Last weekend Trent (Iowa) famously made his Broadway debut at Book of Mormon. I don’t want to paint him in the wrong light, but my understanding’s that up to that point in his life the only other art he’d experienced was porn. However, that all changed as he made his way under the bright city lights past 49th last weekend. He may have walked through those doors as an uncultured corn-fed farm blogger, but he walked out with a playbill. A man reinvented by the stage. A true thespian.
Fast forward a week. My little brother and mom are in town. My dad can’t make it because of work, but he’s kind enough to buy us four tickets to The School of Rock. One for my mom. One for my brother. One for me. And one for a friend. Naturally, I invited the one person I thought would appreciate it the most.
The night arrives. Trent’s dressed up in a blue collared shirt, tight fitting khaki shorts, and brand new Air Force Ones (white). Not that I’d ever hold it against someone to dress like an Italian model, but I have to admit that it struck me as odd coming from Trent. I mean this is the same man that, just a week ago, promised that he’d always remain true to his roots.
Yet, here he was. Looking like a Swedish model doing an Instagram advertisement for a direct-to-consumer wristwatch brand. Weird, I thought. But I moved on. We had a great dinner before the show. Mexican food with mule cocktails. As I wiped the last bit of enchilada out of my beard, our waiter asked if he could bring anything else before the bill. “I’m good,” I said. My mom and brother were good too. Our eyes turned to Trent. He half smiled as he turned to our waiter. “I’ll have one more,” he said, primping the collar around his neck. There was trouble in the air.
I left the restaurant with my mind racing and brow furrowed. Trent on the other hand was all smiles, jokes, and references to his other Broadway experiences (one). When we reached the theater, he even informed me that he spells it theatre. Who is this guy? Then it was time to take our seats. My little brother had to pee so we gave him his ticket to find us after. My mom sat first, leaving my brother an open seat to her right. I followed her down the row and took the seat to her left. As I was getting situated, I felt a scratch of khaki graze across my knee as it glided past me. It was Trent. He sat next to my mom.
What was he doing next to my mom? Why didn’t he just sit next to me? Why did he keep saying the word orchestra? What did my mom think was so funny about what he was saying about the orchestra? I was furious. The lights dimmed.
That night the crowd gasped with shock, they roared with laughter, and at the final curtain, they stood to applaud. But not me. That night all I could think about was my foolish mistake. This was no longer the Trent of old (Iowa). I did not realize but this was a different animal all together. This was a new Trent (Broadway). And he wasn’t to be trusted.
Trent I know you are reading this. Stop sitting next to my mom. She’s married and I know what you’re up to.