Perchance To Dream 4

Two strangers, two lives, intertwined by the strangest of circumstances, chance perhaps, destiny certain. This is their tale...

I'd lived in New York City all my life, the hustle, the bustle as much a part of me as the blood that ran through my veins. Mostly, I had let the city pass me by, content to observe rather than to partake, at least until now. I know not why I found myself in Central Park that day, only that the desire to do something, anything to keep my life from continuing down the path of loneliness and the despair it offered me had drawn me there. Thus, the story begins.

Walking through the park, seeing all the people at leisure, at play I listened to the many sounds of laughter, excitement, minstrels, even the distant strings of a lover's quarrel, all adding up to the cacophony of auditory delights which overwhelmed the senses. It was so intoxicating that I found myself nearly colliding with a young woman who stood her ground, a slight smile on her face as I barely sidestepped the possible collision only to have her say, "Thank you m'lord, I feared our paths would cross in a most untimely fashion."

I looked at her obviously puzzled and she had to fight to stifle her grin while saying, "I'm sorry but I'm practicing, are you here for the open audition?" Once again my face must have shown my confusion as she pointed at the sign; the picture a silhouette of two lovers, the ancient prose of the Shakespearian tale Romeo and Juliet, scripts piled high upon a table. The dark haired woman looked at me, her smile wide as she spoke, "Each year the park puts on a play, all the actors and actresses are picked among the inhabitants of the city, the only qualification being they can not be members of the actor's guild, each of them has to be an amateur."

In the past I had done my part, serving as stage manager for a long forgotten high school play, the memories though brief still bringing a smile to my face. I tried desperately to remember the name, the face of the young woman who I had worshipped from afar, the star of my own youthful desires and visions at night in the darkness of my dreams. I shook my head, trying to clear it as I heard a voice say, "Why don't you join me, it might be fun?"

I shook my head as I replied softly, "I'm certainly no love struck teenager, not exactly the fit for such a work as this miss."

A voice came from behind me as I turned to see a rather portly older gentleman who huffed, "That's precisely the point, I'm not looking to put on the same old tired production. This will be different, completely unique in its style and presence. Age is and never should be an issue when it comes to art."

"My vision shows a cast of characters who will not meet until they set foot on stage that opening night. It will add an element of danger, of pushing the envelope of modern theatre. It will be as new and refreshing for the players as it will be for the audience." He handed me a script, almost pushing me toward the stage as he said, page 24, act one, scene seven, it's only a dry reading but let's see what you two have to offer." I started to argue, to hand the book back but he quickly turned, walking over to his seat while muttering, "Let's begin, we don't have all day you know." The woman who I had first encountered took my hand, pulling me onto the stage, my face I'm sure reminiscent of a deer caught in the headlights, hopelessly lost.

The tried and true version of the two star-crossed lovers and their expression of their affection for the others made the reading a bit more bearable, the words a faint reminder from a long forgotten English class. I listened as Juliet; a rather emotional rendering of such, threw herself into the part with all the intensity of a bull stampeding through the streets of Pamplona. I on the other hand would mumble in reply, self consciously stammering and stuttering my way through the ordeal until the director had finally decided he had heard enough. The dark haired beauty bounded toward me, her hand taking mine as she almost drug me over to the table where we were forced to fill out index cards with our pertinent contact information. I assured her she had been a wonderful Juliet, her eyes pleading to hear such words only to have her give me a final smile and with a wave of her hand she was gone.

It was only then that I looked out to see quite a few others now milling about, each with aspirations of stardom and I sighed, my steps soon leaving me walking away, not even noticing that I still had a copy of the play in hand. By the time I returned to my humble abode, I was weary, my mind having run rampant with visions of that afternoon, hearing words of affection which I knew though were only such and wondering how it would feel to experience such in real life, keenly aware that in all probability, no such thing would happen. As I sipped a glass of wine, my eyes caught the sight of the written word which I picked up, seating myself at the window and began to read anew. The hours past, the alcohol consumed and with it the dream, so real, so lifelike, as if it surely happened...

The ringing of the phone that night woke me, the empty wine glass and the script having slipped from its perch, falling to the floor. I managed to shake the cobwebs from my head as I answered, the voice on the other end blustery saying, "I must be honest with you good sir, never in the pages of the theatre have I ever witnessed a worse Romeo interpretation than that which you forced me to endure this day." I started to argue, to explain how I wasn't even supposed to have been there only to listen in amazement as he said, "That is precisely why I have selected you to play the part. If I can mold you, a completely clean slate into the vision I have then my accomplishment will speak for itself, don't you agree?"

I didn't have time to agree, nor protest, his voice only saying, "Learn your lines, return to the park Friday afternoon at five, we'll block out the set, confirm wardrobe and we open Saturday night. Don't be late and do not disappoint me sir" and with that the line went dead and I knew precisely how it felt. I wished for the poison and the relief that death might bring rather than to face the possibility which lay ahead. The bottle of wine had barely been touched but that night it took little time, nor effort to drink its contents and fall into an alcohol induced slumber. My dreams were filled with the sounds of laughter and ridicule, the pathetic figure on stage being pointed out as a buffoon and when I woke Sunday morning it was to sweat filled sheets and the feeling of impending doom.

The week was a blur, days filled with work, nights with the pages of the story. Self esteem or a lack of it had been the cornerstones for a foundation which I could feel crumble ever so slowly as the time progressed until Friday afternoon came and I found myself at the scene of the crime. I'd almost worked myself into lather, ready to tell the effervescent auditor of the absurdity of his decision only to have him greet me with a wide smile, his hands outstretched in welcome and as always, I felt myself crawl back into the too familiar shell of shyness combined with silence. "Well my good man, let's make some magic, shall we?" I forced a bit of a smile as my own worst nightmare began to unfurl right in front of my eyes.

He was as good as his word, all of the different players, participants in the next night's extravaganza not knowing of the other's parts to be played. The walk through or blocking out of the play was done with the various lighting and technical people while we all watched from in front of the stage. I saw the dark haired woman, her eyes raptly taking in the view before her, lost in her own world and I wondered what role she had been granted, wondering if the stage would be big enough for another, the only genuine smile of the night filling my face as I envisioned it. It was only when the curtain came down that the men and women were parted, each sent into a nearby tent for fittings and preparations for the night now almost 24 hours away.

None of us was singled out, each receiving the same attention, costumes of varying degrees tried on only to finally be told that our presence was no longer needed that night. As we all began to make our way from the confines of the structures, you could see many of them with furtive glances trying to determine in what guise they would view the others when they next met. As for myself, I had always found it difficult if not impossible to meet the gaze of a woman and the thought that I would be forced to do so in front of others had left me with a deep desire for a drink, as many as I could consume to be precise.

I'm not quite sure how I found myself at home that next day, the light shining brightly through my bedroom window. I had partaken far too heavily from the offers of the bar which I had stumbled into after that night's ordeal. I felt the effects of the libations I had consumed in the drumbeat that was my head, sitting on the edge of the bed only to force my eyes open and see that it was already afternoon, a chilling effect like that of a cold shower forcing me back to reality. I spent what little remaining time in preparation, like a condemned man watching the clock, the seconds flying like minutes, the minutes turning into hours until I found myself hailing a cab, not trusting my own legs to support me on the journey to my appointed execution.

Once again I was greeted by the gregarious figure that was the director, his eyes shining though his breath carried the distinct aroma of brandy. "Come along my good man, we have prepared a place just for you and your lady in waiting." From there he half marched me toward a separate tent, away from the masses, carefully assuring that no one took notice, a sly look on his face as he was greatly amused by his own deception. Parting the cloth, the opening to the structure, I saw two separate partitions, on the left women scurrying about, on the right, a table filled with makeup and sort, clothes hanging in preparation as I felt the familiar strings of panic begin to stir within. I would have turned and ran but I was not given the opportunity as he boldly announced, "Ladies, your Romeo awaits" as he motioned for me to sit.

It was like being in a dream, hands pulling you this way and then that way. Clothing being removed, new garments being donned. Makeup being applied, hair being coiffured, the murmur of words being spoken though nothing in reality being heard until the sight of the rotund man reappearing, his nose red, and his obvious case of nerves having been fed heavily. I wish like him that I could be nearing oblivion but not even the strongest drink could have possibly quelled the feeling within, my body and my mind both reeling, a punch drunk fighter prior to the bout even starting, all in anticipation. His words were slurred, his movements jerky as he proclaimed, "My masterpiece is about to begin, they will come for you shortly, now leave these two so that they might prepare" and with that the minions fled the scene and the night grew silent.

Sitting there, looking into the mirror, seeing the sight of the man who looked so differently from the reflection that I would gaze at each day I heard a soft sigh escape another's lips, a voice barely above a whisper say, "I don't know why he would think I would be capable of doing this, I've never done anything right, ever."

I could feel the tremor in her voice, the pain and nervousness which filled her thoughts, my heart, my soul crying out in unison the same. "I know. I don't know why he picked me, unless it's his idea of some kind of cruel joke, watching the fool...", my head hung down, my spirits, my own self doubt crashing like waves on the shore.

For a moment, a brief second in time I thought I could disappear into the shadows, I could leave this place and never return but then I heard that same soft voice this time saying, "Perhaps it's not up to us, perhaps it's up to others to look inside of us and see that which dwells within. Where we find ourselves lacking, others see potential. We stay in the darkness for it is easy to do so, to keep ourselves from enduring the pain that the alternative might bring, never knowing that in doing so, we doom not only ourselves but others who would desire to see us in such light."

The words so prophetic, so powerfully spoken though barely spoken above a whisper. I found my own voice speaking in reply. "To dare dream of such is a temptation I have never dared risk for in doing so it would take great faith and in that I fear I am sorely lacking."

I watched as a hand slipped from between the folds of the partition, red fingernails gleaming, white lace half gloves covering it, reaching out for some sort of connection, a sign of trust and I took the hand, feeling both of ours tremble. I took strength in that touch, in that moment, my eyes closing, lost in the feeling and it was then that I heard her say, "I will have faith in you good sir."

The voice that came in reply, though mine in speaking was different from any I had ever heard before as I spoke, "And I will have faith in you m'lady, this I swear."

With that came the sound of another announcing, "It's time."

The bright lights which shone, reflecting back the throng which had gathered illuminated little, especially not the vision I wished to see. The woman who walked alongside the man who even now was ushering us to the stage wore a hood, a cloak which prevented me from seeing the beauty within. From there we were separated, each going to their respective locales, each to await the moment and seconds later I took the stage, my voice again as it had through the strength she had imparted speaking, "Is the day so young?" and with the gentleman playing the role of Benvolio's reply the stage was set and the game was afoot. All I knew for sure as the play unfolded was that there would come a time, a moment and as it drew near I waited in breathless anticipation finally to say...

If I profane with my unworthiest hand

This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this:

My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand

To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.

As I had said, I was no teenager and she, she was no child either. She was a woman, a beautiful woman, her hair of gold falling in curls past her shoulders, her body encased in the ornaments of old yet still unable to hide that which it held within, the possibility of great pleasures, of boundless desires fulfilled. It was in her eyes though that I found myself lost, her gaze meeting mine, hers shining with the promise which she had given me and in its reflection, mine which I had spoke to her. I listened as in reply she spoke confidently, passionately while saying...

Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,

Which mannerly devotion shows in this;

For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,

And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.

I knew not the effect she had on those in attendance, not knowing that the crowd was enraptured, seeing the connection between two people so evident to all except for themselves. As the story unfolded, each knowing the ending and the tragedy that would finally play out, you could feel the two tortured souls, in their words, in their actions become even more intertwined. As I drank the bitter liquid, feeling the burn of the poison which would race through my system, I felt the pain of loss, not so much for a life ending but for one never having dared to begin, my life.

As I lay there, my body at rest I heard the words, the anguish which poured forth from the beauty who I shared the moment with, her voice too portraying a heart breaking, a desire to continue no longer without that which she desired most. As the dagger pierced her heart, her body fell, her hand outstretched, clasping mine and it took every ounce of will power not to grasp it in reply for fear it would disappear into the night, a dream, a fantasy.

It was only moments later that the stage went dark, the sound of applause filling the air as I pulled myself up, letting my hand reach out, offering it once again. This time when she took it, I was able to gaze upon her visage, seeing her eyes like mine filled with tears, not as much though from the parting of two souls in the story which we had helped to unfold but from the finding of two, together. As others lined up to take their bows, the two of us crept toward the back of the stage, into the darkness, blending into the night as we strode away from the throng.

The grip we had on each others hands were tight, the bond strong as we finally came to a clearing, my arms pulling her in close, savoring the feeling like that of a fine wine. Her hair like a breath of fresh air, the scent filling me as I closed my eyes and with the same, strong confident voice she had bestowed on me not so long ago I whispered in her ear, "I do have faith in you m'lady."

Her hold became even tighter in reply, her words following, "As I do you m'lord...as I do you." With that we kissed, two hearts, two souls, two lives...a new play being written, a new story of love to unfold, ready to be told.

THE END