The Curtain Always Falls

As Vancelia walked through her dream, she sat down in the front seat of the auditorium. The theater provided a space for the actors to display their talents. Everything was all bluster and rage and high comedy for twenty-two-year-old Vancelia. No one else sat in the theater and the house lights were up during the entire performance.

“You stole my mind for gold and haven’t given it up yet!” The Queen, with a deep blue dress and pearls about the age of forty-five yelped.

“If I didn’t know it, you were hiding my horse!” A man about fifty-years-old blurted out and stomped across the stage. Vancelia felt the pangs of laughter creep into her soul during another night of this dream. It made no sense, she couldn’t make out the characters’ motivations, or the dialogue. It seemed like gobbledygook. She felt entertained nonetheless. In her sleep, she could feel herself shaking with laughter.

When she awoke she continued to remember one thing: the curtain always fell. No one bowed or presented the author of the production, but like the ticking hands of time, she witnessed the conclusion of a fantasy that excited and motivated her.

Each time her head hit the pillow, the recurring scenes played out on the stage in her brain. The King played the jester and the role of the Queen seemed to always be changing. Sometimes she was a black woman with lovely, flowing locks. At other times, she was a white woman with a pert, blonde bob haircut.

Vancelia worked as a fashion editor for one of the biggest publishers in Wilmington, Delaware. She encountered all sorts of women with different hairstyles and clothes. She wanted to know if her constant night visions meant she experienced these things in real life or if she just imagined them altogether.

She frequented the theater, musicals mostly. So, when she went to sleep and saw the swashbuckling servant in garish garb, she giggled to herself and wondered when she had awakened whether this was her coworker Mark masquerading in her memories. During the dream, she continued to hunt for clues. Before she could find the right amount of evidence as to why the sandman visited her with these dreams every night, the curtain always fell.

The standard red curtain always descended and left her without knowing what the whole thing actually meant. Vancelia kept the fire of her imagination blazing. Despite the lack of greater context or the ability to decipher her dreams, she marched onward to discover the truth about the dreams.

At three am, she made the decision to stay up even later. Her eyelids became kettle bars. The dizziness which arrives before slumber visited her once more. Again, she had a front row seat and anticipated a great comedy.

“But you said I was your favorite dragon!” the Knight exclaimed.

“No, you are the worst of all. You have not fire in your breath, but the worst case of halitosis!”

Vancelia laughed and laughed. Then she grew serious. She stood up from her seat and ventured towards the stage at an intrepid gait. She reached for the mechanism to close the curtain. It stopped mid way. She looked at the actors and they returned her glance. The Queen had turned to her and threw a hand back at Vancelia in disgust, disapproval. The King and Knight grinned like fools drinking up bottles of wine.

“I just wanted to know what you all meant. Your play makes zero sense and it always just ends. None of you ever have a curtain call. What is going on here?” The Knight stepped forward. He must have been twenty.

“There is a wind in the place and it carries the song of hope and gladness!”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”Vancelia asked with a pointed tone.

The woman, apparently the queen, stepped to Vancelia and grasped her shoulders.

“It means that we are and always have been your imagination. You’ve drawn from reality the wonders of existence. You’ve incorporated reality into this play and now it is time for us to leave for now. Who knows? We may visit you when you’re warm in your bed at age one hundred and two and carry you off into nothingness.”

Vancelia felt a surge of melancholy as well as some drippings of hope. She turned to the King and Knight, too.

“I always wanted to thank you all for your commitment to your performances. I think you all are great.”

They then made a circle around Vancelia.

“Go down and sit,” the King commanded.

Vancelia found her seat and wiped away a tear. In her bed, she wept as well. The performers then acted out a scene with no direction or understanding and Vancelia laughed through tears.

“No, you shall not be the maker of life’s only return….” the King launched into a harangue.

“I, father, know my feathers from my betters. I am fully equipped to deal with the arrow tossed towards me.”

“Ha! You men go on with your vanity and never think of the reality of seeing what a dream truly is,” The Queen announced. The curtain fell but then it lifted upward again and Vancelia rocketed to her feet. She clapped and clapped without reserve or regard. The players all bowed, and allowed for the playwright to grace the stage. Who else could it be but Vancelia. She had created the characters, employed a cast and crew all in her head and she now knew that this recurring dream would cease. She looked at herself on stage and threw a rose which her doppelgänger caught. The performers all bowed once more. Vancelia waited for the curtain to fall and within moments, it actually descended from its lofty spot above her head.

She still didn’t wake. Her mind became a blank stage. No players, just the little portion of stage that allows for playwrights to introduce their plays. She stood and applauded herself yet again. Vancelia just kept dreaming.