I would like to share with you a story of something that has had a profound impact on my life and holds a special place in my heart:
Once upon a time I was on choir tour last year. It was to be the last year that the school district would allow the choirs to go to Anaheim, which is dumb, but fortunately for me, it was my Senior year, but I digress. It was Friday, the second day of tour, and after a long day of running about and singing all over the place, we got the chance to settle down for a bit and see a play. The play in question was "The Scarlet Pimpernel" which is an awesome book, so I was psyched. Anyway, as we were getting settled into our seats ("we" being me and Aubrey, cause nobody else wanted to sit next to us because we're freaks,) I happened to look across the theater and this is what I saw:
ostensibly, an artist's rendition of this official piece:
but again, I digress...
Well, upon sight of the rather bizarre-looking being staring back at me from across the room, I completely lost it. Aubrey was bewildered as to what I was laughing at for a moment, but then she saw it too. There was no helping us after that. I do not recall, in my conscious memory ever having laughed harder, or longer, at one image than I did on this night. A range of confused reactions, from worried looks to "What the heck is wrong with you two?" came from our peers in the surrounding seats; the only thing we could manage to squeak out was "the face!" and point to the picture. This continued until the play started, and we were both red-faced, gasping, clutching our sides in pain, and everyone around us was pretending not to know us. I found recently, much to my delight, that the official choir tour photographer had a good four or five pictures just of Aubrey and I laughing at the face. Perhaps this will give you a good idea of the intensity of our euphoria.
We managed to get a hold on ourselves when the lights dimmed, but the face continued to stare back at us, catching our attention at the most inopportune times, particularly during very serious parts of the play, causing us to lose it all over again.
Even after we left the playhouse, "the face" as we affectionately dubbed it, would live on in immortal glory, and would stay with us forever. Though none but Aubrey and I ever fully appreciated the true magnitude of "the face", it changed our lives. In the darkest of times, no matter what happens, I can always remember "the face" and, depending on the day, either smile, or split my sides. It really is that powerful.
So here's to "the face."
Although I hardly knew you, I will never forget the time we shared.