Page 114 of Sweet T

“Two reasons. One, our access to such technology has only been around for the last decade or so. As you so kindly pointed out, I’m old. I no longer have urges to conquer the world. Which leads me to the second reason. I’m content. I love this town and its people. I love directing community theatre and bringing the art form to people unfamiliar, like we did tonight. When Titus and Truman brought me here, they gave me the life I never knew I wanted. I had both my loves, Gerald and the Black Sheep, and I was no longer competing with others in the rat race. Trust me, Evan. Big cities aren’t all they’re made out to be. I’m close enough to Atlanta, Augusta, or Macon, if some show passes through that I want to see. Otherwise, I don’t miss them.”

Evan studied Sebastian, who no longer seemed tipsy so much as tired. Weary with reminiscence. “Thank you,” he said. “You’re a soothsayer, you know? You’re Tiresias.”

Sebastian laughed, long and hard at this. He choked a bit, sipping from his brandy. After his chuckles subsided, he spoke. “Well, I’m not blind. Not yet, anyway. And don’t be so quick to thank me.”

“Why?”

Sebastian closed his eyes, holding one hand to his forehead, raising the other. “I see ulterior motives lurking.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, indeed. Because if you stay in Spoon, I’ll also have a friend, a cohort, and a troupe regular for future shows.”

“I suppose there is that.”

“Another reason I like it here is I get to pick the shows. Shows I like. Not some dinner theatre crap.”

Evan chuckled. “Tyke, my friend in Atlanta–he complains about that all the time. Murder mysteries. Audience role-play. He hates it.”

“It pays the bills, but it’s not fulfilling.”

“What’s not fulfilling?” Tucker asked, rejoining them.

“Selling your soul to pay the rent,” Sebastian said.

Tucker looked confused. “Don’t worry about it,” Evan said. “I’ll explain later.”

“Sorry to interrupt, but Daddy wants to make a toast.” Tucker reached beneath the counter and killed the jukebox sound system.

At the opposite end of the bar, Titus was standing, glass raised. “Excuse me, everyone. I just want to toast the cast of tonight’s production. Never in a million years did I think I would understand, much less enjoy, seeing a four-hundred-year-old play... but I was wrong. What I saw on the Black Sheep’s stage tonight was timeless, a story I think everyone can relate to. I know I can. It inspired me. Hopefully, it inspires us all. We can be better parents. It’s never too late.”

“Unless you’re Lear!” someone shouted.

“Yes.” Titus chuckled. “Unless you’re Lear. He’s the lesson. And here’s to the man that brought us that lesson. The Black Sheep been a source of much-needed entertainment here in Spoon for almost twenty years now, and we wouldn’t have it without its Artistic Director, Mr. Sebastian Collins. Sebastian, you’re a gift. I see your influence in many faces here tonight, your talent, your experience, and your grace. Thank you for bringing your vision and educating us lesser informed.”

“Hear, hear,” said Chuck, raising his beer. “Though, I haven’t seen it yet. We’re going tomorrow.”

This brought about many secondary chuckles, toasts, and affirmations. Barb cried, “Speech,” to which Sebastian responded. He remained sitting, but turned his barstool to the crowd, glass in hand. What he said was brief, but enough.

“Thank you, everyone, for supporting us, as well as the arts here in Spoon. Titus is being generous... because I helped him with his wedding vows, I suspect.”

Laughter rose again. Titus gave a slight wave and a blushing grin as he sat back down. Cassie poked at him good-naturedly.

“What he said, though, is true,” Sebastian continued. “What are we without the arts? They’re a mirror in which we examine ourselves. Those brave enough to gaze into the glass live far richer lives‌. Salut!”

Everyone toasted a last time. Pedro raised his glass to Evan with a wink. Tucker switched the music back on, and the dart games resumed.

“Great speech,” Shelly said, joining them. “I don’t think you could have said it better.”

“How is everything down there?” Tucker asked, handing her a beer. He gestured toward his parents’ end of the bar.

“Pretty good. Your Dad just gave me twenty thousand dollars.”

This time, Shelly was the catalyst for dramatic eye movement—gaping. Three of them–Tucker, Evan and Sebastian.

“Whoa,” Tucker said, “What the fuck?”

“Yeah. That was pretty much my response. He took me aside and told me to check my bank account. I pulled out my phone and looked. There’s twenty thousand extra dollars in it. He said I would see that quarterly until I graduate. If I need more to let him know... that his little girl could go to whatever school wherever she wants.”

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