Tuesday 11 October 2011

theatre and grandmother

I entered a theatre and found a seat towards the back. The worn russet leather chairs had wooden arms and fold-down seats, like those in old cinemas. The theatre appeared to have capacity for three hundred or so people and it was near full. We excitedly waited for the show to begin. I was there alone. The curtain was raised and three women appeared on stage, singing an electric, almost eccentric, song with great mastery. My dear friend was one of the performers and, I realised, I had come this night to watch her perform. While they sang, the audience began to leave. At first, I was appalled, but it became apparent that the audience had already seen the matinee performance, that they were lingering in the theatre and the night-time show had started too early. The curtain was lowered and the show stopped. Soon the theatre was almost cleared. I took the opportunity to search for a better seat, closer to the front, so that I would have a clear view of my friend. A new audience began to fill theatre and, among them, my grandmother sat down next to me. I was overjoyed and yet perplexed, as I have not seen her since her death some years ago. I felt somewhat neglectful, as though I had forgotten her and not visited her for years. She was wearing a mustard jumper and had a few bags about her. Together, we waited for the show to begin again. It started and, while my eyes were on my friend on stage, my grandmother disappeared. I turned around to glance at her, but she'd gone. Worried, I crept out of the theatre, sorry to miss the performance, to find her. She was in the foyer, sorting through her bags, preparing to go home. All kinds of personal items were strewn across a table. I helped her sort out her washing, including two blue towels, and repack her other bags. I noticed that the contents of her handbag were lying on another table nearby, and I took particular note of the bright red lipstick in a gold case - Chanel No 13.