Looking into Michael's Eyes

Michael and I were in this play together.
We've known each other awhile now. He's not in my tightest circle of friends, but...we've worked together on some shows and have gotten to know each other and respect each other fairly well. He's truly one of the nicest, most honorable guys I've ever met.

The first night we blocked the opening number, the director put us together, in a frozen tableau. We were to stand there until the music started, and then we could slowly start moving and silently interacting with each other. I knew from that first night standing there, looking up at him--doing our part to create that awe-inspiring opening scene for our audience--that we were part of something special. And I think, he knew it, too. It was 'a moment'.

And so it went. We rehearsed it several times a week. And every time, I would look up into his face. I'd see a hint of a smile. Sometimes--even though we were supposed to be silent--he'd whisper, "Hey, baby. How are you tonight?" I would nod, or whisper back, "I'm good....you?" And he would smile...or wink.

I knew that he knew that I knew that he knew....that we were just two pieces in an amazing puzzle; we were part of something wonderful out there. We, two of the oldest people in the cast...our own loved ones at home...we came to be part of this show and part of the 'something special' that it was. We knew, from that first night on, that we were creating theatre magic. And I knew from that first night, that I would always remember standing out there on stage, in the dark, waiting for the music, for the magic to happen, and looking up into Michael's eyes, making a memory, to keep in my heart and in my head, and seeing that he was, too.