The rays of the sun stretched forth its arms across the vast expanse of the bright morning sky. He rose with the sun, mimicking its reach with an extension of his own arms, just barely touching the low ceiling above his head. He remembered entering the town last night under an inky black sky dotted with stars, more than the mere smattering that he was accustomed to in the city. Here, there were no lights and buildings that scuffed the sky to compete with the distant suns of other galaxies. Today was the first full day in a novel environment. It was time to explore this town.
He chose not to run today. Today, with the rarefied mountain air filling his lungs, he thought it would be a more savory experience if he just walked. Cumulus and stratus clouds crowned the mountains in the distance. How high up were we? He slipped on his sneakers and briskly walked down the sidewalk in this ski town in the Catskills. He could see his breath, faint wisps. The first aspect he noticed was the closed stores. A ski supply shop had gone out of business- twice. It kept moving to the buildings next door. Its most recent decal hung freshly painted from a building that was two houses away from the first location of the store. Here was a person who chose to re-buy when he busted in on all his chips. Business is a gamble. The store looked well stocked but as the equipment was not in season, it would not be open for the duration of this journey.
The brazenness of another store owner both startled and amused the young walker. This was a barber shop and its hours were one that he was compelled to pause and take note of. While some of the days offered regular hours of business, there were a few welcome surprises. Sunday was "by chance" and a few other days yielded an indeterminate schedule. The owner had established enough credibility to work regularly for only four days. There would still be customers. Hair cutting was a luxury.
He had come to the end of the sidewalk and of the little town where he would be performing later tonight. The concrete veered off to the left and ended before the steps of a Catholic church. The end of the road leading to a place faith. Was the message that there was only one true path to salvation? Ironic. He was surprised at the longevity of the wooden structure, freshly painted white with green trimmings lining the windows, the roof and the front corners that protruded from the main building. The foundation at the front of the place of worship was of brick, the rail for the stair of cast iron. Renovation? It was not yet wheelchair accessible, a thought he vacated because he considered it too sharp a critique.
With no sidewalk left, he continued walking on the shoulder of the 23A, the highway that left the town. Houses, a resort that welcomed visitors for late night jazz dancing and a used car dealership lined opposite sides of the street... then nothing. He was walking along the road with grass grown to the length of his shoulder. He started to wonder why people lived so far away from the city, then he remembered his own days of youth growing up in the countryside. It was a peaceful time then. Maybe they came here to escape the accelerated, expensive life that a big city often inadvertently promulgates. The rent, and everything else, was quite high.
Why wasn't anyone else awake yet? He had only passed a lone man with a water truck who stopped at each pot of flowers that hung from the street lamps on this Main Street and, with the hose attached to the enormous tank that teetered from the back of his jalopy, gave nourishment to the thirsty perennials. There was no great need to be awake too early here, he surmised, especially in the summer. This was definitely a winter town. He walked until he came across a red, wooden bridge that led to a single tree on an islet surrounded by a lake. He crossed that bridge when he got there and scanned his environs, then wondered on whose private grounds he had trespassed. No matter; he would only leave footprints and carbon dioxide that the tree would then use.
He reached the other town and decided to start walking back now. This was still a workout of sorts for him, so he didn't want to walk for more than 1 hour and 35 minutes, or it would not be equivalent to his 10% increase in intensity of training. He would train smart this time around. On the way back, cyclists greeted him. They had come form across the world and were on their way to the town that he had just left for the weekend's road races. Signs of life stirred on the outskirts and, as he drew nearer, the heart of the town. Good morning all. The people responded. A cup of sugar generously given by a cafe owner for morning coffee. A primary school. It looked more like a fortress, and was one of three structures in the town made entirely of stone. The other two were the fire house and the Baptist church. A peculiar development in this almost entirely wooden town. A modern touch that was of a different timbre than the timber that surrounded it. The synagogue was in the center of the town. White with grey trimmings and a blue Star of David. The epicenter of the community. Doors open, lights burning from two lamps at either side of the entrance. Shabbat. Service was about to begin.
The theater occupied a room on the first floor of what could have easily once been a grandiose house. The show was featured on the theater's digital event board - bright lights. Housed within other rooms of this converted building were three other theater spaces; these were for movies. The seats were better but the stage was a two dimensional screen that showed a three-dimensional world. That stage was not tangible. This would be where the wayfarer and the rest of the cast and crew spent the entire afternoon and late night for the performance. A temporary, favorably acoustic home for the traveling company. We told the story of love and loss and the bitter seeds of what it means to have been of different communities, instead of being one community of different backgrounds. Equal but separate. Brought together and torn apart simultaneously by the love born of emotional truth. A kiss by the book of life and another by the quarto of death. And the audience applauded and returned home; were we preaching to the choir? From the lives of the people in the town that seemed to coexist and be intertwined, that was a possible intimation- except that there many people in the town who, when asked, stated that they would not be attending the show. Where was our audience from, then? The motley cast and crew would celebrate the end of the story-telling journey. Our purpose was served.
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