Old School Visit
My dear friend Dan and his collaborator Michael Rheault started writing a full length musical about 2 years ago. After many read throughs, revisions and re-writes, they are doing staged readings of their play tonight and tomorrow night at Dan's and my alma mater Westfield State. The play is titled "Fabulous!" and it is fabulous! Its part homage to those old classic Broadway shows, but its also about learning to accept yourself for who you are. About taking off the mask and letting the world see you for who you truly are. Its also a gay-themed show (in case you didn't figure that out by the title). All of this to say that last night was our run-through for the staged readings this weekend. My big job in all this?? I'm reading the stage directions: all four of them! HA! What can I say, I just want to be a part of this and support my friend. I'm so proud of him and of his show. Its fantastic.
On my drive to my old school and through the downtown area of Westfield where I lived for a while with Dan and then with Aaron... I started thinking about my college years. I drove slowly, turned the radio on and noticed that Davio's isn't Davio's. Pasquale's is still there, the old liquor store was knocked down and moved into a new building. The old run down CVS is now a Goodwill shop and the new CVS looks just like every other one in Mass. Roads paved, new shops open and old shops closed. My old street, whose sign I had plowed over during a flurry storm was standing tall. Let me explain:
I was driving a brand, spanking new piece of shit car: 1999 Kia Sephia. It was electric blue and made almost entirely of plastic. It was so bad in the snow that you basically couldn't touch your brakes. Ever. You had to downshift. It was an automatic, mind you. It was around 11pm and I was trucking along in the light dusting of snow at about 25mph. I had my flashers on just in case. As traffic quickly passed me by and driver's honked and flipped me off, I saw that about a quarter of a mile in the distance the traffic light had turned yellow. My stomach flipped. There was no way I was going to stop in this stuff! There was already 1/8 of an inch on the ground!!! So, I shift into Low 2. Then Low 1 and that was when my car started to careen ever so gently to the right, I knew the spin was coming. Like an ice skater getting ready for her triple lutz, I leaned into the spin. I was travelling at a good clip now, a solid 15 miles per hour. I reached over my left shoulder and buckled myself in. I turned my back toward my door as I could see quite easily that I was skidding rather smoothly in the direction of the Washington Street sign. It was surrounded by an old snow pile, a good 3 - 4 feet high. An old man walking with a walker stopped on the sidewalk and took note of the shiny blue car, slowly inching its way towards him, helpless in its direction. My car was now at a backwards diagonal and I watched my tire tracks turn to tiny, slush puddles on the road behind me. When I hit the street sign, it was with a solid "Hmph!" I was going about 10 mph at that point.
I climbed over to the passenger seat and forced the frozen door open (in Kia's, the doors freeze shut as soon as the temperature drops below 30 degrees). I made my way around to where I hit the street sign, which was bent slightly but not broken. As I surveyed the completely crushed door, I noted that it looked like I had been hit by a tractor trailer truck. Old man with the walker was watching me and asked accusingly, "Did you hit that on purpose?"
"No, no, no. This is called 'Korean engineering', sir." I patted my roof proudly and smiled. He shook his head slightly and moved along, muttering about buying American and all that silly nonsense. I dug a path around my new car and got some dirt from the trunk. I was carrying a good size bucket of it for extra weight and escape plans. Cat litter too, for good measure.
As I drove home and pondered all the new noises coming from under my brand new car, I couldn't help but think that the old man's walker was better at traveling in the New England weather than my $300 per month car was. The joke was clearly on me. I would discover the next day that frame had been bent.
Last night, as I turned into Ely Road and headed toward the black box theatre, I noted friends' old apartments, dorm rooms and the parking lot where I received approximately $2,000 in parking tickets over the four years I attended. Paid twice. Westfield tends to be as bad as I am at record keeping. In fact, last week when I called for transcripts I was told I had "unpaid parking tickets that need to be paid before any transcripts would be released." Somethings never change. I don't even get upset by it any more, its just a fact of life for WSC commuters.
I wheeled my parents' car (their Grand Marquis is better on gas than my Custom Cruiser) into the visitor parking and all of a sudden the temperature in the car shot up about 20 degrees. My skin broke out in goosebumps and on the hard rock radio station came the song "Jump Around." Yes, the song that Patrick would sing karaoke to, would play on every juke box he could find it. The song that my mother conducted at his party in March and that we all jumped around to. The windows fogged up. And I felt from the top of my head to the bottom of my feet like I was being gently squeezed.
"Patrick, you son of a bitch! I know you're here Pat! I feel you! I get it!!" I cried and I smiled and I laughed and I turned that song up and closed my eyes. A feeling of peace and joy and happiness filled me to the brim.
As the song came to and end, I said "Thanks Pat, that was awesome." The car returned to its normal temperature and the windows started defogging. I laid my head on the steering wheel and told him to visit me anytime, I wasn't scared or sad when he came. His visit made me happy.
I gathered up my things and made my way inside to the theatre where so many memories live. Where old friendships were made, art created from nothing. Where a part of me was created and the best parts of me found.
On my drive to my old school and through the downtown area of Westfield where I lived for a while with Dan and then with Aaron... I started thinking about my college years. I drove slowly, turned the radio on and noticed that Davio's isn't Davio's. Pasquale's is still there, the old liquor store was knocked down and moved into a new building. The old run down CVS is now a Goodwill shop and the new CVS looks just like every other one in Mass. Roads paved, new shops open and old shops closed. My old street, whose sign I had plowed over during a flurry storm was standing tall. Let me explain:
I was driving a brand, spanking new piece of shit car: 1999 Kia Sephia. It was electric blue and made almost entirely of plastic. It was so bad in the snow that you basically couldn't touch your brakes. Ever. You had to downshift. It was an automatic, mind you. It was around 11pm and I was trucking along in the light dusting of snow at about 25mph. I had my flashers on just in case. As traffic quickly passed me by and driver's honked and flipped me off, I saw that about a quarter of a mile in the distance the traffic light had turned yellow. My stomach flipped. There was no way I was going to stop in this stuff! There was already 1/8 of an inch on the ground!!! So, I shift into Low 2. Then Low 1 and that was when my car started to careen ever so gently to the right, I knew the spin was coming. Like an ice skater getting ready for her triple lutz, I leaned into the spin. I was travelling at a good clip now, a solid 15 miles per hour. I reached over my left shoulder and buckled myself in. I turned my back toward my door as I could see quite easily that I was skidding rather smoothly in the direction of the Washington Street sign. It was surrounded by an old snow pile, a good 3 - 4 feet high. An old man walking with a walker stopped on the sidewalk and took note of the shiny blue car, slowly inching its way towards him, helpless in its direction. My car was now at a backwards diagonal and I watched my tire tracks turn to tiny, slush puddles on the road behind me. When I hit the street sign, it was with a solid "Hmph!" I was going about 10 mph at that point.
I climbed over to the passenger seat and forced the frozen door open (in Kia's, the doors freeze shut as soon as the temperature drops below 30 degrees). I made my way around to where I hit the street sign, which was bent slightly but not broken. As I surveyed the completely crushed door, I noted that it looked like I had been hit by a tractor trailer truck. Old man with the walker was watching me and asked accusingly, "Did you hit that on purpose?"
"No, no, no. This is called 'Korean engineering', sir." I patted my roof proudly and smiled. He shook his head slightly and moved along, muttering about buying American and all that silly nonsense. I dug a path around my new car and got some dirt from the trunk. I was carrying a good size bucket of it for extra weight and escape plans. Cat litter too, for good measure.
As I drove home and pondered all the new noises coming from under my brand new car, I couldn't help but think that the old man's walker was better at traveling in the New England weather than my $300 per month car was. The joke was clearly on me. I would discover the next day that frame had been bent.
Last night, as I turned into Ely Road and headed toward the black box theatre, I noted friends' old apartments, dorm rooms and the parking lot where I received approximately $2,000 in parking tickets over the four years I attended. Paid twice. Westfield tends to be as bad as I am at record keeping. In fact, last week when I called for transcripts I was told I had "unpaid parking tickets that need to be paid before any transcripts would be released." Somethings never change. I don't even get upset by it any more, its just a fact of life for WSC commuters.
I wheeled my parents' car (their Grand Marquis is better on gas than my Custom Cruiser) into the visitor parking and all of a sudden the temperature in the car shot up about 20 degrees. My skin broke out in goosebumps and on the hard rock radio station came the song "Jump Around." Yes, the song that Patrick would sing karaoke to, would play on every juke box he could find it. The song that my mother conducted at his party in March and that we all jumped around to. The windows fogged up. And I felt from the top of my head to the bottom of my feet like I was being gently squeezed.
"Patrick, you son of a bitch! I know you're here Pat! I feel you! I get it!!" I cried and I smiled and I laughed and I turned that song up and closed my eyes. A feeling of peace and joy and happiness filled me to the brim.
As the song came to and end, I said "Thanks Pat, that was awesome." The car returned to its normal temperature and the windows started defogging. I laid my head on the steering wheel and told him to visit me anytime, I wasn't scared or sad when he came. His visit made me happy.
I gathered up my things and made my way inside to the theatre where so many memories live. Where old friendships were made, art created from nothing. Where a part of me was created and the best parts of me found.
OK I READ IT, SO HAPPY YOU CAN FEEL HIM, NOT READY BUT HEY YOU MUST OF LOVED BEING BACK AT THE OLD SCHOOL AND ALL THE OLD FEELINGS HAHAH LOVE YOU KATE
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