I sat, Alice to my right and another woman to my left, and watched the stage. Tori Amos was giving a three night performance. The first night was her traditional songs, the second and third would be her new more avant garde material.
I put my arm around Alice’s shoulders though it was not clear I would get back with her after all this time.
Read moreThe stage was in front of us in a small hall but with mirrors on either side of the stage which reflected the deep red of the curtains on stage as well as that of Tori Amos’ set up. Because of the reflection in the left hand mirror, I thought that the stage was to my left instead of directly in front. I looked for clues that I was looking at a mirror image instead of the real thing. Then I joked to Alice that the right hand mirror view was really the stage.
Alice mumbled something to the fact that I could be right. For a moment I too was confused that the right side had been the stage all along, and not after all, a mirror.
I wondered whether Alice would attend the following nights.
When the performance wound up it was already late. We stepped out of the theater into the street and I asked Alice if she would like a lift home.
We got in my car. The car was old and white but small and I asked for her address.
I pulled away from the front of the theater and turned onto Main Road.
‘It’s off the P road,’ she replied.
Then I pulled the car over against a wall on Main so that I could search up her address.
The wall was wet, shiny brown brick and there was ivy that spilled over the top of the wall that gave it a dark feeling despite the street lamps.
As I flicked through the pages of the A2Z I saw that there was no just such a road on the west side of London.
‘I’m on the east side,’ she explained.
It meant that I would have to drive her over to the east side of London, then drive back over to the west.
It would be very late by the time I got home. The fact made me irritated.
Perhaps I could stay with her tonight, though it was not clear whether she would attend the second performance.
‘Can you give me a postcode?’ I asked.
‘It’s a small road of only eleven houses off the P,’ she answered.
I looked at the P on the A2Z map and it spanned several pages.
‘But what’s the name of the road?’ I asked her.
‘Pembrokeshire,’ she finally said. I looked again on the map then threw the book onto the back seat.
‘Hang it!’ I retorted and I started to type on my phone.
‘What’s the number of your house?’ But she didn’t reply so I guessed a number and I typed it into my phone.
The font of the text in the search box was stricken through which I found odd. Nevertheless the search worked. I held up the phone for her to see the ground view of her street. The picture was of a white washed pub on the corner.
‘Yes, that’s it,’ she replied.
I put the phone on the little tray of the dashboard, so that I could begin the navigation.
In front of the car stood a young black woman who wore a formal black dress as if she were going to a funeral. She asked for a lift. She came over to the left side of the car and I nodded my agreement but then I saw that she had an old woman with her, also dressed in black. The old woman had a brown wooden cane, and could have been the younger woman’s mother. She stepped off the curb and hobbled round to the right side of the car.
How were they both going to fit in? I wondered.
Photo of Tori Amos on her Sinful Attraction tour by Tybo via Flickr.
