On Saturday night I met Kieran King at a play. I remember thinking that (1) he looked an awful lot like a vampire (pale as moonlight and dressed all in black) and (2) my grandfather had a hat just like that.
He’s soft-spoken and unassuming for the first five minutes after you meet him (I can’t comment on anything beyond five minutes) and he kept his hand in his pockets the entire time he talked, rocking back and forth like some errant schoolboy, scuffing his toes on the ground. I found him to be endearingly cynical and charmingly clever and I think there’s a lot I could learn from someone like him.
We chatted about theatre critique and the disillusionment of our respective generations and we agreed that what is wrong with Jamaica is that the people who are in charge think they’re right about everything. I felt every second of my 22 years and wished for more (I’m not cynical enough to be this old). Discussions like those always leave me feeling like a little girl playing dress-up. Hopefully I come across as mature for my age.
But if I was older I wouldn’t have been nearly as excited about meeting one of my literary idols as I was that night. :)