In the Center of a Theater

 Here's a small piece I wrote a little over a year ago:

    I sit in the center of a theater. Photos of yesteryear adorn the walls of the entrance. It tries to look new, but it’s old.

    So are the people in the auditorium, in the lobby, as if it’s a reunion, one I unintentionally crashed. An older gentleman in the far-left aisle seat, a rolling walker in front of him, says to someone, “I was first here in 1944.”

    All these people fill the seats as the Saturday storytelling matinee starts. What are their stories? Did they frequent this theater back in the day? To dance? To socialize? To watch the latest movie? Anything from The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly to Raiders of the Lost Ark.

    More than likely, they met their lifetime mate here. They may have passed, and their surviving spouse has come here to honor their marriage.    

     I used to live in this town. No one recognizes me as I sit here in the center of the Historic Grove Theater.

Saturday Night's Dream

 Oh, the vivid dreamer and prolific author I am!

And oh, the privilege to write down my dreams!

Here's the one I had the night before last.

[Begin dream]

I finally had the courage to ask Relative, "Why have you not read my books?"

She said, "I don't like them anymore."

I tried not to cry, yell, or wring my hands. "I can't believe you're saying this. I was hoping you'd support me. I worked so hard on all of them. I've spent so much time on and invested my emotions into every word."

My husband was beside me and said to Relative, "I'd like you to consider reading her books and telling her what you liked about them."

Relative said to my husband, "History is more interesting, more significant."

[End dream]

It's Monday morning, and I'm still trying to get over this one.