a musical review

Pince fell and fell and still she could see nothing definite about her surroundings or where this would end. She started thinking about stories she knew of falling. First there were her nightmares––the particularly vivid one where she'd been floating in an inner-tube on a tiny reservoir on a tiny mountain top. The top had been tiny, not the mountain. The current of the water kept drawing her near to the edge and she knew she would fall, there was no waterfall but she would fall, there it was the drop just inches away from her feet... 


There was the Regina Spektor song, "Hello, I'm Icarus, I'm falling, down down..." 


There was a painting by Brueghel that seemed to depict the daily life of medieval farmers plowing and merchants going out to sea but if you looked closely you would notice legs flailing up out of the water. It was supposed to be the fallen Icarus. Quotidian irrevocably carrying-on while fancy pants Greek kids who aren't satisfied melt their wax wings and die quietly, unnoticed. Pince began humming I can't get no satisfaction.


Someone had told her to galvanize her wax wings with metal, sun be damned. She had no wax wings now.


This was bound to happen, she thought, bound to happen as I can't seem to stop my curiosity. Curiosity always leads to a fall. The fall.


She had no wax wings now but did she need them? This was heaven, after all. What does one do to fly? She tried flapping her arms, no luck. In Peter Pan they tell you to just believe, which is what a different Peter was supposed to do if he wanted to walk on water. Just believe.


Just believe.


She was not flying.


But ten seconds later she landed. In an office chair, not a very ergonomic one, across a desk from a woman in a dress suit.


"This will do fine, you'll start after lunch," said the business woman.


"What will I start?"


"Being my secretary."


"Oh. OK....How long is lunch?"