Mother’s Day, 2017.
A concert of
Renaissance music, composed by women.
Scene: Intermission, obligatory bathroom break.
Dramatis personae: Portative Organist, Singer, Moth
One enters the restroom, embedded in the building of the
campus. A beautiful big moth is fluttering there, having already entered by
means of some slipstream of air, from outer to inner. One relieves
an urgent call, washes and dries. Yet, the fluttery flapping continues.
One knows the beautiful moth will die if it continues to be
trapped within the restroom.
The Portative Organist enters the restroom. Oh, gosh. One
thought to try to capture the moth, but the presence of another person makes
such a venture an Admission of Oddness.
One says to oneself, “Okay, just this once.”
And then, One's thought speaks to the Moth, “Let me catch you,” while
waving wildly with One’s hands. Fortunately, the Portative Organist has entered
a stall and shut the door. Maybe she won’t think you are a crazy nutcase.
“Come to me, Moth,” actually speaking the words aloud, while
flailing your hands toward the creature, in “capture mode.”
Miracle! The Moth lands on your hand!!!!
“Stay,” One says, while slowly opening the door to the hall
and slowly stepping down toward the exit to The Great Outdoors. "Stay." The small
creature listens, perhaps...
But then, nerves intervene and worries, and the
wings begin to beat.
“NO! Stay!!!” The tiny feet affix themselves once again, and a small
tongue comes out to touch a caring and anxious flesh. “Stay!” The larger body hazards to step forward, slowly, followed by more steps to THE
DOOR.
Slowly, One opens the door. (With recent days of high
wind, One does not want the small charge to be blown back into the building.) One extends the hand bearing the small creature out into the sun shot air.
“Go, you are Free!”
But, the creature stays, fixed to One’s hand!
“Go, you are FREE!”
The tiny tongue comes out, offering another kiss, and the creature
still clings. But the intermission
is coming to a close…
“Please, Dear, you must GO!” And, of course, the Portative
Organist is leaving the restroom, but what is dignity?
One last kiss of the sweet and tiny tongue, and then, “You
must, must go!” And I blow my small charge from my hand, into the breezy sunshine.
The moth flies to greet the afternoon.
One returns to the call of music, to the concert program.
But, a once trapped moth flies free.
