A distant cousin of Ben Barber, an older woman, pulled me aside after the concert. “You play the mandolin so beautifully,” she said. “Have you written any songs about your home in New York?”
I was uncertain how to respond. This woman must think that I’m Ben Barber, though I’m neither tall nor blonde. But I do play mandolin. And neither Ben nor I live in New York. Where do I start?
Luckily I didn’t have to try. Larissa Stanphill walked up to us and interrupted.
“Ben, will you be part of our ‘Green Team’ tonight?”
“Your what?” I asked.
“Some of us are dressing up like the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles for the party. I’m looking for people wearing green shirts. You in?”
“Sure,” I said. “Who else is doing it?”
“So far it’s me, you, and Darla Peterson.”
“Will you have a,” I made a gesture with my hands to my face, like putting on a mask, “for me?”
“Okay, well, I guess I’ll just see you there?”