the saint

tonight was another one of those nights.
those nights when i come to the end of my day, exhausted, and look back on how lucky i really am. it was one of those nights when i worked on something that is part of me, but something totally different... think of it as something that is its own entity, but that has been partly shaped by my hand. even though my name will go in the program as lighting designer for this show, and that is some small form of recognition, nights like this one seem completely selfless. i worked to create something bigger and beyond my own self. and until you've done it, you can't possibly understand.
as i ran in the house tonight, after fighting traffic for an hour and being 30 minutes late for my haircut, i was overcome with guilt. my daughter has been alone all day, and forced to while away the hours by herself, bored. so, i took her to work tonight. she happily pranced around the theatre, sniffing new smells, and eating God knows what off the floor of that place. she eagerly watched me climb that ladder time and time again. when we went outside for a moment, she whined at the door, and pushed her paw through the little crack opening we left to keep ourselves from being locked out... so, i decided to let her out; Unleashed if you will.
she stuck around for a few seconds, seemingly staying cautiously near Dad. but, soon she sprinted off into the woods around the Greek theatre, enjoying her new-found freedom in a completely foreign place. she sprinted through the foliage, ducked in and out of the trees- the same trees where i once snuck beautiful kisses from a secret budding love.
she eventually came back, after hearing the search party calling her name, and whistling her favorite tune. but most importantly, she saw, as i hope for every female that enters my life, what it is that i see in that place... she saw where i spend my nights away from her, and *why* i do so. she saw with her own two keen eyes the beauty and soul-food that lives just beneath the surface of an old building, one where the plaster is crumbling, and the faucets have to be held open to wash your hands... and every patron walking through that front door smells the mildew in the carpet- but there is a life force and a fountain of youth living in the air... between the molecules that make up that stale-air smell. it is the heartbeat of Edgar, and Henry, and every other person who has given that building life, even after their earthly death. every bead of sweat that they expelled in their living years, and every bead of sweat and every hockey game that is missed by Obie as he labors there, keeps that building alive.
I only hope that I can in some way contribute. That I can give a performance worthy of keeping that place alive even for a day after I'm gone. It is the child I may never have. It is part of who I am. and every person is ugly in equal measure with their beauty. that place is both. we are all both. our struggle as people is to swing the pendulum to the good, but it will always have that balance. and that is what makes it real... instead of false. and the people who come and go, they will only ever get a glimpse of it. they will never know the fullness and magnitude of the presence in which they stood during that "show they did there once."