"I
was huddled up on one of the chairs a few rows back from the stage, agonizing
over the complexity of my eight second solo. As with any performance, a certain
amount of sound testing needed to be done. As I reviewed the music in my head
over and over infinitum, I tried to ignore the loud conversation taking place
between the drama members up on stage and the sounds techs at the back of the
room.
It
had been mainly female voices coming from behind me, so my interest was piqued
when a definitively male figure advanced up the center aisle to the scattered
microphones lining the front of the stage. The man wore a trench coat, an Aussie
outback hat, and sleek sunglasses, all of which were black. The little bit of skin
that could be seen below the rim of his glasses revealed a sprinkling of
freckles. The music stopped in my head. I waited.
He
began adjusting the microphone stands and rearranging the monitors with deft
hands that obviously had performed these tasks a hundred times before. The whole
room was quiet as if we were all waiting for him to ease an FBI badge out of
his pocket and pin someone to the ground. He finished his arrangement with a
final neat coiling of a microphone cord, and slipped back down the aisle. The
world began rotating again."
(Photo credit)
(Photo credit)
