Today I drove in the car to rehearsal with my friend and fellow assistant stage manager Jon. I thought, listening to his soft, guitar-plinking music, as I often think, of how theatrical our conversations seem to be. For minutes at a time I will stare at the reflection of an encroaching cloud front on the windows of blue office buildings as Jon will sing terribly off key and wind in and out of rush hour traffic. Suddenly, when I'm struck with a thought, I vocalize it to Jon, expecting a topical reply. Most times, Jon poses a question to me about something in a completely different galaxy of topics. Instead of answering, I am driven simply to make another remark, perhaps about the altitude of the clouds I've been watching, to which Jon tells me of his loathing of particular meat products.
It seems as if we speak to one another in a language of broken sentences and thoughts and yet I hear and I know Jon hears every word that is said. It's a dynamic that is hard to capture in words and yet oftentimes as we pass through the grey light of evening I feel as if I've had some of my favorite conversations.
No comments:
Post a Comment