I stand, looking at Travis. The others are looking at me. I remind him of things. I make jokes. I put on a red dress, a blonde wig. Strange, but not a stranger. I try to take it too far. I sing. I do jumping jacks on the concrete. I put a paper bag over my head and decapitate the blonde.
We reminisce, drinking mint juleps. We all laugh. We all sigh… looking back.
It starts to rain.
People wanted to know why I sang part of “Losing My Religion.” Travis knew. People wanted to know what the blue M&M meant. Travis knew. People wanted to know what was up with the Tom Jones cover. Travis didn’t need to ask.
sarah maxfield 
I saw you stand looking at me. I felt the tension of the performance beginning. I felt the others become aware of the performance beginning after you and I had already established that the performance had begun. At first I wasn’t sure if I should respond. Is this improvised? Is this scripted? Are these questions begging an answer? Or is the answer implied? I decided in a flash that it would be more awkward if you wanted a response and I didn’t respond than if you didn’t want a response and I interrupted. So I responded almost immediately. I was anxious to figure out how to respond. This anxiety lasted the whole piece as each part of the piece seemed desirous of different kinds of responses. I felt like we were dancing together in a spotlight at times. Is this a solo? Or a duet? I wrestled back and forth between the impulse to respond, to interject, and the impulse to disembody and observe. The tension between the sacred space of the artwork (and the reverential response we are trained to attach to things that are artworks) and my living, breathing, unmediated, real-time relationship to you and the other people present. I found myself acutely aware of having been alive with you for some time now and having had an affect on the world (which world is that? do I mean *the* world? or *your* world? maybe both?) at some point in my life. A reminder of things too easily forgotten. Things that shouldn’t be taken for granted. Floating here in space, making up meaning as we go along, you reflecting me reflecting you reflecting me reflecting you. For the moment. As it begins to rain.