Hand Me My Button, Please

Yesterday at 10:20 A.M. I showed up at the outdoor theater, one of the three used for the Shakespeare Festival, to watch my lovely, chaste daughter portray a woman of ill-repute in a stylized version of Pericles. In August, E auditioned for the Drama II class and was the only freshman chosen. This group was riveting (as one of the judges even told them during their evaluation)! The audience was immediately yanked from their seats and pulled into innocent yet cunning Marina's plight: stolen from her mother's home by pirates, sold to a brothel and marketed for her virginity, she must find a way to preserve her maiden virtue and escape to return to her father's home. The kids did a terrific job of filling a large stage and yet creating an intimate space of interaction and genuine response. It was truly thrilling.

E was trying her best to wiggle her hips, of which she has none, and attempt to be the seductress, of which she has absolutely no knowledge or ability. She had called earlier in the morning requesting pantyhose. R made the purchase and went to find her amongst the 2500 other kids on campus. Unable to find her, he queried the director as to her whereabouts. Mr. B responded, with a grin: "Around the back of the theater, you'll see a group of girls that look like sl_ts. That's where she'll be." R was a bit taken aback, but when he saw his daughter, he could do nothing but agree.

A ten minute performance left the remainder of the day to be filled with the freedom of roaming, mixing, and making new friends while awaiting the awards ceremony that announced the winners of the competition. Somewhere near nine last night, E called me. She was ecstatic. They placed second, right behind a private school for the arts.

I drove the wet streets to pick her up. Gone was the heavy blue eye shadow, bright pink cheeks, false eyelashes, red lips, the corset and ripped nylons. Here was my girl, tired and satisfied, the best combination for ending a day.