Reminiscence

I went to a community theater production of "Fiddler on the Roof" the other night. It was my first outing without baby Maya, who just turned 5 weeks old. I get the feeling her father isn't exactly warming to the prospect of keeping the two little ones by himself again any time soon, but I thoroughly enjoyed the sense of freedom I had, as short as it may have been.

I caught myself checking the backseat when I arrived at the theater, just in case she somehow mysteriously turned up in the car, but not surprisingly, the back seat was empty. As it turned out, I had an audience for my neurotic behavior. The two women coming to the show with me happened to be sitting in the car right next to mine, but I think they gave themselves away before they realized what I was doing.

The excuse for this night out was that an old high school friend of mine happened to be playing Lazar Wolf, the butcher, in this performance. He was actually somewhat more than a friend, more like a major crush, at least until I chickened out when he tried to kiss me at the state fair in my freshman year of high school. I hadn't yet had my first real kiss, and I was too scared to admit it, so my rejection of his advances came across more like ... well, a rejection. That was the end of that, and he soon ended up with (and spent the rest of the year with) one of my two best friends. She just happened to be one of the women I went to the show with. I hadn't seen him in 17 years, and I hadn't seen her in 14 years.

Though I might have once been the outgoing sort, since making myself the center of an internet romance scandal, becoming a stay-at-home mother, and not fighting hard enough the extra pounds that come with being the mother of five, I've become much more of a recluse, feeling something akin to terror at the mere prospect of facing anyone I knew in my younger (slimmer) years. So ... I brought along my mother, the other of the two women, as a sort of a buffer to keep me from panicking and to prevent awkward silences. Not that I need have worried. Funny how the years can melt away when you reunite with someone you were so close to once upon a time. We don't know as much about each other anymore, but the camaraderie was still there.

The highlight of the evening for me was when our mutual friend on stage spotted us in the audience for the first time just as he was singing the line from 'Anatevka,' the final song of the show, "... searching for an old familiar face." As solemn as the song was, and as serious as the company was, he broke character for the briefest of moments as he fought to stifle a laugh. He quickly composed himself, but we thought it was hilarious. Our neighbors must have wondered what there was to laugh about in such a scene.

In my customary cattiness, I was relieved that I was not the only one who didn't still look 17, and upon that realization, I had a very enjoyable evening. Even K and the children survived it. I'm counting down the days until I can sneak out on my own again ... to Scarborough Faire, this time!