Yesterday, for my birthday, I saw a great production of the wonderful play Small Mouth Sounds, about a group of six people at a silent retreat.
Before the play started, my boyfriend Michael made a small mouth sound when he noticed the incredible coincidence of his twin brother (who never goes to the theater) attending the same performance of the play. About 40 minutes into the play, I made a small mouth sound when I realized that I had neglected to leave my car key with the valet at the parking garage which was a twenty-minute walk away from the theater. I made several small mouth sounds as I wrestled with the decision of whether to disturb people in the theater to try to contact the parking garage or to stay in my seat and allow my keyless car to perhaps create havoc where I had left it.
Michael and I made small mouth sounds as we communicated silently about my dilemma, echoing the action in the play, where the characters had taken a vow of silence for a five-day mindfulness retreat. Michael mouthed and gestured “Call them!” It took me ten minutes to decide what to do while my brain made small sounds (interfering with my ability to hear the small sounds of the play) like these:
How could I have done that? Why am I realizing NOW that I forgot to leave the key? Wouldn’t it have been more effective if that thought had occurred to me during our long and circuitous walk to the theater? Could it have been the fear of being late for the play or the distraction of immediately being asked directions by another theater goer who was also confused about where the play was and who accompanied us on our search for the location? Why didn’t the parking valet run after us after realizing that I had forgotten to leave the key? Why haven’t they tried to contact me through the parking app? Have they towed my car? Is this going to ruin my or anybody else’s day? How do I get out of this long row of people and unobtrusively leave the theater when the audience is staring at each other across the center stage and the actors are maintaining such a delicate and effective balance of comedy and tragedy in this almost-silent 110-minute play without an intermission?
Eventually, I made the smallest sounds possible leaving the theater and contacting the parking garage, finally reaching somebody who made small and kind mouth sounds reassuring me that my car and everything else was okay.
After the play, Michael and his twin brother made small mouth sounds telling me what I had missed during my absence, including the cute guy in the play getting completely naked. I made a small mouth sound indicating that I thought they were kidding, but they weren’t.
Michael and I made our way back to the parking garage, making small mouth sounds all the way. There, the nice parking attendant, who had made small mouth sounds with me on the phone, told me I had left the car running, so the valet had no trouble parking it and getting it out of the way. While he was talking to us about this, he made a small mouth sound when he was informed that SOMEBODY ELSE had just left the parking garage without leaving their key. Because that car wasn’t running, somebody ran after that other forgetful parker, making large mouth sounds to call him back.
Then, Michael and I went to my favorite restaurant, Bistro 5, where I made small mouth sounds eating the 5-course chocolate tasting menu. I hope that didn’t disturb Michael, who probably has the genetic tendency of being bothered by the small mouth sounds of other people chewing food.
You may make small mouth sounds when you look at my latest photos:
I look forward to using that gift from Michael of the USB microphone to record the small mouth sounds of my original songs.
I also look forward to seeing my friend and comedian’s comedian Ron Lynch in L.A. at his Tomorrow Show on March 3. Here and here are YouTube videos of Ron and audience members making many mouth sounds at the Bridgetown Comedy Festival.
I’ll be making small mouth sounds of appreciation for any comment you leave, below.
I’m now making large mouth sounds of gratitude for all who helped me create this post and — of course! — YOU.