“Tonight,” he said, circling the group and distributing long strips of cloth from a box. “We are just going to speak the play to each other. Blindfolded. Please tie the cloths around your eyes, then join hands with the people seated next to you.”

Scarlett was mentally preparing herself for a night of intense boredom when Billy gestured in her direction.

“Amy,” he said, “please step in and join the group. You, too, O’Hara. Let’s get all of our energy down here, together.”

It seemed way too obvious to insert herself next to Eric, so she dropped down one spot over, between Spencer and Stephanie, the girl playing Ophelia. Billy passed her a blindfold, which she dutifully tied around her eyes. Spencer gripped her hand. She expected him to do something to make her laugh, like tickle her palm or try to make those farting noises from the suction, but he was all business. The grip was firm and serious. Ophelia had a cool, tiny hand.

“I will read the stage directions,” Billy said. “If you get confused at any point about when to speak, just give yourself a moment and feel it out. Try to work with the energy of the room, your fellow performers, instead of the visual cues you may have been relying on.”

The reading of the play took three hours. A three-hour reading of Shakespeare, blindfolded, on the floor, should have been deadly. Instead, it was one of the most electrifying things Scarlett had ever experienced. Sitting together so close, everyone connected…she hated terms like energy…but that’s what it was. The longer she sat there in the dark, holding hands with Spencer and Stephanie and by extension, everyone—her world physically seemed to expand.

Billy’s normal speaking voice was pleasant and smooth, but his performance voice was massive—not loud, just able to take over all the empty parts of Scarlett’s brain that she didn’t even know were listening. The events unfolded in her head. She could see the ghost of the dead king approaching the guards on the tower. There was Hamlet, arriving in the cold castle hall to find that his uncle had taken his dead father’s place, both as king and husband to his mother. Hamlet was young—not much older than Spencer or Eric—a university student with a lot of problems and a bunch of actor friends. He was in pain, confused, angry…and everyone around him was playing him.

Scarlett could hear Billy walking around the group as the play went on. She felt him brush her shoulder as he adjusted Spencer’s posture somehow. His voice came out clearer, more confident. And from across the darkness, she heard Eric reply. He spoke without a Southern accent now, dropping it with ease. Actors had other people living inside of them…lots of other people, other voices. There was something wonderful about this, this unfolding possibility.

When it was over, Scarlett reluctantly peeled off the blindfold. Billy had the lights way down, but still, it was a shock to see again. Everyone stirred like they were waking from a long sleep, one in which they had all dreamed the same dream.