by Andrew Weston
Pete fidgeted with the keys in his pocket. He looked like he forgot something. The will call line wasn’t moving. He had been waiting anxiously for two weeks to see this play.
“What in samhain – why is this taking so long?” he swore.
Beverly was a little more calm. “Why? What are you looking for?”
“I don’t know. I just want to make sure I have my tickets.” Pete took out his wallet and fished through it for the will call tickets he’d need for the play. They were right there between his lotto ticket and a grocery receipt. He looked at Beverly squarely. “OK. I guess I have them.”
Beverly was a little more suave than Pete. “Of course you do,” she said with a flip of her blonde hair. Pete couldn’t help but notice her heart red lipstick again. “You’ve been talking about coming to see Pleiades all month. You might as well have had those will call tickets dipped in bronze you were so excited.”
“I know. I’m just nervous,” he said. “You know – when it finally comes down to it.”
“You’ll get over it darling,” said Beverly.
“I wish this line would move faster, though,” he said. The man in front of him in line was tall and wore a beige sportcoat. Pete tapped him on the shoulder. “Excuse me, do you have any idea what the holdup is here?”
“It always takes this long,” said the stranger. “What do you think they have all your information right there in front of them? They have to look through a file first.”
“Royal pain,” said Pete.
“That’s the way it is,” said the stranger. He turned back to forward again, leaving Pete to wonder.
“Just be patient. You’ll be OK,” said Beverly putting her arm around him fondly.
“I know it.”
It was cold. The wind was biting as they stood there.
“I have a headache,” said Pete.
“Get over it,” said Beverly.
The crowd in line turned. A loud clown car Volkswagen had pulled up alongside the will call trailer and clowns were getting out of it for Pleiades. Pete counted as clown after clown dressed in blue patterned tablecloth looking material clambered out of the car. Eight, nine…Ten. Oh, that one was late. Pete was relieved. Beverly clapped her hands. The stranger in the beige jacket said, “They spared no expense for us.”
“No, they really didn’t.” Pete laughed. “It’s just for us!” He was happy to be here. Beverly kissed him.
“I can’t wait to see this play,” she said with a bright smile.
“No, they’re doing it right,” said Pete smiling back.
The clowns stopped coming out of the car.
“Fifteen clowns,” said Pete.
“That’s a lot of clowns,” said Beverly.
“Lot of clowns,” Pete repeated.
They marveled as the clowns ran around the car dancing and miming. It was incredible.
“We don’t even have to see the show with this act,” said Pete.
“Don’t go there. This is your birthday,” Beverly reminded him.
“Yes. I suppose it is.” And with that Pete discovered the value of waiting. Something was simply always there for him. And that’s what made him so glad.
