Walking home in the rain last night after seeing Company One’s Green Eyes was like walking back in time. I left Boston. I was walking through Rodger’s Park in Chicago, on Morse Ave between the Red Line station and Clark Street. I was coming from the theatre, of course. I was going home to that apartment – the really good one – the one I call “the last great apartment in Chicago.” I had seen a great play (which was true), and my mind was full of theatre and magic.
My past self, which appears before me like this some times, is very different from my current self. She is Trouble, with the capital T. She has drinks at Konak with friends and sits, giggling to herself drunkenly, on the bench on the corner of Foster waiting for the 39 bus. She flirts with the boys and the girls indiscriminately, to everyone’s confusion, and revels in the confusion. She is confused herself. She drinks coffee everywhere and any time, starting with it at 8am when she gets up for work, and again with lunch, and again before the house opens at the theatre, so she can pace the lobby with her blue ceramic mug (which she regrets leaving behind when she left that theatre job). She goes to parties with her best friends, her wing-men, and they stumble home through the wet streets at dawn.
Life in Boston is different. Call it “maturity.” Call it “abandonment.” Or maybe somewhere in between the two. Add the fact that the current significant other is perhaps the most significant of all and there’s a strong desire to do this one right, without the messes that may have happened to the previous self. And the job here… quite a bit more decorum-inspiring to work with the religious than to work with the drinking, smoking, cursing technicians who hung out the back door with their styrofoam cups of black coffee.
The past self is in there, don’t you worry. Adventures like that don’t just go away, and neither does the spirit that made them. It just doesn’t come out very often any more… call it “reserved” for late in the evening on wet nights after great shows.