If you take a right off Route 30, by the old gas station and drive for a few minutes you’ll find the life support of childhood dreams. Like everything else in town (no town in particular, I hear there are several towns in the world), the building and grounds fund would not be depleted flippantly on a new coat of paint. The age of the building-roughly the same as the Earth- excuses its disrepair. I decided to be a participant in this monstrosity of broken people and architecture on Columbus Day a few years ago.

     Two old women who had matched their hats to their dresses to their purses to their shoes held the double doors open for the immense crowd that was pouring in. They were wearing vests that identified them as the director and costumer of the musical I was about to watch at Anytown Community Theater.

     The state of the building and the staff were not great contrasts to the proscenium, which was lit only by a spotlight near the top of the back wall and pointed towards the stage. I didn’t want to sit in a dark corner being that I was a twenty-four year old young woman so I sat two rows back from the stage.

     The lights never dimmed to indicate the beginning of the show because there was only that one bulb and thinking about it now: recently I saw a heat lamp keeping a fluffy, mouthy bunch of baby chickens warm, and that’s what it was. The spotlight literally doubled as a barn lamp in the off-season.

     A slightly younger man than the women at the door climbed on the stage- there were no stairs- and announced that the audience was at a record amount. I twisted in my seat to get a better view of everyone in the place. Thirty-one people.

     Then he informed us on escape routes in case the show was intolerably horrible to the point of causing fires and hopped off, wincing as his feet hit the ground.

     These people, as I saw them, were pathetic, and I was feeling inspired to do something more that hold doors open and maneuver dilapidated stages in my old age. I thought at twenty-four that I was mostly better that anybody and it was without good reason. “As are most twenty-four year olds,” that’s how I manage to accept myself then.

     The musical might’ve been something I enjoyed if I enjoyed musicals but since I didn’t I don’t really have an informed opinion about it. Following the first song a young boy, probably seventeen or eighteen staggered in. He was handsome and drunk, and he sat right next to me.

     Flattery was what he was going for, but as I said I quite flattered myself so instead I was estranged. There were plenty of open seats. My face’s age never really locked with my actual age and I was afraid I’d been mistaken for one of his peers.

     He pulled a bottle of whiskey from his coat, lacking any attempt at discretion, and tipped it into his mouth. He filled both cheeks up, swallowing one at a time.

     A blonde kid, who was completely identical to my new neighbor, walked on stage and the other cheekful of the whiskey was spit everywhere in the process of whistling appreciation of the character’s arrival. The boy on stage broke his plastered smile for a small moment to glare at his fan.

     The drunk shrugged and drank some more. I didn’t have a clue what was going on in the storyline or the ability to focus on it, and subconsciously held my hand out to receive the bottle.

     “I’m Michael,” he handed his name over too. I nodded and emptied more than I should have from that stupid thing.

     Michael watched me like he expected something. I wanted to hang on to my friend for a while longer so I kept it and gave him my name. “Lauren.” I didn’t look at him, but he wanted to talk.

     “That guy,” he bucked his greasy head towards the actor who he whistled at, “that guy is my brother.”

     I said, “Oh,” hoping that he’d shut up and just sit there being drunk quietly. No one is ever drunk quietly, though.

     “He’s gonna go to a school in the city after high school.” I stare at him now. He’s crying silently; it’s just the booze that’s loud. “He’s better than me, you know. Got his everything all together.”

     The show we were creating was presumably more entertaining than the musical , but fortunately the crowd ignored us.

     “Nobody likes somebody who has their life all together anyways.” I hand him back his lifeline.

     “Then we’re in good shape. Everyone must love us,” he spat not literally this time.

     Neither of us had more philosophies that needed to be said so the blonde with a promising future became very interesting to me suddenly. His voice was great.

     Michael had to turn the spotlight off after the show, and he went away without saying a word more.

     I found him when he was done and decided that I did have something else to say to him. He was eating a piece of chocolate cake from the bake sale with his hands.

     “Michael, what do you think you’re going to,” he looked away like he wasn’t listening but then returned his eyes to me, “to do after high school?”

     I was actually genuinely worried about his answer, because people who are drunk and cynical at seventeen or eighteen, they stay that person. I would know.

     He grinned. “Ah, I don’t know. Whatever it is shadows do after high school.” He walked out the doors, the old ladies whispering about him even after he was far gone, out of sight.