Saturday, August 1, 2015

La Petite Mort

It happens at the end of every show.  She knew that they would never be in this configuration again.  Sure, some of them would have other shows together, and meet new people.  Those times would also be great and unique, but it was the current show that was near the end; dying.  This had been a premiere of an original play never produced before.  The playwright had become a friend.  Everyone had become a friend, some more than others.

She was walking with him back to her car to get his stuff.  The bar noises slowly faded the further they walked away.  He looked pensive, and she knew, almost without having to ask, what he was feeling.

"Having some feelings about the end of the show?"

He was.  He was happy with what they had accomplished, and he was thinking of the last show the next day.  He asked what her feelings were, and she told him the truth, that she would miss the special bond that this particular production had shared.  She was already mourning the loss, yet at the same time was happy for it to be over.  He looked at her incredulously and asked her if she thought that everyone would just stop hanging out as they did now.  In that moment, she was reminded that in life, he was Gatsby and she was Nick Carraway.

The answer was yes, but just because everything would be different.  People are less likely to hang out if they didn't all just come from the same event.  He was in a new relationship now, which would take up much of his time.  She took a deep breath and told him that she was done reaching out to him.  She knew he wouldn't take this the wrong way, and he understood she was saying he was busy and she didn't want to get in the way.  She reminded him that she would hang out with him everyday after work if he asked.  But he would have to ask.

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