Rasputin, et al

As we approached Wichita, more details about the impending evening unfolded. Innocence and simplicity be damned. My true purpose on this trip was not as a companion, although I made a remarkable one. It was, rather, to act as a surrogate boyfriend. All of the perks and pleasantries of such a title need not apply.

“There’s an even chance that my ex-boyfriend will be there. We didn’t end on a high note and I really can’t stand the asshole. Will you be with me if he comes around?”

“Do I really have a choice? Yes, I’ll be right next to you.”

“Good. I really think you’ll like this show. Its going to be a collection of different scenes from musicals and there are going to be three different performers. Do you like musical theater?”

“I enjoyed Mary Poppins and Beauty and the Beast as a child. So, singing and acting are nostalgia if anything.”

Cammy’s eyes were in flux between the speedometer and the clock. The later we were, the faster she drove. We topped out at 93 a few times, and her split attention kept me wondering if we would ever make it to the Air Capital alive. I suggested, matter-of-factually, that she stop to get gas. She was running on ‘E’ and we had not yet crossed Butler County. Begrudgingly, she stopped to pump. Neigh, I pumped gas and she paid. Soon enough, we were on the road again, speeding, compensating for time lost.

Entering Wichita, I made a few directional comments and we got to the location in question around 7:10. We were late, but not that late. Cammy bolted from the drivers seat and ran at full speed towards the church where the recital had been supplanted. Her dress flowed as she ran, her eyes never looked back at me, as I walked leisurely towards the entrance.

“I could be sleeping right now” I murmured to myself. But this is a dream all the same. Lucid and unpredictable, seemingly out of my control.

A fear had risen in my as I approached the building; something that had entered my mind but was now naked, having arrived at my previous city. Was she going to be here? God I hope not. Billy Jo and I had split up a year ago and had only seen each other one time since. That meeting was cordial and friendly. I had no ill-will to her and I don’t think she has any either. Regardless, how would I explain this? Unlike my companion, I didn’t need or want a prosthetic lover. It was a long shot, though. I knew she was involved in Opera at WSU, but there was no guarantee that she would know these people. And even if she did, I’m sure she was busy with her own performance of some kind.

As we took our seats in the middle of a performance, I found no trace of anyone I recognized. Relief. Count my lucky stars I don’t have to deal with my past. It wouldn’t be so bad if I wasn’t attached to Cammy: a rabid, undomesticated thespian fond of making a scene. The performances were good, but it was no Julie Andrews. Cammy, likewise, was relieved that her boyfriend wasn’t present and relaxed beside a friend and colleague she had known while at WSU only a year prior. She giggled and chatted in between skits and paid no mind to me. “All the better” I thought. “I couldn’t handle her actually being affectionate right now.”

The first intermission came and I needed a cigarette badly. I stepped out for a moment to a slew of gentlemen who seemed, likewise, dragged into this by the short hairs. We didn’t talk, we just smoked and sighed and shifted and bit the bullet. The entrance back to the church was congested with performers rushing to change into and out-of costume. I waddled through them and found my seat again, and readied myself for round 2 of sub-par Broadway homage. Two rows ahead of me, amongst the dark indiscernible of a black box theater, I heard a deep and mouthy laugh. It echoed for days and was stifled by its owner, surely out of the knowledge that she had given away her location to all. But the sound continued in me. It was the laugh of a person who knew the purpose of breath-support and knew it well. A mezzo, who was under the tutelage of one of the finest voice coaches in the nation. This would only apply to a handful of people in Wichita, and I knew all of them. This voice had been near me before. Very near. It was Billy Jo, and she sat waiting with a friend, unaware that I would soon be forced to justify myself, if only out of desperation. Maybe I should have made her a tape, too.

to be continued...