Fiction: Intermission

Intermission by Edward Hopper, 1963

Fiction: Intermission
She might have left with him. Leaving her life's work might have been worth it. Yet, here, she sits. The lights go on and illuminate the scratchy floor of the stage, the worn, orange curtains and down here, the deteriorated fabric of the seats and the scuffed floor. All around her, folks vacate their seats. Intermission has begun.
    Usually she goes backstage and checks on the staff and have a cup of coffee or give herself a moment alone. But she remains seated.
    The lighthouse enters her mind. She has only seen pictures of it. Tall, quiet, a strong tower above the frozen water. The investigator sent her pictures. As there aren't many windows in the living quarters, there are only a few closeups of a figure standing outside the lighthouse. He appears to look the same - tall with a slightly bended back and a tired face. The investigator's report stated he never left the lighthouse and there have been only three visitors but none stayed long.
    It is just like him to be somewhere with hardly anyone close by. He have always said one person is enough company for him. She might have been that one person. She might have lived in that frozen landscape with him. A life away from the theater, away from the bright lights and loud applauses. And yet, here she sits. In this broken-down theater, hoping the audience will like the show enough to come back for a repeat performance so they can afford to pay the actors and the staff.
    Having shuffled about all day trying to get the show ready, her feet are aching. She stretches out her legs and leans back in the seat. The rough, worn fabric envelopes her like a familiar hug. Her life have always been here - beneath the stage, on the stage, or behind the stage. She has never regretted staying. Regrets are for other people. Never her. No, not her. Regrets are for other people.

For more about Blogging from A to Z Challenge, click on the image above or go here.