by the pricking

The theater is crowded with people, waiting for the play to begin. My wife and I sit and wait, looking through the program and studying posters for past productions lining the walls.

When the show begins, I am transfixed. I’ve seen Macbeth a few times before, but this is just amazing. The witches scene is easily one of the most unsettling, disturbing experiences I’ve ever had in a theater.

The lights darken, the stage and audience in complete blackness. A flicker of lightning, a woman’s voice over the speakers, harsh, rasping out the classic line “By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.”

I’m a little irritated by this shuffling of the text, but then the darkened theater is overrun with murmurs and whispers . . . feet scuttle up and down the aisles . . . something, someone crawls over me, panting out Shakespeare’s lines . . . hands tug at my arms and legs . . . the footsteps rattle off towards the darkened stage.

When the lights come up, half of the audience has already left their seats. I assume they just couldn’t handle the intensity of it all. I barely kept it together. I note my wife’s seat is empty and I rise to go and find her.

Through the shuffling crowd, I see an old acquaintance — a theater director from years past — sitting stunned in his seat. I wave but he looks right through me. I can’t tell if he recognizes me, if his glare of baffled fury is for me or for the production.

At the concession stand, I buy two candy bars and head back into the theater. Somewhere along the way, my clothes have been lost. I’ve got a white towel wrapped around my waist.

I sit and wait, a little uncomfortable about my limited attire, and wonder where my wife has got to…