Dream Theater: The Costume Party

Covid-19 was finally over. The world was in the mood to celebrate. So my college friend, Mark M_____, threw a summer costume party. 

I hadn't seen Mark in over 20 years, and felt lucky to be invited. He lived in a large apartment, in a house on top of a hill. I arrived early, to help him get things ready.

It was obvious he'd lived there for a long time. Every room was filled with antiques and vintage objects--Pyrex bowls and serving ware, old cans and boxes of soup and cereal, framed posters and prints, DVDs and CDs, LPs and 45s. 

But instead of helping I was making a terrible mess. Every time I reached for something in a cabinet or on a shelf I'd knock something else over. 

Guests began arriving. Bridget K_____ wore something truly remarkable. She was dressed as Cindy Sherman, the photographer who takes self-portraits as a variety of characters. It was such a clever, fascinating idea. Her makeup and clothes were so well done. What amazed me most is that her costume changed, morphing from one iconic look to another every time I looked away. 

More guests showed up. I saw people I hadn't even thought of in a long time. The music grew louder. We danced until Mark's apartment began swaying like a boat riding waves. Walls cracked. Windows broke. And understandably, Mark was upset about the damage. 

I ran out the back and into the alley, where police were waiting. Someone had been shot, they said, somewhere nearby. They asked if I knew of any clubs or gangs in the area, and didn't believe me when I told them no. I barely got away from them.

By that point the sun was rising. It was going to be one of those brilliant Chicago summer days. And I had to be at work.

Dream Theater: The Titanic Mall

Photo from Agoda.com

My family was on vacation, driving home from wherever we'd been. Just my mother, my sister and me. 

We stopped along the Jersey coast. A sign for the Titanic Mall had caught our eye and we decided to visit. 

After parking the car we climbed a long and worn exterior stairway that ended in a single steel door. Inside we found a cramped hallway extending before us, partially flooded but still crowded with customers. We walked to the edge of the water, thinking it strange that there were more tiny restaurants and cafes than stores. 

My mother and sister were already tired so we sat down at a table. They weren't interested in seeing more so I decided to explore on my own. 

The stores were small and strange, poorly stocked and peopled with workers in early 20th-century costumes who didn't seem interested in selling anything or even answering questions. The elevators were odd as well. Only one person was allowed at a time, and they stopped barely long enough to let their passengers on and off. 

I pushed the button for the floor below and walked out into an underwater wonderland. The area was vast, covered by an enormous expanse of glass. Above it, ocean waves swelled and crashed while "My Heart Will Go On" played over and over from unseen speakers. 

This was the attraction, and I texted my mother and sister to tell them so. But there was no signal underwater, despite how close we were to the shore. I went back to the elevators, and as I waited to board one I saw something terrifying through the glass doors. The car was filled with water, and inside a man struggled to free himself before he drowned. 

Somehow I understood this wasn't real, but only a special effect, a projection. Just part of the fun and excitement of visiting the Titanic Mall.

Dream Theater: Mary Tyler Moore Works in HR

Photo from 1310news.com

On the 29th floor of a skyscraper, in a city that wasn't Chicago, I'd started a new job. And Mary Tyler Moore worked there in the Human Resources department.

I'd been a fan since her eponymous show and was in awe of her. After her success on television, it was hard to believe that she'd ended up in this no-name company. But fortunes change so quickly in entertainment and there she was, sitting behind a desk piled high with papers and forms, smiling her famous Mary Tyler Moore smile.

Of course she was popular with all my coworkers, and it was clear she had her favorites, and I wanted desperately to be among them.

So I began making excuses to drop by HR. To clear up a minor matter in person that could have been resolved by email. To ask a question about something I should have known. To find excuses just to say hello.

I knew that I was trying to ingratiate myself with her. And I could tell that Mary knew it, too. Yet she never let her irritation show. Not much, at least.

One Friday afternoon, after just such a visit, I went to the restroom before returning to my desk. Before I could finish, Mary walked in.

She walked past me as I stood at the sink without saying a word, went into the last stall, and closed the door behind her. 

This wasn't an interaction I intended or even wanted. It was too personal, too intrusive, too embarrassing for both her and me. My attempts to get to know her had taken me to a place beyond politeness and propriety. I'd gone one step too far.

Now, Mary Tyler Moore was going to the bathroom just a few feet away. And I could tell, based on the sounds coming from the stall, that she was impatiently waiting for me to leave.

I left the restroom, my face burning. I got into the elevator, praying that no one else had seen. I went down to lobby and walked out of the building into the cold dark afternoon of a Friday in winter, without my coat or bag.

How could I return to work on Monday, I wondered, and face her the next time we met? Maybe, I thought, it would be best if I didn't go back at all.