Life with the wild things

The cut was intentional. The long, fake strands of store-bought blonde were replaced by bangs. Same face. On the way home from the theatre she threw her drink to the concrete, splashing nearby cars and other enemies.

Inside her eyes glowed, she smiled; responded. Nodded her head at the right moment, grabbed her jacket and provided an exit. It was out the lobby door and onto the mound of grass out front.

She raised one hand towards the sky and announced, “Let the wild rumpus start.” It was a line from the film, the book. We began a quiet shuffle, and through a series of murmurs, grunts and declarations she led us into the night.