I am not sure if I had posted about this before. Sorry if it this is redundant, but I could not find if there was an old post about this, because Tumblr search engine really sucks.

There was a 1:1 that I to this day still consider the greatest one I ever had. At one point, I know the performer felt it was also, but it’s been almost eight years now so who’s to say now. We also both shared a laugh – and a groan – when we heard the rumors about what some people thought a “greatest” 1:1 might have involved. It was absolutely on script and no rules were broken. Just can't say the same about all the props. And of course none of this is going to read like it felt, and it was all contingent on who we were, what had happened in life, and in the hotel, over the preceding few months, and that context is both private and hard to talk about precisely, but I suppose is a part of the magic of the theater in any case. (Porter 1:1 spoilers)

I was looping Speakeasy, as I tend to do. He disappeared into Agnes’ room, and i knew it would only be moments until he reappeared at the mortuary. As he made his way to the rep bar, I was the only white mask following. Speakeasy took his time resetting the space post rave. He wiped down the remains of Sexy’s watery demise with the utmost of care. Chairs and tables reset, his mistress beckoned and he brought her a locked meal. When Speakeasy snuck out the side entrance, I was still the only one in his thrall. 

I was following Speakeasy when he returned to his place. Once he entered, he realized that there was someone searching for things on the bar counter. He did not ask the uninvited guest what he was doing there. In stead, he hid behind the shelves and observed, before he suddenly rushed out and barked loud. That poor visitor (Fulton or Taxi, I couldnt be sure) jumped like a frightened cat and ran away.

It was like a live Tom and Jerry show.

I was the only one following Speakeasy, so as he walked from the shelves into the bar, both he and I were laughing so hard, but none of the other white masks remaining in the bar knew why.

To better cope with this dark time, I would like to call for submissions of SNM related stories. It doesn’t have to be an essay, just something short and sweet. It could be a memorable moment happened in the show or party, your journey of being a fan, something about your favorite characters or performers; or anything SNM related really. Together we can, perhaps, every day, or every couple days, have something heartwarming popping up to remind us of our deep affection for that magical place.

Again, don’t name the names if you think the performers were not following the textbook. 

#EveryNightAboutThisTime

#ThereWasMagicAbroadInTheAir

#LetsBreakOutTheBoozeAndHaveABall

#SometimesInMyDreamsIDoReturn

#TillISmileAtYou

I met R. on a climbing trip in West Virginia. We hooked up in my tent for the last two nights. Then it turned into a two-year romance, spread thin between my home in New York, his in Texas, and a bunch of dirtbag crags in between. And spread thin over not much communication in between. It wasn’t a typical romance but it was the kind I finally said would be okay, since waiting around for perfection left me coming up short every time.

The breakup came in April, about a week after my mom’s cancer was found. He carried it out as badly as I could have expected, over a clumsy text exchange wherein he revealed he was dating someone local. And had been for six months, including while we were together in Mexico for New Year’s. And that was that, or so I thought.

So I found myself at the hotel one night a week later, nursing wounds in a place I’d been wounded so many times before! And I was anxious because, well, a certain Boy Witch looks an awful lot like R., if R. had been healthier psychologically, as I knew, and wasn’t it going to be strange to spend a few hours chasing after someone who made me think of him like that?

But I stood in Manderley for happy hour and sipped my scotch like always and it was very nearly time to check in, and then the text came. He was coming to New York in three days, he said. For work. Would I want to meet up and talk? Oh of course, of course *now* he wants to talk. Couldn’t be moved for two years to put a name on whatever we were but yes, now, let’s talk now.

And then it was time to go inside, and all the effort I’d made to hold my stupid heart together the previous week was ruined. Of course he followed me in here, he found a way to break through the spell this place has up that keeps me out of painful reality.

And indeed, there was that particular Boy Witch, and I followed him dutifully through his loop, distracted by the occasional familiarity of his face. I dressed him, which is a scene I hate because it is stressful, and painful to see someone in such agony, but you have to be there to help him put himself back together. And I go to this scene because it leads to my favorite interaction on that loop, which comes next: he takes my hand and we race breathlessly down the stairs, until the last flight when he lets go and disappears around the corner, far enough ahead of me to surprise me and push me into the wall.

He holds me by the throat, leans in and kisses my face. He says “thank you.” All of this is familiar, it’s what I know is coming, and its comfort is why I am here. He turns to walk away, but then he stops. Turning slowly, he comes back to me and presses his hand into my chest. He lingers and stares. “Your heart sings,” he says. My broken heart sings.

Of course he didn’t know, he had no idea, how could he have? It was just chance, that this little deviation from the usual script would be so perfectly timed. I broke, I utterly broke.