leap of faith

I had been telling my mother about a shop that stocked all kinds of wonderful things when we happened upon it, after hours. We peered through the glass doors and, in doing so, found the shop was unlocked and empty. The stock and shelves had been removed and all that remained were bare white-brick walls. It was an extraordinary space - very large with an extremely high ceiling and stairs on either side of the front wall, leading up to a balcony that crossed the back wall. Above the balcony was a vast window, which let in a beautiful blue light. It was raining outside and somehow - a play of light, perhaps - the rain appeared to shower down through the window into the room, although the room was perfectly dry. My mother and sister ran inside and up the stairs on the right side of the space, more or less dancing and running across the balcony and down the set of stairs on the other side. They seemed to know the space, and to know exactly what to do. They were carefree and exuberant. I followed them at a much slower pace, a little bewildered, climbing the stairs and walking across the balcony, wanting to share their sense of freedom and growing accustomed to the seemingly enchanted space. In the middle of the balcony crossing, I stopped and sat down, surveying the giant room. I imagined it being ideal for theatre with its generous size and the unusual, almost theatre-in-the-round design. I tested the acoustics, singing lines of songs. The notes resounded around the room. While I was singing, more people entered the space. Some ran up the stairs, along the balcony and down the other stairs. Others leapt off the balcony, hurtling downward until an unseen force  - a gust of gravity - slowed their descent, so they landed softly on the cement floor. Some people, after falling down, instead of landing, rose back up through the air to the level of the balcony before plunging down once again. This was a game of trust. A lighting box appeared in the rear left-hand corner of the room, a little lower than the balcony, and I could see a few people through the glass, operating lights inside. My dear friend A was there. A small stage appeared against the front-right corner. Two people I recognised rose in the air before me - I remembered them from long ago and instantly felt unsure, for they were gossipers and unkind to many. They plummeted back down and, imagining their ending, I said, 'Splat'. Immediately, I withdrew my thought, just in case they did, in fact, die upon landing. Although I was wary of them, I didn't want anything horrible to happen in this room. I looked instead at my friend through the glass of the lighting box, knowing that she would always be a true friend. I noticed a group of people were now sitting beside me on the balcony, their legs similarly dangling over the edge. The young man beside me took my hand and, together, we jumped. We whipped through the air, hearts pounding, until only a few feet before the bottom, it was as though the very air gathered and held us up, cushioning our landing. We lay on the floor, arms and legs wrapped around each other, exhilarated and breathless. My heart was racing in a way it had not for many years. I felt younger, as though a something was remembered, as though I had come through a lackluster wilderness and was now reborn into light. We lay there, unconcerned about our bodies touching, until we caught our breath. We had no attachment to one another beyond sharing the jump and, after recovering, we parted ways. Now, the room filled with people, ready for a performance. Vast cement steps appeared, skirting three sides of the room, so that the audience could sit on the steps and the balcony to view the small stage at the front. I took a seat, transfixed by the performance that had begun. A woman I know delivered a monologue, captivating us with her outstanding performance. A short break before a man took the stage and told us a wild tale, improvising parts, appearing completely comfortable and confident. It seemed the room, the theatre, somehow brought out the best in everyone. It supported those who dared. I looked around at the audience and could see two close friends sitting in a row perpendicular to mine. One of them saw me and waved, smiling warmly. She said something quietly to me and somehow I heard her clearly, as though she whispered in my ear, even though she was at least twenty feet away. I was delighted to see them both, but particularly buoyed by my friend's words and presence; I felt she was my guardian angel and I knew she wished me well and loved me. I also noticed another friend - a mentor - sitting further along the same row. After the man's performance, my mentor walked over to me and gave me a sheet of paper, saying she had had an idea: I was to perform next, singing three songs. I was shocked and, in that state, could not make head or tail of the words on the page, but realised that it was the programme - I was listed to sing next. Although completely unprepared, I was willing to sing. I tried to think of three complete songs I knew well enough to perform, but could not. I decided to wing it. I dared.