999 (77 page)

BOY

Hi, Mom … hey, Dad, what’re you doing home early?

FATHER

(ignoring the question)

Where you been?

BOY

We had a rehearsal after school. Just got finished.

(to his mother)

Can I have an apple or something, Mom?

FATHER

Rehearsal-
what
? Another one of them plays?

BOY

C’mon, Dad, you know I’m doing a play for the one-act contest at school. I wrote it myself, remember?

His father shook his head slowly, wiped his mouth with obvious irritation, then looked at his mother.

FATHER

I’m worryin’ about takin’ care of this family, he’s out writin’ stuff for faggots!

His mother touched her husband’s shoulder again.

MOTHER

Joseph, please don’t take it out on him. …

BOY

Yeah, Dad. We’ve been through this stuff before, haven’t we?

Dominic’s father did not speak as he exploded from his chair and backhanded the teenager across the face with one quick, furious motion. The force of the blow slammed the boy’s head against the wall and he staggered away, dazed and glassy-eyed.

FATHER

More! You want morel You smart-assed kid! You don’t speak to your father like that … not never!

His mother moved to help her wounded son.

MOTHER

You didn’t have to hit him like that.

FATHER

You stay away from him, goddammit! I oughta give it to him twice as hard! He don’t respect his father. At his age he oughta be out workin’ like a man. He oughta be helpin’ his family!

The teenaged boy looked at his father with terror in his eyes. He appeared helpless, but he forced himself to speak.

BOY

What do you want from me? What have I ever done to hurt you?

FATHER

(in mocking effeminate voice)

What have I ever done to hurt you!

I’ll tell you what you done … you ain’t acted like a man! And that hurts more’n anything. But that’s gonna stop. As of today you’re gonna be a man.

His father grinned at his little joke, then raised his hand towards the boy, just to watch him shy away.

BOY

What do you mean?

FATHER

You’re goin’ to work.

BOY

But I already have a job. …

FATHER

Hal You call that paper route a job? I’m talkin’ about a real job. Make some real money! It’s about time you started helpin’ your mother and me.

BOY

But what about school?

His father laughed, then stared at him defiantly.

FATHER

What about it? You’re old enough to quit… so now you’ll quit! I hadda leave school in the fifth grade! You think you’re any better’n me?

BOY

But, Dad, I don’t want to quit school. I can’t quit
now
.

FATHER

Don’t tell me what you “can’t” or what you “want” ‘cause that don’t mean shit to me! I’m tellin’ you what you gotta do ‘cause I’m your father! That school’s just fillin’ your head with a bunch of crazy shit anyway. …

BOY

Dad, I can’t believe this. …

FATHER

Shut up and listen to me or I’ll bust you again!

Dominic had been watching the scene with a morbid fascination and a growing anger. Things seemed so much clearer now—how things worked in his family. He could not allow his younger self to succumb to the ravings of a beaten, humiliated man.

Without thinking further, he stood up and called out to the younger version of himself: “Hey! You tell him to keep his hands off you! And that if he tries anything again … you’re going to stop him!”

As before, neither his father nor his mother seemed to have heard Dominic’s voice. But the adolescent boy reacted immediately. He turned to the edge of the stage and peered into the darkness.

BOY

What did you say? Is it you again?

“Yes,” said Dominic, his voice almost catching in his throat. “It’s me … now tell him what I told you. Tell him what you’re thinking. What you’re
really
thinking.”

Dominic watched the boy nod and turn back towards his father. There was a sensation of great tension in the air, like an electrical storm gathering on a humid day.

BOY

You can’t hit me like that anymore.

The boy stood there, seeming to radiate a new strength.

FATHER

What?

BOY

You can’t hit me—Just because you feel like doing it. I haven’t done anything wrong and I’m tired of you making me feel like I have.

FATHER

I’ll bust you any goddamned time I—

BOY

No! No you won’t! I won’t let you!

His father smiled and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his arms hanging loose as though ready for a fight.

FATHER

Well, what’s this? A little
manliness
after all this time, huh? How about that?

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. Or perhaps they were dreams … or memories of dreams. Or …

He was not certain what they were, but he felt convinced that the answers lay in the dark shadows of the auditorium.

Finally, everyone had cleared out and he left the dressing room for the theater itself. As he entered through the lobby doors, he saw no one, not even Sam. There were no lights other than the green, glowing letters of the exit lights, and as he moved down the aisle, he had the sensation of entering an abandoned cathedral. The darkness seemed to crowd about him like a thick fog, and he began to feel strangely light-headed. As he drew himself deeper into the vast sea of empty seats, he could see the dim outlines of the set beyond the open act curtain—a modern suburban home in El Cajon, California.