Magic in the Key of Joy (A Wylde & Cray Adventure) UIC2022

Chapter 1 - Wylde Thingh

I don't usually ride the bus to and from Moorpark College, but my car was in the shop again. My Datsun B210 was an inheritance from my father, who swore that the car would last me three lifetimes, as long as I kept up with annual maintenance checkups. Thanks to the COVID-19 pandemic, I missed out on last year's checkup. Dad's probably laughing up there. "I told you so!" was a phrase he never tired of using.

The virus got him, early in 2020. Mom is still here. While there are plenty of senior living facilities and retirement homes in Thousand Oaks, they're far too expensive and not as wonderful as they're advertised to be. Without Dad's monthly check, and my reduced income, I'm barely making ends meet. Still, this year was looking better.

Until the car broke down. There are some things on E-Bay – mainly weird tchotchkes that Mom was keeping in the garage – that may bring in some money, and some of Dad's old gold Masonic rings that might be worth something. I may have to get a second job – although I'd have to hire someone to look after Mom (so what's the point?)

Which is why I'm riding the bus. Name's Wylde Thingh. My parents loved bad puns, okay? Dad was Vietnamese, Mom's Irish. Oddly enough, none of my students get the reference. I'm 33, single and gay. I'm also a 90-minute drive from Los Angeles and its nearest non-meat-rack gay bar. But I loathe big cities, and the whole Grindr and online dating app thing. So yup, the single life's for me.

I teach Improvisational Comedy and Musical Theatre History. The looks I get from some of my students! I asked one once what his problem was, and he boldly stated that he couldn't name a single comedian of Asian descent. I narrowly avoided being fired for the lengthy and very educated, totally non-judgmental response that I gave him.

The bus is about half full. The passengers are a varied bunch. Some are women traveling from household jobs (daycare, cleaning, eldercare), some are students going to night jobs – they've put their bikes on the rack in front. The sheer energy they must have, school plus one or two jobs, astonishes me. I must have had that much energy, once. I work out regularly, walk with Mom a mile or more each day, eat right. But I look in the morning mirror – and my blue-black hair has a few strands of white and silver. Am I tempted to pluck them out – yes. Do I? Of course not! I have my pride, you know. And if you believe that, I open on Broadway in a month.

A young man across from me shifts his position, using his cellphone to snap a photo of a T.O. Boulevard store that has a 'For Rent' sign on it. His backpack falls on the floor, and it slides my way as the bus suddenly brakes for a stop. His face has been buried behind that phone since I'd climbed aboard. I grab a hold of the bag before its contents spill out.

"Here," I say, holding it out to him. He takes the shot, and reaches for the backpack, and looks at me. And the world stops.