An Audience of One

An Audience of One


I peeked through the curtain, which I know is bad luck.


The only person in the audience was a sixty-year old man. Small, thin, mostly bald. He had all grey facial hair, a beard and mustache, closely cropped.


There was only one chair in the theatre, so the house, as it was, was packed. And it wasn't technically a chair. It was a bed.


He was sleeping. Peacefully, since the dream hadn't started yet.


That was this performance.


And the audience member was me.


I opened the curtain.


--


The dreamer awoke with a start. Me. I was the dreamer.


The dream, my dream, was terrible. My dog was left loose, which I never do, and he kept wandering off into dangerous areas, Mr. Magoo-like construction zones and busy streets, and while he was all white in real life, he was dark black now. Not dirty, simply dark black. Like two of my prior pets.


I was, somehow, packing to return from an extended vacation and did not have time to search for my dog, but of course had to get him or we would miss our flight, which was a cruise ship with wings, which left from somewhere that I could not recall and I was unsure I even booked the tickets. But first, the stress of finding that dog and hoping I didn't startle him into running into a speeding car on the suddenly appearing highways.


--


Not my best performance, since the audience member seemed to realize it was a dream. The winged ship might have been a bridge too far, but I've weaved less realistic imagery that went by unquestioned.


The lost dog and packing for a return trip were two of my favorite "go to" themes, since for some reason they were equally credible and stressful.


I'll work on the transportation more for the next performance.


--


I sat on the floor next to Otto, my macchiato-colored (hence his name) rescue, part shepherd part husky. He rolled onto his back, expecting a tummy rub. Even tapping my hand with his paw. I complied, rubbing his stomach gently. He flattened out more to better enjoy it.


"Why does my brain do that to me?" I asked the dog. He didn't react. Best not to engage when someone is petting you just right. "My brain knows it's me and only me," I added.


Otto remained still.


END.