blazes in through the tinted windows of the taxi. i am on the way to a theatre festival, in which my six year old is participating. nothing genius like. there are so many children participating in the dances following the actual play, that the school has three days holidays to accommodate the seven shows.
the husband has acute laryngitis. exhaustion and pain. sitting for four hours to watch the only three minute dance you want to watch does not seem worth it. add to that, a hyperactive four year old who does not, will not, understand the concept of 'sit' and 'wait.' it is easy to spend time on the play station. they do just that.
i have been taught the basics of camcorder recording. i pray i'll get a decent seat. decent enough to sit and record rather than walking in the hall to get a visual angle. my knees shake when i have to bring out the camera in public. the video-thingie is even worse. always been the husband's prerogative.
but, in the hot AC cab, all i can think of what the daughter will say when she sees me alone. the first thing she'll ask me is where her acha is. where avi is. then, try as i might to be lightning quick to wave my magic wand of cheerful distraction, disappointment will flit through her face. her bright eyes will get dark, an invisible curtain falling to seal the sadness within.
the play is brilliant, considering they are school kids. the dances are good, especially if you have your child gesticulating and hopping in what she considers to be dance steps. i get a good seat. middle row balcony. i zoom in to get the nuances, zoom out to get the whole picture. i am ever so slightly conscious of being single. never happened for once in the last almost seven years.
the dance over, i can enjoy other programmes without the stress of getting it right. the recording. oh. close the shutter thingie. switch of that button. Ting! red light comes on. i forgot to press record. i sit there in my good seat without seeing the twelve dances that follow.