At home, there is an email from the Drama Teacher to the head of school about the evening’s incident, so I reply to all, with my point of view and thoughts on resolution.
The Drama Teacher replies to all: You said it much better than I could have.
The next day, they meet, and sort out the terms of The Child’s return to the show.
I pick her up after rehearsal, and park in my usual place. The Drama Teacher comes out, talking to another teacher, but then sees my car and walks over, alone.
I roll down the window to ask how things went, and as I do, he briefly grasps my arm, as though he’s trying to get my attention, even though he already has it.
I ask how the show went. Great, he replies, as though it doesn’t quite connect what – or who – I am asking about.
The Child appears, tired and hungry, and climbs into the car. We head home.
The next night, I pull into the same spot, and the Drama Teacher is already outside. As he walks over, the Red Dog sits up, startling him. I didn’t know you had a dog, he says.
The foster dog pops up, startling him again. Two, at the moment, I tell him. Only the red one is permanent.
Oh, he says, then pauses.
I saw you on Yelp.
I write a lot of Yelp reviews, so I ask if he read one of them.
Yes, I think it was a coffee shop? I think you said something about how the neighborhood needed a place like that … something like that. I live in that area, and mentions the part of town he lives in.
It’s exactly what I wrote, and the coffee shop is nowhere near where he lives.