Early Sunday morning, my friend Moumita and I trekked together to Central Park to get tickets for Shakespeare's "As You Like It." We asked for directions every few yards, and followed winding pathways into the man-made forest that is Central Park until we arrived at a line that was a good 1.5 miles long. It was only 11AM, and people had brought their blankets, books, food, and water in anticipation for these coveted (i.e.free) tickets for Public Theater. Moumita and I brought none of those things. I carried my forest green camping backpack (in order to color coordinate with the trees), but it carried none of the amenities necessary for a entire day in the park. We had only each other's company and a library book called The First Love and Other Stories by Harold Bradkey.
As I sat the three hours in the sun waiting for the box office to begin selling tickets at 1PM, I read a short story called "A Well Regulated Impulse." A story about the dysfunctional relationship and breakup of a older narrator and his young partner who was a junior at Smith College, I dismissed much of the content as "nonsense." And it was nonsense. The dialogues were weird, the logic absent, the characters so idiosyncratic that they were not credible. There was one moment that made me smile, however: The narrator offers to buy the girl icecream after they discuss breaking up. She says she does not want icecream. The narrator buys icecream anyway. He asks, Do you want a bite? She takes a bite. He responds, "I bought it for you anyway." I liked this simple act of sharing icecream. Even if it does not help me understand why individuals fall out of love.
I did not believe that we would get tickets. I wanted to leave her many times. Moumita insisted that we should have patience because if there was a good 100+ people assembled behind us, if they believed they were getting tickets, then we certainly had reason to hope. I kept saying that statistically, there was no way we would get tickets.
Sure enough, we did not get tickets. But we did get vouchers, voucher #45 and 46--of 50 total vouchers. I betted on my pessimism and it cost me $35 on lunch at Cafe Frida on Columbus Ave, for quality food neither of us could pronounce. Four hours later, we were joined by our high school friends, and the waiting continued. After playing frisbee and catching up, we waited from 6:00 to 8:30 for our numbers to be called.
And Alhdamdullilah, when our numbers were called at last, we were incredulous to learn that we had seats for the FRONT ROW, CENTER. I could reach over and touch the actors if I wanted. I'd get thrown out, but I could do it. This was an amazing reward for our patience, for sabr.
Not only did I learn patience from this long day in the park, I experienced the wonders of a Shakespearean theater for the first time. I had never read "As You Like It", but I was fascinated by the word puns and the timeless theme of love that preoccupied all the characters. I understood from the emotions and dialogues, finally, why Shakespeare is a classic. Although I resisted the urge to take notes during the play, I absorbed a few things: (1) Deception of the self and of others is characteristic of love (2) Even unreciprocated love can evolve (3) Love is about folly, but it can end happily. The endless books churned out year by both men and women always involve love or sex, in some mutated form of both, because to love is to be human. Centuries ago Shakespeare was writing what Bradkey writes now: stories of love.
As I sat the three hours in the sun waiting for the box office to begin selling tickets at 1PM, I read a short story called "A Well Regulated Impulse." A story about the dysfunctional relationship and breakup of a older narrator and his young partner who was a junior at Smith College, I dismissed much of the content as "nonsense." And it was nonsense. The dialogues were weird, the logic absent, the characters so idiosyncratic that they were not credible. There was one moment that made me smile, however: The narrator offers to buy the girl icecream after they discuss breaking up. She says she does not want icecream. The narrator buys icecream anyway. He asks, Do you want a bite? She takes a bite. He responds, "I bought it for you anyway." I liked this simple act of sharing icecream. Even if it does not help me understand why individuals fall out of love.
I did not believe that we would get tickets. I wanted to leave her many times. Moumita insisted that we should have patience because if there was a good 100+ people assembled behind us, if they believed they were getting tickets, then we certainly had reason to hope. I kept saying that statistically, there was no way we would get tickets.
Sure enough, we did not get tickets. But we did get vouchers, voucher #45 and 46--of 50 total vouchers. I betted on my pessimism and it cost me $35 on lunch at Cafe Frida on Columbus Ave, for quality food neither of us could pronounce. Four hours later, we were joined by our high school friends, and the waiting continued. After playing frisbee and catching up, we waited from 6:00 to 8:30 for our numbers to be called.
And Alhdamdullilah, when our numbers were called at last, we were incredulous to learn that we had seats for the FRONT ROW, CENTER. I could reach over and touch the actors if I wanted. I'd get thrown out, but I could do it. This was an amazing reward for our patience, for sabr.
Not only did I learn patience from this long day in the park, I experienced the wonders of a Shakespearean theater for the first time. I had never read "As You Like It", but I was fascinated by the word puns and the timeless theme of love that preoccupied all the characters. I understood from the emotions and dialogues, finally, why Shakespeare is a classic. Although I resisted the urge to take notes during the play, I absorbed a few things: (1) Deception of the self and of others is characteristic of love (2) Even unreciprocated love can evolve (3) Love is about folly, but it can end happily. The endless books churned out year by both men and women always involve love or sex, in some mutated form of both, because to love is to be human. Centuries ago Shakespeare was writing what Bradkey writes now: stories of love.
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