3PM

Late, at the only open door I could find, the only available handle being a large eye hook, I swung the door open and ran in to the dark theatre to find the tech set-up still in process. Rehearsal had not begun. Li’l Tommy sat with his parents enthralled with the furious activity of the load in.

On stage, his mother standing in for Mrs. Walker, he and I tested our mics by counting. Strong and confident, this tyke, as he says:

“One! Two! Free!” Continuing up to “Firty, firty-one, firty-two.”

“Li’l Tommy!” his dad says in a stage whisper, “It’s Thirty.”

Li’l Tommy smiles at the funny thought of the “TH” sound, and continues counting so clearly enunciating “THirty-THree, . . .”

We start the song, my verse is done and the stand-in is cut off before she starts.

“That’s fine,” booms the event coordinator. Dozens of people have arrived for their tech run. “Let’s just skip to the end when Li’l Tommy speaks.”

I sing Mrs. Walker’s last line, and he is already in place as he should be, and he reaches out mysteriously, darkly, saying “Tommy? Tommy? Tommy? Tommy? Tommy?”

At the applause of the casts and crews in the house, Li’l Tommy jumps and laughs.

“That’s good for now,” the event coordinator said. “I’ll do my best to get you a tech run with Mrs. Walker if she gets here in time.”