This is what I’ve forgotten...
Daniel buttons his cufflinks, twists them beneath his hands so they lie on his wristbones, like ladybugs. His face is flush over his collar—in the mirror mine looks the same. We step to the mirror together, laughing. (When Dan and I laugh it’s like mirrors anyway. Put two jokers onstage and they will compete trying to split each others’ sides, both succeeding in the process. Whatever he does makes me do something that makes him laugh, or else he goes straightfaced and stares off in his head, in which case I go right after him, until we’re both dripping with sweat, gasping for air and spasming with giggles.)
There’s a knock on the door, and a dwarf in purple brocade appears round the door. “Places.” I don't know where that is, but the dwarf is motioning to us, and Daniel follows. I reluctantly follow after them.
This is a very plush theatre we’ve found for ourselves, I’m thinking. I’m still trying to fix what we’re doing here, but Dan seems to know well enough. We’ve done this sort of thing plenty before—but why don’t I remember this place?
Suddenly we hear a brass fanfare beginning below us. We round a corner and find ourselves at the back of the house, aisles filling the air below us. The orchestra is only the size of a coin, more than two hundred feet away. The dwarf leads us over to a floor rug laid out on the ground. There are four cables attached to it which stretch into the rafters, far above. The cables are fixed to the corners. Daniel steps to one side of the carpet, grasps two cables. The dwarf is smiling idiotically, waving for me to step on to it. As I do, the carpet ripples under my feet and I can feel it supporting my weight. Not your normal carpet, but not exactly a magic carpet either. The cables are rather unusual as well. Suddenly we are moving, and I see that Dan is pushing against the carpeting—pumping, as though we were on a swingset. We soar over the aisles, back to the heights at the top of the house, and then careening down towards the stage into the flys, and back up again. I can see the audience pointing, laughing, and I know many of the people in this audience. There are several hundred people though...suddenly I see Jason Wagner, laughing his goddamn head off. And as I lift my head, I see that Daniel’s laughing hysterically, which means I must be laughing as well. Hooting and pumping, higher and higher into the rafters. We leap off, landing in a net strung high above, and after simply clinging for a few moments, we climb down onto a rafter and toe our way into the darkness.
After many circuituous turns, forks and twisting passages, we find our way back to the dressing room. In my locker, I find my clothing: one sharkskin suit, polyester shirt, Day-Glo orange wingtips. “Daniel, what city are we in? Is this in style?” I ask him.
”You look fine.” He’s wearing his crumpled brown jacket, and a giant fish necktie. Leaving the dressing room, we descend a ladder, take two lefts and slide down a fireman’s pole. We’re inside a fire station, but it’s obviously abandoned. Daniel pushs the garage door button, and it slides upward a few feet before it sticks shut. We crouch and slide under.
The city is muggy, and that’s about all I can say about it. All distinguishing features, if there are any, are obscured by waves of heat and condensation. We hail a passing bromeliad and head downtown...
