Of Bears and Penguins

In which serendipity takes a hand

I got an e-mail Thursday night from a friend of mine:
"Sara, do you want to go the Vagina Monolouges"

Egdy, political and empowering - yeah, I'm there. Went all through college, haven't been since Columbia. Also enjoy having a social life that doesn't involve immediately closing the achievement gap.

"I'm so there."

An Ethiopian dinner and running a few minutes late later, we realize that while we know it's on Johns Hopkins' campus, we actually have no idea where. So we start asking strangers, who don't know, tell us it's on the medical campus and direct us to the nearest theater.

For some reason we stop into a building where there are two white haired ladies. They look like they are waiting. I go to examine a bulletin board while Kyle determines if they are also looking for the theater. They are. Neither Kyle or I mention the Vagina Monolouges, figuring that we're all on the same page or that there's another production going on. After a discussion of whether it - either the monologues or the unknown production - is taking place, Kyle volunteers to brave the cold. He looks back as if expecting me to follow him into the icy wilderness, and I say to the old ladies that while he can venture out in the cold I'm more than happy to wait indoors.

We chat amiably. I complement the lady who I come to know as Rose's hat. She says that she got in Scotland and does not intend to give it up to me. It comes out that Rose and Elizabeth worked in Baltimore County schools as a nurse and secretary respectively. They are small and whitehaired, they are anxious to find the theater. "It's that, or just sit at home and rot," says Rose.

Kyle returns, bearing brochures. He has found the theater, Rose and Elizabeth are excited. A glance at the program bids me know he has not found the monolouges, but rather the two person play, Talley's Folly that Rose and Elizabeth were headed to. We walk out in the cold together. I offer my arm to steady Elizabeth across the dark, somewhat icy pavement, and Kyle promptly presents his to Rose. And arm in arm we go, steadying one another in the dark.

We come to the theater, Kyle and I have exchanged a few glances as if to say, "This is not quite what we planned." But we go in nonetheless, delivering our charges, and then buying tickets to the show, because what else would we do? We are easily among the youngest people there. Rose and Elizabeth are senior ushers, and tear our tickets before we are even in line.

So we watch the play, two people set down in 1944 Lebanon, Missouri. It is a little cheesy, slightly dated and completely delightful, particulary for the unexpectedness of it all.

After the show, Kyle and I go to bid goodnight to Rose and Elizabeth, names are finally exchanged. Elizabeth pulls me forward after I grasp her hand and kisses me on the cheek. Kyle and I have made her night she says. What a blessing to hear, I say, she has certainly made mine, I say. Rose gives me her last name if I ever wish to look it up. She lives in the county.

We walk out. Having met two more parts of this puzzling city. Having come upon something unexpected, yet very pleasant, having shared warmth with other folks on such a terribly cold night.

It could not have been better if we planned it.

So here's to serendipty and school secretaries. Here's to ticket takers, and social planners and listening to stories and offering a steady arm as you ask a question. And here's to letting your feet go where they will. I'll remember it all much longer than I would have the monologues.

So sits the moon over us all. Over Kyle and I in our different city blocks, over Rose and Elizabeth in from the county, over all these people and their stories, so sits the moon over us all.