|Is it any wonder that this was my favorite set piece of the night? A giant book! I shouted.|
Last night I was fortunate to see Cirque Du Soleil for the first time. Michael Jackson: The Immortal World Tour. I won the tickets through a raffle at work and watched and listened to the show with great interest. I remembered the time (pun intended) when I was a little girl and wanted nothing more than to sport a red leather jacket or one lone sparkle glove.
As everyone contorted their rubberband bodies in their Bonnie Blair suits, as they sprung out from the stage and up into the air, I wondered about these dancers. They look happy. Free. I thought. They’re doing what they love. But what happens to them when they are old, when they can’t dance anymore?
It’s a lousy thing to think during an exciting pyrotechnic-ed spectacle. But, well, that’s where my mind went. Straight to the terrible, don’t invite me to your next party thought: this is not forever.
I tried to remember, to hold on to the idea, that it might not be forever. But it’s right now.