Jamie had not been in
the theatre for years, and now it felt like he was there for the first time.
Everything seemed new and, when another plot twist came or when an actor was
standing too close to the edge of the stage, a little bewildering. Jamie felt
bullied, and his anxiety only started to dissolve during the intermission when
he had a glass of white wine.
So it was during the
second act of the performance when Jamie noticed the old woman sitting directly
in front of him. It was not even the old woman herself but rather her hair. Big,
sumptuous, something you could see in old American movies. The thing about the
old woman’s hair was that Jamie desperately wanted to touch it.
The desire, this most
illogical and ridiculous desire, came during a rather dramatic scene that
should have by all means stolen Jamie’s utmost attention. Yet there he was,
fantasizing about the hair. In the midst of this charmed audience staring at
the stage, Jamie could hardly contain himself. His fingers felt salty, he wanted
to lick them. His fingers felt hot, he had to put them in cold water.
And it all could be
resolved by this utterly improbably act: touching the hair. It’s like nothing
else at that particular moment in time could bring him any relief. The consequences?
Oh he imagined the screams and the indignation, even if he could find the
moment when the scene was especially captivating and everyone was fully there.
Maybe, he thought, it would all come to police action?..
But then Jamie did
it. He stretched his right arm and slipped his fingers into the old woman’s
hair. A pause lasting eternity or perhaps a second. Then the old woman turned
around, he closed his eyes, and the actors on the other side of the stage
started to laugh and cheer and applaud. In an odd sort of way, Jamie felt he
was enjoying the moment. He always was.
