The Last Audition - a very short story

She sat down in the back of the auditorium and slowly exhaled. Her feet hurt in the new high heels and she was tired of carrying the designer bag with everything she needed for the day over her shoulder. It had become remarkably heavy. What she wanted most was to kick off those delightfully snazzy red shoes, don an equally delightful pair of pajamas and curl up on her sofa with a hot cup of tea. This was not to be. At least not yet. She had one more audition before heading home.

It was obvious that the producer had been interviewing for most of the afternoon. His forehead was moist, his shirt rumpled, and his tie was not around his neck but draped over the back of his seat. Slugging a bottle of water, he gestured for her to come forward.

"You check in with my assistant?" The question was thrown accusingly as though she did not have the sense to have followed proper procedure.

She nodded. "Go, then." He pointed at the stage steps, expecting her to step up into the lights.

But she was tired. She wanted to go home. Too much walking, too many "thanks, we'll get back to you" had pushed her an exasperated state of mind.

She stood up from her seat in the back of the auditorium. She kicked off the now nasty pinching heels and stepped onto the seat, balancing one foot on the back of the seat in front of her. Then she sang. She sang without acknowledging the weary pianist in the orchestra pit, who valiantly tried to jump in and back her musically after he recognized her song. She sang.

She sang out all of the frustration, the aches, her pains of the day. She sang away all of the producer's exhaustion from his difficult week. She sang like a long-forgotten muse for the pianist. She sang away the custodian's worries as he leaned on his broom at the exit door.

She sang beautifully. And when she was finished, all four in the auditorium felt better. They felt like life was better, like tomorrow would be better.

She stepped down, stuck her feet into her snazzy red heels and picked up her unreasonably heavy bag. Without a word she waited for the producer to speak.

The producer glanced at the pianist, who nodded approvingly. The producer stretched, picked up his tie, folded it and put it into his pocket. Slowly he turned, "Thanks, honey," he said. "We'll get back to you."

Retirement: It's All About Time

Three months into retirement and I don't have enough time in my day to work on anything! I've plenty of envious friends who comment about 'how wonderful you now have time to do your art'. And yes, wonderful now no papers to grade, no lesson plans to file and no supplies to gather. But time? Hahahahahaha! The interruptions from the variety of delivery people, home repair services, errands, and the ever present laundry seem to fill the inbetween hours of my day without any holes for the actual concentrated work on art to leak thru.
I have resorted to ignoring home duties, escaping to my studio to work, and then making every effort to focus on the art piece under my hand. It's an exercise in personal dedication. I understand why writers take to desert islands to write in peace, why actors closet themselves in out of town hotel rooms to memorize parts and why musicians write music wearing headphones. Tuning out and turning away from the distractions of daily life is a real trick, indeed.
So, with great smugness I announce that I have completed three, yes, 3 drawings and about 20+ hand decorated masks. That's from mid-August until now, the beginning of November.
I also have a Tumblr blog, Mixing Media, and have tried to spiffify this blog site.
And in rereading this, I see I should work on my writing skills which seem to have deteriorated upon reaching retirement age. Ah, just what I need - something else to fill my time.