“The only one in town? How did I get here?” you ask Alexi.
“Well considering the theater is at the end of a dead end road, I’d say you took Northern Lane to get here.”
You pause. That wasn’t what you were getting at.
You did not walk here. You did not drive here. You woke to this theater around you.
“I’m not sure that’s right. I… I think I woke up here.”
“Well isn’t that a shame. We were only two sentences into the performance and you’d already dozed off on us?”
“No, that’s not it…”
“You know, I asked the dramaturge at my local theater growing up what he thought about people sleeping through the productions. ‘Alexi,’ he told me. ‘I don’t give a damn if they sleep in the seats. They’ve paid for them, and if they are so in need of sleep that they will sleep through art, that is their choice. For those people, we perform so that their dreams and their waking moments may meld to form something beautiful.’ That’s what he said, and for a while I believed it.”
“These days”, Alexi continued, “I get rather cross with sleepers. Doubly so when they’re sleeping only a few moments into a production. Why would you come at all?”
“You misunderstand. I was awake for the production. But I don’t remember ever arriving. I woke up just before the actress in gold walked on the stage. Did you see me come in?”
“I did not.”