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BOY

I’m not quitting school. And you can’t make me do it. There’re things I want to do with my life that I can’t do if I quit school.

There’re things I want to do … things that you could never do.

His father looked at him silently, a confused expression on his face.

FATHER

What the hell’s that spozed to mean?

BOY

You have to understand something, Dad. I’m not going to be made responsible for anybody’s life … except my own. Especially not yours. I can’t live your life, but I have to live mine.

FATHER

(looking confused, off balance)

Listen, you little shit …

BOY

No, Dad, I think it’s time you listened. Maybe for the first time in your life.

The boy turned and walked to the door stage center, opening it.

BOY

I’m going out for a while.

He exited the stage, leaving his father standing mute and stripped of his power.

Dominic fell back in the theater seat as the stage quickly darkened and the figures and props dissolved into the shadows.

In an instant the set was gone. He felt rigid and tense and there was a soft roaring in his ears like the sound of a seashell. He felt as though he had just awakened from a dream. But he knew it had been no dream.

A memory?

Perhaps. But as he sat there in the darkness, he had the feeling he had no memories. That the scene he had just witnessed was a solitary moment, a free-floating, always existing piece of the timestream. A moment out of time.

What is happening to me? The thought ate through him like a furious acid, leaving him with a vague sense of panic. Standing up, he knew that he must leave the place. Dominic walked up the aisle to the lobby, refusing to look back at the dark stage.

The light in the lobby comforted him and he felt better immediately. Already, the fears and crazy thoughts were fading away. It’s all right now. Better get on home. As he moved towards the exit, he heard a sound and stopped. A door slipping its latch.

“Mr. Kazan!” said a familiar voice. “What’re you still doing here?”

Turning, Dominic saw Bob Yeager, the Barclay’s stage manager, standing in the doorway of his office.

“Oh, hi, Bob. I was … I was just going over a few things. Just getting ready to leave.”

Yeager rubbed his beard, grinned. “Just getting over those first-night jitters, huh? I can understand that, yes sir.”

Dominic smiled uneasily. “Yeah, the first night’s always the worst …”

“Hey, you did a great job, Mr. Kazan. Just fine.”

“I did?”

Yeager nodded, smiled.

“I suppose I’ll have to take your word for it,” said Dominic. “Well, I guess I’d better be heading home. Good night.”

When he arrived at his town house, he found that he couldn’t sleep. He had the nagging sensation that something was wrong, that something in his life was out of whack, out of sync, but he couldn’t pin it down. After making a cup of instant coffee, he wandered into his den, where a typewriter and a pile of manuscript pages awaited him on a large messy desk.

Sitting down, he decided to go back to that play he had been trying to write. Every actor thinks he can be a playwright, right? Some ideas started flowing as Dominic began to type, and it was very late before he went to bed.

The next evening’s performance had gone better than opening night, but it was still rough. Dominic was playing the part of Alan in Wilson’s Lemon Sky, and although the director was pleased with his characterization, Dominic was not. He had learned long ago that you cannot merely please your audience; you must also please yourself.

He remained in the dressing room, dawdling and taking his time, waiting for everyone else to leave. The rest of the cast planned to meet at their favorite bistro for drinks and food, and he had declined politely. There would be time for such things later. Tonight, Dominic felt compelled to go back into the theater itself, back into the empty darkness where careers were made or destroyed. He was not really certain why he felt the need to stay behind. But he had feelings, or rather, memories.