Back Row

Last night at the Nutcracker ballet I sat in the back row beside a couple with their arms draped around each other. As the curtain went up, they didn't change position. Throughout the ballet, they leaned close and giggled: at the toy solders, at the rat king, at the Christmas tree that grew, and grew, and grew. All this didn't seem so romantic to me, surrounded by fidgety children dressed in red velvet frocks. It reminded me of the couple next to whom I'd sat while watching Indiana Jones, the woman in tight leopard print pants, the two overflowing their seats to cling to each other. I guess no matter where the back row is, it's still the back row.