The Bright Bald Bullseye

The Bright Bald Bullseye

I thought I’d end up going alone. A solo trip to our high school’s auditorium to watch the drama department put on a rendition of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.

But the Hubs surprised me when he said he’d accompany me. “You don’t ask for much.”

I suppose that’s true. I don’t ask for much. I’m not a shoe person or a purse person, or a get me the next best and brightest doo-dad person. (Office supplies, though. But I don’t ask for them. I procure and stockpile at will… But I suppose he loves me anyway.)

Nothing at all like Little Miss Muse, who stomps and squeals and demands all things glittery and purple in order to do her job. But I suppose I love her anyway…

Live theater has never really been my thing, either, but that may be our location and the need to drive for hours to find a production that might interest me. Phantom of the Opera for one of the Hub’s birthdays and was a neat one. I went to a few other little ones I can’t remember – most of those in my high school days because some of my classmates were cast members. That’s the extent of my experience.

But this was Sleepy Hollow. Sure to be fun and fit the fall season. And since the high school is literally in our backyard, no travel needed.

We got our tickets and chose our seats. Hubs took the aisle, and I settled down next to him to scour the program. Then we reminisced since both of us graduated eons ago from this same high school. The room felt smaller than I remembered. The stage wasn’t as massive as I recall. The seats were definitely smaller, too (Yeah, yeah. I know why that’s the case…).

Funny how time and age shrink places down to their proper sizes.

We teased about how we were in the splash zone if this was a show at the Zoo or Sea World. Or if we were in a magic show, one of us would be lugged onto the stage to be the punch line of the performer’s joke.

Good thing it’s only a high school play.

The lights went down, the curtain went up, and the performance began. The set design was fantastic, though I was concerned that the church house would topple at one point, as that was the entrance/exit for many of the background actors.

Ichabod Crane came on the scene, the wanderer in search of a class to teach. And his class turned out to be the audience at large. On a few occasions, he’d address us, never happy with our progress in our studies. Always threatening with a birch tree switch.

At one point, he was so unhappy with our academic performance that he left the stage, red dunce cap in hand, and proceeded down the aisle.

Our aisle.

And then I looked at my dear, dear Hubs. Who came because I don’t ask for much.

And I knew.

There’s no one else even slightly fit for the part. The other aisle-dwellers were ladies or men wearing baseball caps. Or little kids.

But my man?

He’s got a bright, bald head just beckoning to be the walk-on (or, in this case, stay-seated) cast member of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. His scalp glowed in the stage light that followed Ichabod from the stage. The perfect bullseye.

And Ichabod hit the target.

On went the hat. All eyes on my man. I don’t even know what Ichabod was going on about at this point, acutely aware of the long, pointy hat on my guy’s noggin. Acutely aware of all eyes on him. And I was trying not to laugh out loud and drown out Mr. Crane.

Then, our strict schoolmaster yanked the cap off and retreated to the stage.

The Hubs took it like a champ. Even ended up enjoying the play more than I did, in spite of the involuntary participation.

It was a good night. Something different.

At one point, I felt guilty that I’d come. I should have taken those couple of hours to finish a submission to an anthology I’m aiming for. Or finish up the next short story collection. But, it’ll get done next week.

That’s my aim, anyway.

I’ll just paint a bright bald bullseye on those projects and channel my inner Ichabod.

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