Encore! Great stories guys!!!
ReplyDelete