Tuesday, January 30, 2007
The Littlest Stalker
1972: I see my first Tennessee Williams play, THE GLASS MENAGERIE. It is at P.A.F. Playhouse, a repertory company here in Huntington, New York. It's an intimate little theatre and I find the Gentleman Caller not only gentlemanly but callworthy. He is blond with a soft voice and hidden wit.
1972: I turn twelve.
1972: I am a boy.
1972: I see my first Ibsen play, HEDDA GABLER. It is at P.A.F. Playhouse. Hedda's husband is blond with a soft voice and wears wire-rimmed glasses. But I can tell he's the Gentleman Caller underneath the glasses. It is an intimate little theatre.
1972: I see my first incomprehensible play, THE SHOW-OFF. The Gentleman Caller isn't in it, which is incomprehensible. It's P.A.F. Playhouse, after all.
1972: I see my first cross-dressing play, CHARLIE'S AUNT. Even without the Gentleman Caller, I feel at home. It's P.A.F. Playhouse, after all.
1972: I see the Gentleman Caller at the supermarket. I pass by, pretending not to notice. I go down the other aisle. I come up the next. I see him. I walk up to him. He doesn't see me. I walk away, turn around and look at him. I'm about to say, "You were in THE GLASS MENAGERIE." He has the wire-rimmed glasses. I meet his eyes. I turn and run.
1972: I see THE PLAYBOY OF THE WESTERN WORLD at P.A.F. Playhouse. The Gentleman Caller isn't in this one, either. I miss the wire-rimmed glasses more than the startled eyes behind them.
1972-Present: Tennessee Williams still talks to me. His is an intimate little space.
1972: I turn twelve.
1972: I am a boy.
1972: I see my first Ibsen play, HEDDA GABLER. It is at P.A.F. Playhouse. Hedda's husband is blond with a soft voice and wears wire-rimmed glasses. But I can tell he's the Gentleman Caller underneath the glasses. It is an intimate little theatre.
1972: I see my first incomprehensible play, THE SHOW-OFF. The Gentleman Caller isn't in it, which is incomprehensible. It's P.A.F. Playhouse, after all.
1972: I see my first cross-dressing play, CHARLIE'S AUNT. Even without the Gentleman Caller, I feel at home. It's P.A.F. Playhouse, after all.
1972: I see the Gentleman Caller at the supermarket. I pass by, pretending not to notice. I go down the other aisle. I come up the next. I see him. I walk up to him. He doesn't see me. I walk away, turn around and look at him. I'm about to say, "You were in THE GLASS MENAGERIE." He has the wire-rimmed glasses. I meet his eyes. I turn and run.
1972: I see THE PLAYBOY OF THE WESTERN WORLD at P.A.F. Playhouse. The Gentleman Caller isn't in this one, either. I miss the wire-rimmed glasses more than the startled eyes behind them.
1972-Present: Tennessee Williams still talks to me. His is an intimate little space.
# posted by Fredwemyss @ 1:20 AM 
