It was one of those downtown theatre events. Everyone who was there knew somebody in the cast, or the crew, or maybe the playwright. There was wine, and an unexpected amount of beer.
For the first few minutes of the intermission they didn’t even notice each other. A general circle of people in the conversation gradually narrowing down to four, then three, then somehow to just the two of them. He liked the sound of her voice.
“You can tell this is real theatre because the tourists don’t know about it,” she was saying.
“Yes,” he nodded conspiratorially, “The Theatre must be pure, a secret ritual. People showing up just ruins the whole thing.”
“That’s true,” she agreed. “Not even the actors should be here.”
“Oh my god,” he said, warming to the theme. “We shouldn’t be here either.”
“A bare stage,” she proclaimed, “is the only true Theatre.”
They looked at each other, as if seeing one another for the first time. In that moment, ever so slightly, the Universe shifted.