Lying Low

Golden

Needless to say, I didn't sleep that night. My thoughts outraced my hand's writing pace and I ended up with pages upon pages of incoherent reflections, gradually calming down with the setting sun. 

The bookshop was open only until noon on Saturdays. Thankfully, the shift was passing swiftly because of the new Shakespearean collection ready to be placed for sale. Customers scarcely wandered in here early on the weekend, therefore, no one had to encounter my sleep-deprived self. Of course, volumes of Othello were included in the new book stack, fresh out of print. Taking in the heavenly smell, I dipped into one of them to read the passages I probably knew by heart already.

When remedies are past, the griefs are ended

By seeing the worst, which late on hopes depended

To mourn a mischief that is past and gone

Is the next way to draw new mischief on

I started organising the books on the shelf, putting up three of each and leaving the rest as stock goods. There was a bookmark sticking out from one of the spare Othellos. Confused, I took it out, finding something else entirely.

A ticket for Readers' Anonymous lay before me, one of those rare limited edition ones made of thin perfumed parchment. There was nothing else enclosed, neither a single word revealing the owner's identity. Dan was the only person to whom I'd lately complained about my struggles to get the ticket on time. Lucy might have felt a sudden strike of motherly care towards me, but she surely wouldn't have sneaked it into this particular book.

I smiled widely, letting excitement crawl from the piece of paper straight inside my body, like it was radiating it. However, at the same time, I was perfectly aware of the danger of having been imposed on Dan. My brother was evil. He'd always had to assure everything befitted his wicked measures.

The queue outside the theatre traced a path along the neighbouring buildings. I had arrived early enough to be in the first half, regretting the decision to leave my parka at home. The rain had started as soft drizzle half an hour ago, later developing into a consistent shower, soaking my thin sweater.

'Why are YOU queuing?' a boy in front of me who'd been looking around asked me out of the blue, pointing at my ticket with an uncomprehending expression. I turned to him, askew.

'You have the golden ticket. It includes priority entry,' he explained, motioning towards the big entrance door with security guards stalking both sides. 

Well, this was a novelty to me. Maybe that's why I hadn't spotted Dan anywhere. I didn't know whether I should have even expected him to show up. Supposing he'd magically got the ticket from somewhere so long overdue, he must have had the opportunity to get one for himself as well. Or was he just being nice and decided to randomly gift me a ticket?

My questions were answered after the first three acts were over. The VIP guests had their own balcony reserved, conveniently positioned a few feet above the general public space, with the perfect view onto the stage. Some of the actors and famous people's chairs were around me. They came to sit down after their part of reading was over.

One such chair was Dan's. Of course I hadn't known before he appeared on the stage, strangely shy and fidgety. All young girls were basically dying hearing him narrate an excerpt from The Portrait of a Lady, yet he remained totally oblivious to the fact. He subconsciously kept turning aside from the audience, rarely venturing to look up from the book. Even though his voice didn't shake at all, he seemed older and utterly terrified. And then, almost at the end, the most amiable of all clichés happened- he finally raised his head, fixed his glance on me and smiled, an airy smile at most, almost nonexistent, but trapped in the blue of his eyes.

I forgot about my brother completely.