A Day At The Symphony

I caught her out of the corner of my eye doing what appeared to be an elderly impression of some soft shoe tap dancing. Knowing that the grand gesture of swinging arms and seemingly uncontrollable stagger steps were a sure sign of a finale I spun to my right to catch the big finish. The expression on her face wasn’t one so much of fear as it was of the inevitable and she would accept this with as much dignity and style as one would expect in Boston’s Symphony Hall.
Purse wind-milling in one hand and cane tossed like a stick grenade two aisles to her left she scat danced out of control to her knees and then used her face to wax the leg of the mahogany chair I sat upon. The first thought that came to my mind was Howard Cosell’s famous cry “down goes Frazier, down goes Frazier…!” The second thought was “damn! I probably could have caught her had I not taken for granted the extreme difficulties the elderly have consummating a bowel movement let alone highly choreographed, impromptu dance moves on an inclined walkway.” The last thought was, as I stared at her motionless body, “I bet I crack a rib if I have to perform CPR.” However, she was a trooper. I dropped down to my knees and told her to stay on the ground. She was having none of that and tried to get up. I stuffed my arm under hers and hoisted her to her feet. She looked like she had gone a couple of rounds with a bottle of Valium with her wig askew and glasses dangling from her right ear. I asked her where it hurt….besides MedicAid. She pointed to her face and I tried to discern any new trauma that wasn’t a liver spot. She appeared remarkably unhurt. Straightening her glasses and faux follicles she was handed her cane and ushered away by the, um, ushers.
Every now and then I would glance back to make sure that she wasn’t taking a little catnap. Then I began to think that sitting there in Symphony Hall at ninety with a mild concussion and probably wondering why the Red Sox have taken the field with tubas under their arms isn’t all that bad. At that age I wouldn’t give a flying fuck if I pulled a cartwheel into three rows of concertgoers. Cheers to her for getting the hell out of the house and having the dignity/senility to put her ass in that chair after what many younger people would have considered an event ending embarrassment. I just hope my wig stays put when I start taking my tumbles.