We had been looking forward to the opera for weeks. When I picked her up that Sunday afternoon it was cold and sunny. It flurried a little that afternoon too. Laura loves the snow.
On the way to Mccarter Theater in Princeton, we listened to Bob Dylan. It was a recording of a live concert in the sixties, and Joan Baez made a guest appearance. “Silver Dagger” makes my eyes mist a little every time I hear it.
When we arrived we walked around Princeton for a while, perusing the shops and the menus posted outside the restaurants. The time passed quickly as it does when one laughs a lot. The euphoric sensation derived from laughter makes the walk seem very short. I offer my arm to her, she locks hers with mine, and we stroll to the theater.
The town is magnificent. The architecture is something to marvel at, it all seems austere and formal, high class and elitist. But it’s pretty, especially swathed in the snow flurries.
We took our seats in the balcony. She let her hair down, which had been tied in a ponytail, and she looked like the princess Turandot herself. She wore a beautiful necklace, now exposed from underneath her coat, borrowed from her mother for the occasion. It dangled around her delicate neck. The light from the chandelier glinted off of the small diamonds, and reflected in her green-gray eyes. Her blonde hair fell softly around her shoulders. We spoke until the curtains rose, about nothing in particular.
The performance was extraordinary. I knew Laura would love and laugh at Ping, Pang, and Pong. Comically they flitted their fans about and guffawed at Calaf the hero, yet they were saddened by all the suffering inflicted upon the characters, who mostly hurt themselves.
I took Laura’s hand in mine during the third act. It is a delicate, vulnerable thing to be close to somebody, but there is nothing like a simple gesture of intimacy to revitalize my faith in humanity. I was still holding her hand when Lui, the slave girl, thrust a dagger into her stomach out of love for Calaf, who was only captivated by Turandot.
When the curtain came down the audience roared and clapped for what seemed an eternity. The director, conductor, and all the actors smiled wide and bowed.
We ate in a dark cozy restaurant by the college. I had the duckling, she had chicken, and we shared some dessert. She likes a lot of milk in her coffee, and I poked fun at her for it.
On the drive home we listened to Elliot Smith, another pick of mine. We sat in her driveway, enjoying the remnants of warmth in the car, and laughing.
I read an article that stated scientific research has determined that laughter is “an instinctual survival tool used by social animals, not an intellectual response to wit.”
We laugh to communicate that we are getting along with one another, that we may feel a little nervous and a little vulnerable. We laugh because it produces euphoria. We laugh because it passes the time.

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