The Plays the Thing

A couple of weeks passed, and soon auditions for the next musical began. West Side Story was a long time favorite of mine. I loved the music, the story of star-crossed lovers flying in the face of racial taboos. I wanted the part of Maria so bad and I knew I could be great at it. Tall, lanky, red-headed, fair skinned girl portraying a petite Puerto Rican –I was perfect for the part.

And auditioning for the part of Tony, was none other than Tim. Nothing much had happened since our bizarre camp fire encounter. Nothing at all except that I thought about him constantly. Then one day a few of us were standing around talking about who might play what role and very casually Tim said, “I hope you get to play Maria so I can kiss you.”

Whoa. I blushed like crazy and started sweating nervously from the palms of my hands to the soles of my feet and everywhere in between. It was the answer to my unspoken question. He had been thinking about me since that night. Oh, how the possibilities began to roll around in my head.

Tim was so cute. He had beautiful eyes that changed from green to brown depending on his clothing and a glorious head of soft, brown hair. (Stop snickering. It’s true.) I remember a couple who attended the church I grew up in. They were both young and attractive and they sat directly in front of the youth group. All through the service, the wife would run her fingers through the back of the guy’s hair. All of us teenagers would scowl and mock them behind their backs but secretly, I dreamed of the day that I could run my fingers through my own husband’s locks. Yeah, yeah, back to the story.

The auditions came and went and in true “High School Musical” form the results were posted on the chorus room door. We flocked to the spot like seagulls to a clam bake. The list was posted, as the original playbill, in order of appearance. Near the top of the list under “The Jets” there he was, Tony: Tim Sexton. And farther down the page, I breathed a great sigh of relief; under “The Sharks” -Maria: Amie Harrington. Yes! I knew I could make the late Natalie Wood proud –especially since I would be doing my own singing.

Rehearsals began and Tim and I were spending every afternoon together. He offered to give me a ride home after practice one day. We got into his little orange Volkswagen and had not even made it out of the school parking lot when he turned to me and said, “I feel like I should tell you that I’ve been to the dermatologist’s office. I have male-patterned baldness and will most likely lose my hair by the time I’m twenty-one.”

Come again?