by Kris Newman

Created on: July 15, 2009   Last Updated: July 31, 2009

A Night at the Theater

Of all places to get a flat tire on a Sunday: Lake Elmo. I half wondered if it was even a town, but then couldn't allow myself to complain. After all, I had indeed found a tow truck and a repair shop, of some kind, to fix the tire. I tried to hide my disdain awhen I was deposited into a hodgepodge waiting room. Seating myself on the most apparently stable chair, I sighed heavily. Had it not been for my other appendage, The Cane, I may not have felt secure at all.

A quick perusal of the outdated reading material provided drew another sigh. I thought perhaps the local newspaper might offer some entertainment. Scanning its pages I learned of a horse track, which I hadn't known of before, and the schedule for the 4th of July fireworks and parade. A picture ad caught my eye. There was something familiar about the face, although I didn't recognize the name captioned beneath. "Lisa is a recent honors graduate of the University of St. Catherine beginning her career as a staff writer for the newspaper." How quaint.

Perhaps it was the smile or the patter of rain beating on the window, but suddenly the memory rushed back to me. Years melted away and I could see again the evening at the theater.

If it hadn't been for that particular director and that specific show, I would have stayed safely in my apartment and not ventured out. The rain was unusually cold that evening. The kind that teases between rain, slush and snow that darts against your skin and pushes its dampness into your bones. A general ache filled me despite the warmth that the dinner wine attempted to bring.

I was glad to find my favorite seat available for the Wednesday performance. I always enjoy the theater and even more when I can sit in the front row. Not that I need to be close, but it's easier to navigate the front row with my friend, The Cane. The Cane demands a lot of attention and I do my best to work with it. This particular performance was of keen interest to me. Not only as an anthropologist but as a fan of the director, I was pleased to find myself entering the theater.

Despite the chill outside, the evening was set to be perfectly pleasant.

I walked the familiar path to my seat mostly oblivious to those around me. I was thinking about the dinner I had just eaten, considering whether or not I would recommend it to a friend. I rather enjoyed the steak, but the potato was not done carefully enough. Perhaps I should mention it to the chef before suggesting it to

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