“Just not front and center” — that was Dave’s only request about his seat for the upcoming Addams Family show.
We’d already been charmed at the little Perry Players Theatre when we saw Hairspray: singing, dancing, gorgeous sets, costumes — I was delighted. Since moving to Georgia, I’d been missing the culture I needed. And here it was: off-the-charts quality, tucked in a country road drive away. No traffic. No parking fees. No two-mile hike to the venue like in Seattle. Just roll up, park, cross the street, and step into a space that was simple in ease but high in impact.
And the kicker? Twenty dollars a ticket. C’mon! You gotta be joking.
Mark my words: I’m going to every show. They run them every couple of months, so it’s a no-brainer — easy on time, easy on cost.
So when midnight struck and tickets went on sale, I was ready. I’d been waiting for weeks. With my parents visiting, and wanting so badly to share this with them and with Evelyn, I might’ve gone a little… neurotic. Daily website refreshes. Stalking their Facebook page. Even called the theatre once, then panicking and hanging up on the fourth ring because I couldn’t leave a message.
At midnight, the ticket site froze on the “Add Ticket” page for 45 minutes. I gave up. But at 4 a.m., when my prairie-dog head popped up, I checked again. Success. Five tickets secured: one student, two adults, two seniors.
Sorry, Dave. Your one request I didn’t honor. If you’d been awake, I would’ve reasoned that Evelyn’s half a person in size anyway, so nobody blocking her view is perfect. And if we need to get up for the bathroom, we won’t be bothering anyone. Besides, even the front row is slightly raised with a good gap before the stage — plenty of breathing room.
But here’s the kicker: the curtain call.
The way this theatre does it melts me into a puddle. The cast lines our exit, from in front of the stage to the front door — grinning wide, bronzer shining, glitter and tap shoes catching the light. It’s… a lot.
I’m not usually socially anxious. I’m the opposite, actually. Chatting with strangers in the soup-can aisle? That’s my jam. I collect those chance encounters and cash them in like gold. But last time, when it came to that gauntlet of smiles and sparkles, I creep-crawled along the far wall like they were a skunk family fresh off a spray.
Not this time.
This time, I’ll walk that line. I’ll smile back. I’ll shake hands. I’ll tell them how spectacular they were. I’ll step into my place as a present, engaged member of this community.
Because. I. Can.
Later, skaterz.
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 