Right There with Us

I had a feeling my mom would show up. It was the first time her granddaughter was going to see a musical with a professional cast — the national tour of Wicked. No way she would miss it. 

Santa brought Margot tickets for the show in 2019. I don’t need to explain why we had to wait until last Saturday to use them, but if anything, the excrutiating delay only made the day more exciting — for both of us. 

Once we were zapped in, something I always worry about until the mission is complete because I miss paper tickets (see photo), we were set to experience the show. When we found our seats at Ovens Auditorium, I looked a few rows down to where my mom and I’s season tickets used to be. For years, mom would meet me at my apartment in Charlotte, and we’d go to dinner and a show. It was the best because it was just us. 

Sometimes we’d go to a cool restaurant and pretend we were in Greenwich Village beforehand. Other times we grabbed snacks at the local convenience store because we were late for the theatre, and one should never be late for the theatre. It didn’t matter whether we ate fancy pasta or crackers, all that mattered was that we were doing something together that we loved. 

Even before we started buying season tickets, we’d go to shows — a couple of times in New York and frequently in Charlotte. During high school, when I was obsessed with the score from Les Miserables (what theatre nerd wasn’t in the ’80s?), mom bought us tickets for the national tour as soon as she heard it was coming to Ovens. We sat there crying our eyes out as Fantine sang “I Dreamed a Dream” only to return home to finish my science project that was due the next day. Being tired at school was completely worth it because I can’t remember what my science project was about, but I remember everything about watching Les Mis with my mom. 

It didn’t matter what the show was; it was magic. Magic because that’s what theatre is and magic because it was our thing. As I sat in Ovens with Margot, I began to get a little weepy remembering all the good times mom and I had. A few scenes later, my mask began smelling like my mother. Sure, we were sitting in a sea of ladies wearing a variety of Estee Lauder fragrances, but I’d like to think it was my mom joining us for a matinee. 

If that wasn’t enough to convince me she was there, what occurred in the second act did. Starving, I pulled a piece of gum out of my purse, pretending that it was a snack. After I chewed all the sweetness out of my Doublemint, I placed it back in the wrapper (during a loud number, I’m not one of those people) and held it in my hand so I could throw it away after the show. After cradling my wadded gum for a few minutes, I realized that it was my mom. 

A little backstory here. My mother wasn’t the tidiest person in the world, a trait her lovely daughter inherited. And mom also loved gum, another trait she passed down (don’t judge). Mom was famous for leaving gum wrappers in her wake. It drove me crazy because who doesn’t have time to throw away a gum wrapper? Still, she persisted.

Now that she’s gone, I miss finding those gum wrappers. That’s the hardest thing about losing someone, stomaching the random reminders that pop up on your path just when you’re certain it’s cleared of roots. In Kacey Musgraves’ latest song “Justify,” she sings that healing doesn’t happen in a straight line. No truer words have ever flowed through my speakers. 

Grief comes in all shapes and sizes, and it never runs on a schedule. But just as it grabs and tugs at unexpected moments, it also delivers these random ethereal connections, reminding you that person is always there. 

            Watching Elphaba and Glinda sing “Because I Knew You,” I clinched my gum wrapper in my hand, knowing we were all together. Three generations sharing a family tradition in beloved Ovens Auditorium. For a moment, I felt at peace, a feeling that’s been hard to come by lately as I navigate tweens, middle age, covid and an aging father. I need my mom’s guidance and wisdom more than ever. I constantly toss questions and requests into the air, hoping at least one will make its way to her. Most of the time I hear crickets, but once in a while, mom sends a Wink my way. 

            That’s exactly what she did at Wicked. She did what she could to be with her granddaughter as she watched her first show. Knowing mom was with us was all I needed to sit back and enjoy my daughter discover the thrill of live theatre.