There is a bit of a tizzy going on amongst those sitting in the director’s circle, just after my friend begins her solo song. I hear something like an ‘I don’t Know,’ from the circle as Blue Sweater turns ’round, shaking his head intensely with an air of sighing disbelief.
“Are you talking about the rag that was left behind?” I ask, since she had just had to step over a dropped white rag from the previous scene.
“No. HER,” he says, somewhat dramatically, tipping his head toward the girl on stage, toward my friend. “She’s …perfection. She’s… she’s just perfection,” he says, hands flying with something like exasperation.
‘Oh.’ I agree… a few moments of silent awe follow, as everyone watches her on stage.
Shaking his head, “I mean, she has to know how perfect she is… she Has to know – I Have to give her the note,” and he flips open and begins writing in a notebook.
Everyone watching the stage is smiling, and they are smiles from deep within.