It was Open Night at the school, where the various faculties demonstrated their facility for the benefit of potential new students. My daughter was in one of the demonstrations.<\/p>\n
I was late. A work emergency had kept me back, and when I was trying to make up time on the way there, two learner drivers got in my way when I took a shortcut. It was a hot evening.\u00a0I was wearing a vented jacket, but it\u2019s black and absorbs heat; and I was sweating like a whore at Mass when I arrived at the school.<\/p>\n
My wife was there in the school hall, and a new teacher was asking if he could help her. She explained that she was the mother of one of the girls in the demonstrations.<\/p>\n
\u201cScience?\u201d asked the teacher.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d said my wife. \u201cShe is dancing the cha-cha.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201dMay not be the one to discover a cure for AIDS\u201d, I chimed in.<\/p>\n
The teacher looked at me as if I was a\u00a0sweaty-jacketed helmet-carrying\u00a0tool of the patriarchal oppressors. I decided I would try to put him at ease.<\/p>\n
There were banners on the wall containing the names of the school houses. One was \u201cBrowning\u201d. I gestured at it. \u201cAh, Browning\u201d, I said. \u201cNamed after John Moses, I presume.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cActually\u201d, said the teacher, \u201cit\u2019s named after Elizabeth Barrett Browning.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBarrett, you say?\u201d I replied. \u201cI think I fired one of her fifty cals once. Sweet piece.\u201d<\/p>\n
He excused himself. To get a glass of water, he said.<\/p>\n
A small orchestra started playing down the front. There were maybe fifty people sitting near them. We took the Rosa Parks seats. They played a jazz number. The Chinese chicks that did the solos played like they were in pain. I wondered if their families still bound their feet.<\/p>\n
Then there was a dance number. They wore black, and danced against a black background. It was called \u201cWhen We First Met\u201d. I would have called it \u201cWalkabout in Coal Mine\u201d.<\/p>\n
Then my daughter danced the cha-cha, and the fifty people down the front left to go to the next exhibit. Another fifty came in and sat down, and the whole thing started again.<\/p>\n
They did this six times, and I pulled my smartphone out and used its web browser to look for light coloured vented jackets that would reflect the heat of the Global Warming. It appears Dririder make a suitable garment.<\/p>\n
We went to dinner at Tokyo Loco afterwards. I took my bike, and they took the bus, which was good because I had time for a quiet beer at an outdoor caf\u00e9 while I was waiting. I told my daughter over the donburi that I had arrived late, but I was glad that I got to see all six of her performances. She asked why I was late.<\/p>\n
I told her I was kidnapped by mimes on the way, and they kept me prisoner and did things to me, and it took a while to escape.<\/p>\n
She looked interested. \u201cWhat sort of things did they do to you?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n
I drained the last of my Asahi Super Dry, and met her gaze.<\/p>\n
\u201cUnspeakable things\u201d, I said.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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