Wednesday, March 7, 2007


This stage is fearful. The spotlight seems to be on me, but the light is actually everywhere on the stage, so it's probably just my pride that makes me think it's on me. But I am on this stage alone. The curtains are halfway drawn, though, and there might be other actors behind them. I can't see the audience but they are there; they are as quiet as mice, except for a stray voice somewhere up front. They must be waiting for me to say my lines. I don't know them. Did I ever get them? I can't remember. I'm feeling rather dizzy, and I can't think straight. Others might be waiting for me to say my part, and then they will come up, but I don't know what to do. How did I even get here? What door did I come in? This is all so confusing.

The stage is the biggest I've ever seen in my life; I can't even see the back edge, though I'm pretty close to the front edge. The sides of backstage are far away, too, which makes it rather inconvenient for anyone to whisper me my lines. But then I might not have lines. Maybe I'm supposed to do something. Maybe I'm just supposed to walk somewhere or cry or laugh or sit down or lie down or pretend I'm eating or . . . oh, I can't remember. Did anyone ever give me my lines? I can't figure out my part, and I wish those curtains would close because I feel conspicuous and naked. Oh, my gosh, am I naked? Whew! I'm not. I have a strange outfit on, but they are clothes; that's a blessing.

I wonder how long I've stood up here and talked to myself. Hey, maybe that's what I'm supposed to do. Maybe my part is just to stand here. But that doesn't make a lot of sense. If it were my part, someone else would have come out and started talking to me or something by now. Maybe this isn't a stage. Maybe it's a big cage and I'm being teased like a rat. I wish I could see the audience. I bet they can all see me. I bet there are sixty trillion people out there. No, let me change that. I'm wrong about a lot of things, so if I guess at first that lots of people are out there, I'm probably wrong. I bet there's just one or two people out there. What would one or two people want with me, anyway? They must be judges or critics or something, writing away vigorously on their notepads all the little things that I'm doing wrong. Maybe they're in a good mood today, and they won't notice if I don't say my lines correctly. Lines? What lines? Why did I just say "lines?" I don't have lines, do I?

I am alone, that much I know. If I could just find someone to help me remember, I'd feel a lot more confident. But maybe if I find someone else and he doesn't remember either, then we look really bad. Oh, bother. I am tired. I want to sleep. Maybe that's my part. Maybe I'm supposed to go to sleep. No, that's a silly thought. I wish so much that I could figure out my part. I wish I weren't alone up here. I wish I knew what to do.

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