Jackie Wells-Fauth
Roy reached over to flip on a table lamp this week and grabbed nothing but air. He was a little surprised, but not a great deal. After all, it’s that time of year.
“Is the lamp going to be making a premier in a play sometime soon?” he asked.
“Two plays,” I answered. “It gets to be in both.”
That’s right, it is spring play time and in the absence of the ability to collect props from other places, I tend to have a lot of my own things making their stage debut in whatever play I have going on. This is not a new situation, as Roy has frequently gone to one of my productions and seen something walk across the stage that belongs to him.
“Now I know where my tool belt went,” he said after seeing one production. “It was on the main janitor in the piece.”
“And looking good; it should really think about a career in theater,” I said encouragingly.
“Yes, but then what would happen to the hammer, nails, screwdriver, file and tape measure that it abandoned on the tool bench? That tool belt has obligations and can’t just run off and join a traveling side show,” he replied. “I presume it will be home soon.”
Normally, that’s the intention, but he hasn’t stopped mourning the hammer (with the red handle) that he claims never returned after its performance in a spring play some years ago.
The closer we come to any production, the less he questions things missing in the house. He remembers to look before he sits down, in case his chair is on stage instead of in the living room. He never questions the fact that he can’t find his favorite mug and he knows that the chimes are missing on the porch because they are delighting a theater audience somewhere.
The opposite can also be true. It’s almost as entertaining to have him come and help me bring things home. As he was loading up the dresses in bags the other day, he protested, “These can’t belong to us. I’ve never seen them before.”
“That’s because they are hanging in my closet, not yours. They belong to our house, their use on the stage is over, so back they go, to hang, neglected and catching dust, in the closet. If you really want to feel like they belong, you are welcome to hang them in your closet.”
Not surprisingly, he didn’t take me up on that offer, but that isn’t the only thing he doesn’t seem to recognize. As we were taking down the little corner table stand, he said, “Well, I know this doesn’t go to our house; I’ve never laid eyes on it before.”
“It has been standing in the corner of the living room for the last eight years. It has a large bouquet of red flowers on the top shelf and a music box that plays regularly on the second shelf. You look straight past it to watch television every night,” I reply. He loads it in the pickup without another word.
The play season is nearly over and for Roy, it’s probably a good thing. We were enjoying supper the other night when the landline phone began to ring.
“Aren’t you going to answer it?” he asked as I continued to eat my food.
“I can’t.” I said, as the person on the other end began to leave a detailed message. “The handset isn’t here, and I can’t answer the base. I didn’t have enough phones for the telephone skits in the play so the handset is on stage.”
“Well, I suppose I can use my cell phone until the play is over,” he comforted himself.
“Speaking of your cell phone,” I replied. “We’re still short a few phones, so….”
For the sake of my marriage, play season needs to get over soon!
dropsinthewell 