Monday, February 15, 2010

An Evening, er, Afternoon at the Theatre


Scene 1


She: “Sunshine!!!”

He: “What?? Was that you, moonlight??”

She: “Of course it was, where are you?”

He: “Downstairs, where else would you think I am?”

She: “It’s time!”

He: “Why don’t you come down here and stop hollering?!”

She: “Far too easy, far too uninteresting”

He: “What? I can’t hear you!”

She: “Uggghhhh…..”


Down the massive winding stairs she goes. A house, a mansion really, far too big for the two of them, far too strange for anyone to have noticed it there on the hill. She: dressed head to toe in completely, un-matching colours. They all say she’s crazy, talk behind her back, they all know that she doesn’t come from the money she claims to come from. He: dressed to the nines, but no one knows that the tags in his clothes actually say ‘Rarry Hosen’.


She: “Darling, have you seen my fur coat? The one with the fox face still on?”

He: “You don’t own that coat anymore, candy cane, you made it into art…remember?”

She: “Oh, pity, so I did. Well come on, we’ll be late for the theatre. I’ll wear faux tonight”

He: “Tonight? Darling it’s one o’clock in the afternoon, the show begins at two, plenty of time, but hardly evening”

She: “What are you listening to, buttercup?”

He: “This? Did I ever tell you about when I was young? I was the star of many plays, a star of the stage, why, this is me!”

She: “I didn’t know you sang German”

He: “The magic of the stage…”

She: “Yes, well, let’s go, the show won’t go on without us”

He: “As soon as I’m finished here, it won’t be but a moment”

She: “Finished with what, pumpkin, what is that?”

He: “Saving the world, dear, one marble at a time!”


Scene 2

He: “The car won’t start”

She: “We’ll just have to walk, did I mention the show won’t go on without us?”


She flings her faux mink over one shoulder, revealing a tear in her moth eaten dress, underarm peeks out.


She: “Oopsie daisy!”

He: “Hmmm?”

She: “Nothing!”


The car won’t start. So they set out to walk. Down their un-named street in a flurry of fur and pinstripes. The show will go on without them, but they’ll see to it that they’re there. They waft down Queen, as though in an old, silent film, in slow motion. Passers by all look on, feeling a strange blast of cold, and our couple (of course) believe it’s because they are super stars. She with her menthol, ashing at the end of a long dirty cigarette holder. He with an unlit cigar and tilted bowler. They don’t blend with the hipster kids of today, but after all, why would they want to?


They finally arrive at lower Ossington, and enter the theatre. The play has not yet begun (they are in luck). They make it to their seats with minutes to spare, and scan the crowd. Giggling youngsters and chuckling grandparents, this is their niece’s show, she is the star of this afternoon’s performance. They are the stars in the darkness. She takes out her hatpin to reveal ruffled, outdated hair.


She: “Darling, are you as proud of our niece as I?”

He: “Of course, moonlight, look at this crowd, they are all here for her.”


The lights dim, the crowd hushes, and a beautiful, young brunette takes centre stage. She begins by welcoming all to this event, here, at the Lower Ossington theatre. The young brunette does not miss out on the opportunity to tell everyone that she, herself, was indeed the star, the witch, at last night’s show, but that she is happy to welcome this, ahem, ‘blonde’ to the stage tonight. With that, she walks off, while clapping and smiling, smirking really.


Our couple anticipate in the darkness, their niece, the star of the night. But no, their niece is not blonde, is not today’s witch. Their niece is the real star here. She is a tree…and a giant. Can you imagine? Two roles! Oh how heaven has descended upon their family this day!


Scene 3


The lights come up, the applause thunders. The stars take to the stage for their bows.


She: “That was wonderful! What a star our niece is!”

He: “Yes, quite wonderful. Now gather up your faux mink, lets go”


With a snap of his fingers, they’re off. They sashay back down Ossington, reminiscent of days gone by, down Queen, unmatched by today’s hipsters, who, really, don’t know style at all, and home. Back to his marbles, back to her art. They smile, turn in, and vaporize, back into the attic of the afterlife, until the next performance by their niece, who truly is, more than a tree, and the most beautiful giant voice.

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