You Can’t Tell the Players without a Program

You are late. Dinner at Aureole ran long, and now you are sweating. John says they won’t seat you once the play has started. The cab pulls to a stop outside of the Infinity Theater, and you follow him to the door so quickly that you nearly trip over your heels. The usher raises his eyebrows, but after a look at his watch, he puts a program in your hands and leads you to seats in the second row as the house lights go down.

What is this about again? Conversation about other things at dinner was so interesting, you never asked about the play. You want to ask John, but it’s the second row, and the people around you are close. You strain to look at your program.

A light comes up on the stage. There is a hospital bed off to the far left, but it’s in the bedroom of a normal home. A figure in the beds stirs, moans. It’s quiet, almost not a sound. The figure rolls over, and the audience sees his face. Bold, frail. But a beautiful man, sleeping.

In the stage light, you look briefly down, straining to catch enough brightness to see:

  • Francesca: Fifty year old woman. Avatar in the virtual world.
  • Liz: Francesca’s teenage daughter.
  • Don: Francesca’s husband, deep love, close friend. Depending on the scene, struggling with cancer.
  • Betsy: Francesca’s mother, in both real and virtual worlds.
  • Ruth: Francesca’s dear friend.
  • Harry: second husband, retired military.
  • Gerald: first husband, and Liz’s father.
  • George, Jan and Steve: friends in the virtual world.

A second light comes up, across the stage, where a woman sits at a desk writing. All of this is quite ordinary, except the woman is blue. Her silvery hair is long, over her shoulders. The blue avatar begins to speak.

Lights on a Stage

Image from Pixabay

One response to “You Can’t Tell the Players without a Program

  1. Pingback: Time Bends Back on Itself | Francesca Bergamasco·

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