One of my college roommates had studied abroad in England, Italy, India, and Thailand.
He’d traveled much of Europe and had no shortage of suggestions for me. Among them, he insisted I attend a “show” while in Amsterdam.
I hesitated. This wasn’t really my sort of thing.
But the whole trip was about trying something new.
So I bought a ticket.
The theater door opened into velvet and red light. Curtains hid most of the room from the entrance. I stepped through them and stopped.
A woman was hanging upside down above the stage.
Someone in the audience laughed. Another performer shouted something I couldn’t understand.
The woman dropped, caught a rope, and swung across the stage.
I found a seat near the back.
I stayed there through acrobats, dancers, jokes, and performers in various states of undress.
I watched the people around me more than the stage, trying to figure out when I was supposed to laugh.
Then a performer pointed at me.
She beckoned.
I looked behind me.
Nobody.
She pointed again.
I stood.
She met me at the edge of the stage and took my hand.
Under the lights she seemed taller than she had from my seat. She led me toward the center, turned me toward the audience, and started the music.
Then she leaned close.
“Don’t you dare touch me.”
I stopped moving.
She took my hands and placed them on her shoulders.
Then she began a simple dance.
Step.
Turn.
Step.
I missed the turn.
She tried again.
I was late.
The audience laughed.
She smiled, took my hands one last time, and finished the routine herself. Then she pointed toward the stairs.
I went back to my seat.
A hundred empty chairs surrounded me.
I watched the rest of the show from there.
Then something familiar happened.
The same joke.
The same music.
The same movement onstage.
I looked around.
The performer in a glittery outfit was doing the routine I’d watched earlier.
A few minutes later, the acrobatics sequence repeated too.
I checked the time.
I had been sitting there long enough to watch the show start over.
I got up and left.
Again, I skipped the bar.