Hiding in Realizations, how about you?
A friend of mine likes to chime-in in the middle of conversations with this gem “here’s the thing…” which is always her way of somehow finding the funny part, the ironic part, or the lesson in something…anything.
With her crossing my mind, I have this to say:
Here’s the thing…about leaving your friends and family to move across the nation for a fresh start:
I’m alone.
I”m alone out here. I moved out here four years and four months ago. I was accepted to Marymount Manhattan, a college, to finish a Bachelors degree in theatre–which I quit and didn’t pursue after one year enrolled. I moved in with a friend that I’d known since we were 12. Two of them, actually. I had two friends in NYC that I could crawl up to and be coddled by during my transition. I left a man behind. A man that, at the time, I cared a great deal for. I fell for him quickly. We crossed paths several times during my twenties, and the timing was never right. I was always flattered by his attention, but remained faithful to whomever I was involved with. Time had lined up…ish…and we began dating on St. Patrick’s day, 2010.
I moved to NYC in May 2010. This man was still a part of my life. He claimed love for me. He said he wanted to come visit me over the next couple of years while I was in school, and bid me to come home to him. And he’d love me, and give me the daughter I always thought I’d have.
A month after I moved here he broke up with me during a video chat session. After all his years of flattery, and kindness, and patience…after he said he loved me–he quit on me.
But my friends were there to baby me. We were only dating for a brief time so I was able to get past it without disappearing mentally and emotionally.
I dove into school and work. I sometimes opened my store early, then would go to class, then come back and close my store. All for $9/hour plus about an “extra” $5 in tips per week. My friend did her best to help me. She took me out for cocktails. We stayed home and had girls night In. We dyed eachothers hair as our roots grew in. She helped me with rent and bills and train rides. She took care of me, when I could not take care of myself. She let me laugh and cry, as she had for the past almost 20 years at that point. She was one of my best friends. After living together for a couple of years, she moved on. Life happens, opportunity knocks and …we can’t exist in one way forever, really. She wanted to marry her boyfriend/fiance (they’d been together for YEARS by now) and have kids. She wanted to have her kids in her hometown…our…hometown, where her siblings were, where her kids would grow up with their cousins and aunties and uncle near by. I absolutely could not blame her.
But I can’t go back there.
I don’t see myself there.
My family, my friends, they are all there. They are all in my hometown.
Here’s the thing…
I’m alone.
I have loved while living here. I had fallen for a man that I was ridiculously in love with. He was the first man I was so stupid for I wanted to marry him and have babies. ME. Babies??? He did not want to marry ever again, and he had a kid from his first marriage and said that kid was “enough.” He didn’t want anymore kids. Now that time has passed, I’m so glad we broke up. His depression and alcoholism were toxic in my life. He broke my heart on more than one occasion. I’ve been unable to just let that part go, and consistently wish the worst for him. One of these days I’ll think of him and actually forgive him. For now, I rarely think of him ,and when I do–I hope his life is shitty. Shrug. He said he loved me and moved out. He said he loved me and needed to be alone then moved on to another girl three weeks later. This is the kind of guy that said “when I’m having sex with her I think of you” Gross, right?
Here’s the thing…
My family and friends are all in my hometown, and I am alone here
There is nothing for me in my hometown EXCEPT my family and friends. I can’t move home and earn a good enough living and feel important and appreciated and acknowledged. That town is just too small for me. The people I miss fill my heart, the place they live in isn’t big enough for me. It doesn’t offer enough for me
I don’t know what “enough” is.
And I am alone here.
My best friends moved home. For the better–for them. And I have finally begun growing here. Not that they were EVER holding me back. I am so glad they were here when I first got here. They were a great help. Now, I have been growing and learning and figuring out life, on my own. Life, as I will know it.
This past year I’ve settled in nicely with my own life. I’m working in my field of “expertise.” I’m in school for something that compliments my career, the apartment lease is in my name, and my housemates are good; responsible people. My credit score is slowly coming out of the ditches…
But..
Yes, I’m alone here.
I don’t know HOW to make new friends. Me and my old friends share Old Memories, we don’t make new ones. Whenever I go home to visit and we spend time together, it’s 1)limited, and 2)talking about old times… 90% of my friends are now married with kids, or one of those…
Single, and alone.
Guys ACTUALLY say to me “why are you single?” or “how are you single?”
And the truth is Because I can’t be bothered with pansies–like yourself.
I’m alone here.
Gee, I wonder why.
Possibly because I don’t actually engage in the art of meeting new people or actually committing to them. Possibly because I don’t think ANYONE I ever meet will ever become a Good Friend, or Mate, and therefore they are not actually worth the time it would take to “get” or “understand” me.
The people I meet now, I feel like I’m hiding from them. I hide behind the Jameson, or silly comments. I hide behind the sarcasm and “rules” that “as long as you are a co-worker or class mate you cannot be a friend” because I don’t want to complicate things. I hide behind some kind of scrim, or screen that filters my reflection. It filters my gaze and my breath. It filters…everything I am. And the people that I meet only see a small percentage of The Real Me.
Here’s. The. Thing
I’m Alone here.
Where are you?
Hedwig got me wet, a story of falling for a woman
I work saturdays.
Winning the lottery that one time to see Hedwig starring Neil Patrick Harris was extremely rare. People don’t just go around winning lotteries and prizes very often. And it’s never you, you know? Well, it was never me. Well–it’s rarely me. I won a TV once when I was 19. I won my in-class spelling bee in elementary school a few times. And in 8th grade my Odyssey of the Mind Team won for regionals, losing State by a couple points due to a misquote. Man, that changed my look on quotes FOREVER. But, that was all before adulthood. As far as being the winner of random selection, it’s not me. It’s never me.
It never was me.
Then I won the lottery to see Hedwig and the Angry Inch and my attitude slightly changed.
My housemate, on the other hand, is all too familiar with winning the lottery. She won the lottery twice in one week while her mom was visiting, her mom won once, so at that point she’d seen it three times. Then, I won and we went together. Then she bought a ticket for closing weekend. So she’d seen it five times (I believe) at this point. This point meaning, this last saturday 8/23rd when I was at work, I got a text from her
“I won AGAIN!!” showtime was at 8p. We’d be seeing Andrew, the guy who had taken over the title of Hedwig upon NPH’s departure. We agreed to meet near the Starbucks on the corner of 42nd/6th Avenue. It was 7:15p.
by 7:30p we were in line and heading in, we were directed to our seats but decided best to use the facilities first.
Row three was where we needed to go to get to our seats–then all…the…way…forward…to the Second Row. Center.
Who the hell am I living with?? How did win the Lottery AGAIN. How did we score THESE tickets???
The only other time I’d ever been this close to a stage, on the audience side of it, was when I went to see John Mayer at the Santa Barbara Bowl in 2002. I waited in line for 5 hours that time. General admission, heh.
And here we were. maybe 3 feet from the stage.
8pm: Hedwig was being lowered to the stage via some wire contraption. I recognized the costume from the previous time I’d gone. I wasn’t necessarily expecting a difference, but I don’t know what fits and what doesn’t. I don’t know…anything. I’d done musical theatre for ten years, and it was as though I’d never been to a performance more than once before.
He looked great. She? Hair, make up, clothes. Everything was great. Even the bandaid we could see on the actors knee, no doubt from working his way into the role and on to the stage in three days time. Her jokes are similar. I get it, it’s a script, but some of it is delivered differently. Some of the lines are improvised each night, I believe, because there’s always someone different, there’s always something different. We were introduced to the The Booth, and the people in it were instructed to watch for The Ghost. I flashed -back to when I was up there, and wondered if they would say anything or play along, and what Hedwig’s response would be. But I didn’t want to rush to it, I wanted to enjoy EVERY SINGLE SECOND in being thisclosetothestage.
What I also was able to notice was the facial expressions on everyone else on the stage this night. I was able to see the 2 band members that previously were blocked out of my view (partial view, that balcony/booth seat). I was able to see the door that was opened and closed whenever “Tommy Gnosis” was referenced. I could see the car better, the drum set. I saw that the straws in her drinks were not the fun-bendy straws. I was so close. I could see the laces on her shoes. The cuff in her pants, the black tie was actually leather looking this close. Her jacket and collared shirt. Fingerless gloves. Was she also in a hoodie? How may layers did she have on? No, not Hedwig–I was staring at Yitzhak. Hedwig’s “husband, friday through thursday” I could see her sideburns, and the whispy straggler hair that dangled in front of her face. She moves like a guy. Had I never known the actor was a girl, and the character was a girl, I would say it was a guy. Good lookin’ guy, no doubt. Pale skin. Those eyebrows. Thick and dark. The kind that when lifted look like, well–a drawbridge. When she spoke earlier her accent was heavy. I’d watch her most of the performance, actually. I’d be watching Hedwig, then glance over and see what Yitzhak was doing. Staring at Hedwig, and achey stare. Not just giving the attention to Hedwig, but longing for Hedwig’s attention as well.
I am fascinated.
I am so close I can see the blue-glittered sweat trickling down Hedwigs face. The thick coat of foundation and pink rouge angling her face. Her accent is fun, her one-liners are funny, her relationship with the audience is great. We are all on board. She kicks and climbs and sings and dances. She’s a bit more careful on the stage. Literally. Maybe not used to the heels? Who am I to judge, I certainly could’ve broken an ankle or a leg had I attempted to jump off a car in five inch heels, so believe me–I’m rootin’ for her. I’m engaged. I also cannot stop glancing over to watch Yitzhak…sitting. Sometimes sitting, sometimes standing and singing, rocking out. Twisting and jumping, always on the watch for Hedwig and her movements. Her mic cable under constant Yitzhak-supervision. It’s choreographed, but not. The tambourine hitting hands and legs, hard. I wonder if there are bruises on her leg, on Yitzhak’s legs. I’m watching this guy, and know it’s a girl, and can’t stop staring. 
I stare as he (she..) slowly grabs one of Hedwig’s wigs and caresses the hair and smells it, it’s hilarious. He’s so committed (she)…Never once trying to steal any looks, just–on tour with Hedwig, whom he loves. She loves.
My head is a mess and I’m laughing and I’m enjoying the show. And Hedwig is standing front and center talking and I glance over at Yitzhak…and all of a sudden–I’m wet.
Water has been dumped on me? No, spat on me. Hedwig, drank her water and like a fountain, steamed a solid amount from her mouth all over me. Everyone laughs. I’m brought back to Hedwig, also laughing. I glance up and Hedwig is staring right at me and I open my mouth with laughter and wipe at my face and chest smearing all this saliva covered water over my arms and clothes. She says something about it being a “rock and roll gesture” then she corrected herself and said it was a “Heavy Metal gesture” and followed with “do you want to see a punk rock gesture” to which I shook my head No..(knowing what was happening next) and Hedwig went for more water–a LOT more water…then instead of spitting it all over me let it dribble out of her mouth all over her. hahahah Then she explains “It’s the direction of aggression that defines it.”
We are all laughing. She walks away. I am drenched and all of a sudden he is a couple feet from me. He ran to the center of the stage with towels cleaning up the water. He…She…she’s fast and intentional and on her hands and knees, parallel to the audience with her head to House right (stage left for some of you…). I am then transitioned into slow motion, because she is looking directly at me. I am frozen. I know that my mouth is open and I’m leaning forward, slightly smiling with excitement to his proximity–hers. She reaches out with a white washcloth towel towards me and for a moment I wish I stood up and leaned towards her to let her wipe me off, but I otherwise reach out. I’m unable to tell you if the towel was handed to me with both of our arms extended, or if I reached out and was actually able to catch it as it was gently tossed to me. All I know is within this slow motion, his eye contact has remained. A look of somewhat worry and apologetic. Apologizing for Hedwig’s actions may not be uncommon…I imagine–I imagine this because I’ve not only moved to slow motion, I have transported myself to a place of dissecting every facial expression he makes. .. I have received a towel and he..SHE has turned the other way to head back to her seat Stage right. But before she leaves, he glances back at me again and time froze for me, again: I saw A close-mouthed smile and kind eyes peer at me. drawbridge eyebrows tilt towards one another and every scenario of every romantic movie is flashing across my mind. That–and the feelings of being twelve with a crush. The kind of crush where you come up with every thought or line The Guy was thinking or would say… They follow:
hi OR
hello OR
hello beautiful OR
You’re pretty OR
You’re welcome OR
I like you OR
It was nice to see you, too OR
How are you? OR
good OR…
And he was gone.
She was gone. Back to her corner. And I didn’t move for a moment. I have no idea what Hedwig was saying. I have no idea if anyone else around me saw Our Moment, but I have this towel, and I got that look..which now–of course–means I am in Love.
I’m twelve and in love and I never want to leave the theatre and I want him to come back and I want to do the whole thing over again and again and again and again and again.
I, eventually, come back to the present and use the towel for it’s purpose, drying my face and chest and arms. My shirt still soaked, my smile still on–glued on my face.
At some point there’s a sing-a-long, and I participate. There’s more jokes, there’s a story told on-a-serious-note, then there’s the beginning of the next song. Only Hedwig is upset. Too upset, at this moment to sing. And she walks away from us telling Yitzhak she needs a minute. Yitzhak looks worried about Hedwig, but also willing to take this moment to sing himself. herself. He stands there and I’m still in love, and he opens his mouth and he sounds–like a girl.
duh. I knew this. I knew it was coming. I KNOW that’s a girl! I know the actor is a girl, I know the character is a girl dressing on purpose like a boy. I’ve heard the sound of her voice a few times now. ..
It’s great. It’s intense and it builds. It’s called The Long Grift
Look what you’ve done
You gigolo
You know that I loved you, hon
And I didn’t want to know
That your cool
Seductive serenade
Was a tool
Of your trade
You gigolo
Of all the riches you’ve surveyed
And all that you can lift
I’m just another dollar that you made
In you long, long grift
Look what you’ve done
You gigolo
Another hustle has been run
And now you ought to know
That this fool
Can no longer be swayed
By the tools
Of your trade
You gigolo
I’m just another john you’ve gypped
Another sucker stiffed
A walk-on role in the script
To your long, long grift
The love that had me in your grip
Was just a long, long grift
Stories. Songs. Big Crazy ending. And it’s a sing-a-long again. LIFT UP YOUR HANDS. And it’s an anthem. Hedwig has removed her wig and ceremoniously given it to Yitzhak. She leaves the stage with joy, like freedom is something she’d never tasted. It’s all very important and moving (ish). And she comes back…
But…but where’s is*my* Yitzhak. I no longer feel twelve with a crush, I’m just normal now. She’s normal, and I’m normal. Amazing voice, this girl. Miss Lena Hall. Of whom I do not have a crush on as herself, or as the girly-version of Yitzhak, but of her boyish character. Odd, no? No? It’s not?? hmmm..
We all stood up and applauded. I yelled Happy Birthday to Andrew, I don’t believe he heard me. I yelled and as we were filing out my housemate asked one of the guitar players, Justin, for a pick. How does she know these people?? This guy was on stage the whole time. They bowed, they left the stage. Houselights came up and the band and crew came out to clean up. She saw him and called to him, he answered and brought her a pick. I’m her fan. She also spoke to Matt (I think was his name) Said something about another good show. this guy has blue hair and is smiling and briefly chatting with my housemate from the stage. Next I’m ready for her to get us backstage.
But that, may be another story….
My Crush
le sigh
The actor who plays my crush…
Yah. Goodnight, Neverland.
Tonight, We All Lose
Dear Mr. Robin Williams,
Tonight, we all lose. It’s losses like today, Mr. Robin Williams, that silver screens everywhere go dark, mouths silence, heads bow down in sadness and in honor, and people start really thinking about where we are in this world. We start considering the pressure. We consider everything we believe is good and everything we believe is bad. We consider the difficulties, and not just ours but… it’s losses like today we consider the difficulties others may be experiencing. I hope in this loss, there are also lessons. I hope in this loss eyes are opened. I hope in this loss a greater consideration is met. Thank you for all you ever gave us. All of it.
Bangarang.
a fan,
Aiyani
NPH and my Huge Breasts, or That Time I saw Hedwig and the Angry Inch
The Playbills handed out at each production in Broadway (and off Broadway, and I think Off-Off Broadway) typically have the name of the theatre underneath the title PLAYBILL, then a picture of some sort and/or the name of the play. This playbill has a handsome man with glitter all over his face, his eyebrows either thin-shaped or they are covered with brow covers and make up, his mouth is open with his tongue touching the corner of the left side of his mouth. He doesn’t look like Doogie, he doesn’t look like Barney, he doesn’t even look like Neil Patrick Harris.
He is Hedwig, and the name of his band is The Angry Inch.
7:30p: After work on saturday August 2nd, I mosied slowly to The Belasco Theatre on 44th between 6th and Broadway. The smell of Halal filling my nostrils teasing my stomach. I’d rather be eating something than walking to a crowd… NO. No I WANT to be here. It’s a long shot, but I want to be a part of it. I want to say I tried, as many times as I actually could to win the opportunity to pay $37 to see Hedwig and The Angry Inch. I live and work in Manhattan with Broadway only steps away and I want and need to be a part of it. For now, my role is “audience participant.” No, for now my role is “audience hopeful.” As I approach the crowd begins to close in and I see her–my housemate. This girl has won three times already. I hate her. Nah, it’s awesome! I’m envious and I wanted to change the locks the last time she won. heh. I told her I was going to tell her I was coming over tonight, but I figured she would be there–I was right. So we grab papers to write our names down. I write mine in pencil. first and last name. and email address. I didn’t write my email address last time, I hope I don’t end up on a mailing list that says “thanks for trying to see Hedwig, sorry you got left out please try again on the following dates listed below…” I put it in the wig box and say “thank you” to the nice young lady with straight brown hair and glasses.
8pm: The young lady with the wigbox has closed the wig box and explained the rules. Because there is a show going on behind her (there was a 7p and 10p show) so we have to play “The Quiet Game” for The Lottery. When she says the name of the person we are to hold up on one hand “using correct fingers” and tell her how many tickets we want. One or Two. There are not alot of tickets left. Twenty. So chances are each person she pulls from the box will want two tickets. There are, easily, almost 100 people there. I suck at gauging amounts of people, by the way. I have no idea how many people were there. I had described it to a friend as “a shit ton of people” and it seemed to draw a clear picture. She gets through a few names. The last time I was there, last weekend, she said some really difficult Asian name and it JUST SO HAPPENED there were TWO people there with the same unique difficult Asian name. What are the chances of THAT? What are MY chances??? I suck at ratios, too, by the way. She keeps saying names. Random names. We are all random, collectively random…She then says “ok guys I have one more name to pull, before I do if you don’t get picked today you have two chances to win tomorrow for the two shows at 3 and 7p. Then she reached in the wig box and I saw her mouth start to form the beginning of my name. Just the “aw” part and I inhaled sharply and felt a chill and my hands and fingers spread open with some kind of energy that felt electrocuting and I closed my eyes tight–they hurt for a moment, it was very weird. “Aiyani Mersai” And I place my hands up around my mouth and pretend to yell LOUDLY with my eyes squeezed shut, then thrust my hand into the air with a solid two fingers indicating how many tickets I wanted.
“bitch” The girl in front of me said. I opened my eyes and she was smiling. “You don’t want to sell your tickets do you? ” I grinned and shook my head. “Congratulations” and the crowd began to dissipate and I made my way to the front. Had to show my ID then the ten of us who won would be escorted directly to the box office. I was last in line. There is a guarantee that I will get two tickets, there is no guarantee that they will
be together, and there is a possibility of “partial view” only. I am absolutely okay with this. I walk up to the box office and politely, yet excitedly, hand over the money for my two tickets and they say LR BOX on them. I wonder if it’s The Box that Ya-Ya (housemate) spoke of. Wouldn’t it be crazy if we ended up in the same seats she won before? Maybe not too crazy, they could possibly save those seats specifically for The Lottery, upping the Coolness Level of winning in general.
I get my tickets and head back outside to meet up with Ya-Ya. I show her the tickets. “IT’S THE BOX!!!” She yells. And now we have to kill time. There’s a diner near by, I am still starving. We go. I get a bacon cheddar cheeseburger with fries. We sit and chat. we head back
9:20p: We are in line
9:30p: Doors open and the line that extends down the block and around the corner begins to move, fast. We. Are. In.
We are escorted up a set of stairs that lead to a small booth/balcony on the side of the orchestra seating. It is considered “Partial View”. We are adjacent to maybe row six or seven. The lowest price for tickets to tonights performance is $175, easy. We paid $37. I feel lucky. There are four seats total in The Box we are in the “back row” of these four chairs and we angle them so we have as good a view as we can get. I’m ecstatic. Elated. Beside myself. I live here. I won the lottery. I won.
10p: Showtime. The band comes out and the crowd goes wild.
<Lena Hall comes out and the crowd goes MORE wild. She looks as I remember from the performance on
The Tony’s and from the website images on Playbill for Hedwig:
This is going to be stupid amazing, isn’t it?
Then: The Entrance. It’s like Lady Gaga has beens stealing from Hedwig and none of us knew it. The wig is huge, the glitter, the outfit looks like it’s a huge butterfly. The wings coming out of the legs. The crowd is stupid with excitement, and I am participating. Then the sparklies are taken off revealing a denim gettup. skirt and vest. Gold ankle boots. Fishnets. Just–speechless. The crowd is going absolutely wild.
She speaks, welcoming us to The Belasco giving us the history of the theatre, and it’s address. Joking it’s not necessarily ON broadway but “Broadway Adjacent” then she comes back again with “East of Broaday…E-Broad!” Everyone is laughing. Her makeup is crazy. Those pencil thin brows and bright blue eyeshadow and red cheeks. During the history lesson, though, is where we were told that the theatre was haunted by the ghost of David Belasco (I believe she said), who built the historic theatre. He died in 1931 and has been said to be haunting “this booth….” And she comes over to House Right (or Stage Left, however you MUST say it) and a yellow light shines on four ladies, and I am one of them.
I can only imagine what the other faces look like, *mine* is stunned, jaw dropped and excited. My shoulders probably hugging my ears and my eyes more than likely resemble “crazy eyes” from Orange is The New Black. She looks at us and smiles. Then silence for a moment and she says “Four Sleepless Nights.” At least…that’s what I thought she said. I was confused having no idea if that was a reference to something I don’t know about…Probably is. And I still don’t know it. Because I’ve done zero research. I just say what I remember! Then she goes on to say the ghost is said to appear and it means the show that is playing will be a hit, so we need to keep a watch for the ghost. We all, the four of us, nod–or something- and the light lowers and I look over at Ya-Ya with a super excited face. (She has already sat up here, having one The Lottery before, but she is allowing me to just experience it–after I told her to stop telling me everything…hahaha)
Songs. Stories. Songs.
I haven’t seen an actor work THIS hard in…a really REALLY long time. It’s one-liner after one-liner. It’s laughter and energy and sweat and, and , and and, and “lets check in about the ghost” The lights come back up and she is standing on the edge of the stage asking if we’ve seen the ghost…I nodded “yes.” (mistake??) She says “Oh? Tell us all about it” and points her microphone up towards me–I am the one who shook my head yes. What was I thinking?? I didn’t know what to do or say, I was stumped. Stumped with excitement. My improv skills are at a Full Stop and my voice has squeezed so tightly closed I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to speak again. –I start to gesture. WHAT WAS THINKING? I was moving my arms up and wide and all over the place–and not speaking. “The Ghost is a Mime?” She says? and the audience laughs. I laugh. And nod. I am embarrassed and fear I am letting her down, letting Ya-Ya down, and everyone who is watching is somehow coming up with better things to say than me I JUST KNOW IT, and all I can do …is gesture. and nod…”Did the ghost tell you you have Huge Breasts?” Crowd. Goes. Wild. My lips roll towards each other to silence anything I could possibly say and I smile and slowly look down to my chest then as I grab my own boob I hear her say “yyyyyyaaah…they’re HUGE.” I look up and I’m laughing, and cupping my breasts (red tanktop, grey VS bra underneath, for those who need a better picture. hahaha) and I begin nodding again. “So…the ghost came over told you you had huge breasts then mimed away?” ..nodding.. “Oddly I don’t believe you! But keep watching, the show is not over yet” and the laughter continues and she backs up with this “if you feel something, say something.” (For those not in NY, on the subway system here and with public transportation in general, everywhere the mantra of the NYPD and MTA is “If you see something, say something.” It’s their way of saying packages and bags sometimes are left behind on purpose–and that could be a bad thing. SO…”If you feel something, say something.” And the crowd (and I) laugh, and the yellow light dims away again.
The Texas woman in front of me, [I know that because she told us at the beginning. Accent and all. Blue dress and hair curly or crimped..not wearing a scrunchie–as I often picture any tourist, especially from Texas (?), wearing.], leans back and tells me how much fun that was and she thinks we have great seats. She paid $175 for hers… I tell her I agree.
Singing. Talking. Singing. Drama. Acting. Theatrics.
“Oh…the ghost! The Ghost!! Oh Tits!! Tits! Tits! Tits!” And the lights fade up, I am covering my laughing face with one hand, it looks like that alien from the movie…Alien with Sigorney Weaver and I peel it off my face as everyone is laughing and the lights brighten. “I have to say it four times because that’s how HUGE they are! Have you seen The Ghost.” I clench my mouth closed (in a playing-along way) and give her a disappointed look. She just stares at me. “Anything.” I squint my eyes, mouth still closed. “Oh my god…you haven’t seen him, have you?” I shake my head no. I know that not seeing the ghost means the show may not be a hit, according to our earlier history lesson, but I can’t lie this time… “Have you even been WATCHING for it??!!” I lean forward and extend my right arm hand open and palm up as an offering “I’ve been watching you!!” She immediately changes her facial expression to sly and flirtacious.. “oh….good answer…” then she does that little flirty face we do with the nose wrinkling up and smiling and she “claws” at me like you do when you’re saying “rawr” to someone. We exchange similar looks and winks, and puckered lips, and shoulder angles for a bit. It seems like a good solid minute–which is long for silence in the theatre, right? Then she looks back at Yitzhak, her husband (Lena Hall’s character), and shrugs then Yitzhak shrugs, and tilts her head back towards my direction and says “I wanna become a lesbian.” Laughter. Again. And I am IN LOVE WITH MY SEAT AND THIS SHOW AND THIS ACTOR” She looks back and puckers a smooch towards me once more then breaks into a brief monologue about why it’s okay to not see the ghost. That it shouldn’t be up to a maybe-a-ghost-showing-up to know if you’re show is a hit. She knows she’s a hit, we know it. She smiles at me again and continues her stories and songs.
The stories are either fun, or sad. Sometimes both. She become a real person to us. This show is done in a way where we have to be under the impression that this woman, and her band, are just giving us a good show. She’s telling us about her life, her journey and singing songs that relate to it on the path and the order that things happened. It’s fun to hear. It’s difficult to hear. It’s important to hear.
At the end, Neil Patrick Harris is taking his bows in nothing but a pair of skimpy black booty-shorts/briefs. He has worked really hard by now, he’s dripping sweat. Make up is smeared. He’s barefoot–he turns towards me and blows me a kiss and it feels like it’s in slow motion. I take both my hands to my mouth and throw my arms towards him in awe, and wonderment, and appreciation. We are all standing, of course, when this happens. Texas looks back at me and smiles, I am staring at him applauding. Group bow on the stage. The crowd is loud and yelling and thunderous.
He is more than amazing in this role.
What an experience. Someday, I’ll tell him to his face that I was there. That I was a part of it. And I hope when that happens my mouth and words don’t fail me leaving me only to gesture. I hope I’ll be able to keep it together, while my insides fall apart in his presence.
I Googled Images of NPH as Hedwig
Gravity
Sometimes, love hurts.
I love my family. I love them entirely, whole-heartedly, and hard (as it’s been said to me). So much so, that if something goes wrong I feel it for days. Even if it has nothing to do with me, I feel it.
Our hearts, I don’t think they were designed to take this kind of ache. The kind that cannot be numbed with over the counter medication, or booze, The kind of ache that comes and goes as it pleases, like an unwanted guest. The kind of ache that comes with memories of better times. Moments and memories triggered by simple sounds and scents and pictures of times before. I don’t think our hearts were designed to take this weight. We’ve mourned over the years, the human race. For loss of those taken to early (in our opinion), for those who were taken by war, and disease. We mourn for those who lived longer than we thought they would and we celebrate the life and memories they left behind but all of that mourning seems to come in death.
What happens when we mourn life?
What happens when we are living day to day, not just surviving…LIVING our lives, as I finally am, and we get stabbed in the heart? How do we get through this? The breakups, the unemployment, the moments when we realize if we buy 3 packages of ramen it won’t cost $1, it will cost $36 because of an overdraft fee. Those are not moments of mourning in life, those are flubs, mistakes, fuck-ups. They are trying times. Times most people consider “times of tests” or “times of lessons.” They are times that “build character.”
I don’t want more character, right now. I just want my family back the way it was when love didn’t hurt.
My mom is fine. My Dadda n Terry are fine. My siblings are fine. Happy, even. But family is extensive and our hearts take people on differently than DNA or blood takes on the genetic portrayal of “family.” Our eyes see people and our ears hear them, our hands and arms embrace them and our mouths exchange words and over time a bond is formed. An attachment is created. Then you yearn to hear their voice and see their smiles. You yearn to listen to stories and see a story through their eyes. You can’t wait to hug them and be close to them, sitting with them. You can’t wait to surprise them, or make them laugh. You want to be there for them when they cry, when their children cry. Family is so much more than DNA or Love.
And sometimes our flesh and blood will betray us. And sometimes those we choose to call family, will betray us. And we have to choose. We have to let our brain run it’s logic course, and let our emotions run their courses and eventually we find…something. We seek, mostly. But sometimes we also find something. We find closure, or balance, or a new meaning, or a new lesson. And on our way to that closure, or balance, or new meaning, or new lesson we look for distractions.
A distraction. Something or someone to keep our mind away from doing it’s job: from figuring it all out. Which ultimately complicates things more because our brains, and hearts, can only endure so much without trying to deal with superficial decisions and distractions. Things that only make us feel on our skin.
It doesn’t matter if someone’s touch makes your skin burn with excitement, if you’re heart is actually somewhere else. It doesn’t matter if someone smiles at you if you have someone else on your mind that you’d rather see a smile from. Don’t you get it? It doesn’t EVEN MATTER.
Well, I guess it doesn’t…until it does. and I hate that kind of paradox or situational decision, or ..truth. I hate it because it IS that simple and if it’s simple then…I don’t know. And if it’s difficult then you can feel more, right? If it’s difficult or risky or edgy or their touch burns your skin in the best way, why aren’t we sure they will burn right through to our hearts. And it’s because that kind of distraction is temporary. Temporary until there is room for permanency. Temporary until your brain has figured something out, temporary until your heart has returned to it’s normal pattern of beating. It’s all just…temporary.
Temporarily Lost
Temporarily Found
Temporarily in love, in lust, infatuated, distracted.
Temporarily unable to move. Because the brain is overwhelmed and can’t send signals. Because your eyes have glazed over and you are now seeing what you want to, instead of what’s actually in front of you and what’s actually happening right here and right now. Because your heart is aching, and the pulsing in your heart…hurts. Hurts so much you could’ve sworn there was a death. And maybe there was, just not how we’ve always recognized it. We recognize things differently with our senses, yet we don’t seem to come to them–our senses. Because we got so used to the constant, we forgot about the temporary.
Temporarily Lost
Temporarily Found
Temporarily saved
We accept the pain. We accept, because of the pain, there will be mourning. We accept the mourning because we somehow understand there is a Loss. And as much as we try to name The Loss, we rarely land on “Love.”
We think we have love, or fall out of it as though it were a physical place holding us up or down. It is actually more like gravity. And just like gravity can be defied, so can love. And it’s when it snaps us back that it can hurt.
It’s when we aren’t paying attention that it makes us fall down.
Most of the time, we don’t really even know love is there ,until we are mourning the loss of it.
Aiyani Mersai 