LETTER 16
The Encore
A fictional letter from Management.
Written
At the last chord, Management rose. Our coats were downstairs, and we wanted to get there before everyone else.
The woman beside us rose too. We stepped back to let her pass, but she faced the stage and clapped above her head.
Behind us, seats folded up.
We were in the front row. We tucked the programme under one arm and joined in.
The pianist bowed. We clapped faster.
She bowed again. Someone shouted, “Again!”
We had not shouted anything.
She smiled, drew the stool nearer and sat down again.
Everyone sat down. We sat down too.
The woman beside us folded her hands in her lap.
The first notes were very quiet.
We opened the programme to see how long this piece would last.
The last page was a list of patrons.
We turned it over.
Management