a night I loved

The year was 1990, the summer before seventh grade. I had just made my Clinton Town Hall stage debut as Moth in a professional production of A Midsummer Night's Dream. I had a crush on blond Lysander and longed to be as elegant as the dancer who played Titania. After the last performance a cast party was held at a house on High Street, in the garden. I had never seen anything so lovely.

The grand old house was white and gauzy, doors flung open to the outside. I did not have the vocabulary to describe its effortless art, so many rich, beautiful objects assembled, living together, surrounding the lucky, lovely people. Most players/revelers were already outside, of course, as we were all immersed sylvan creatures after months of rehearsal and a week performing Shakespeare's green world tale of comedy and confusion.

I loved everything about this sparkling, silver night. There was wine and coquetry, masks and dancing. New lovers planned a parting in tucked away gazebos and directors bellies swelled under full moon. Summer was ending, school was starting; I was growing up. I did not want to leave a creating life, full of wonderful things and interesting people. I was transformed that magic evening, reading a wealth of pretty possibility in my static home town.