Well, late afternoon, really, but I was tired of checking my watch to see if we could finally end rehearsal. With two weeks to go before we opened for previews, my patience was wearing thin with everyone and everything. Desperate for a break from the Mercer, Ryan and I had promised to help Dani with a seed bombing as soon as it was dark enough to cover our guerilla tracks. Both of us felt guilty that she’d been forced to make so many of the grenades by herself. Ryan was particularly disappointed—the nicotania and portulaca flowers in the midspring mix were some of his favorites. Rehearsals, though, had consumed every waking moment of the past week. The dream sequence that formed the climax of the play was kicking our collective asses. The scene required three dozen quick entrances and exits; actors needed to dash around backstage so that they could appear and reappear through various windows and doors on the fog-shrouded set. The rapid transitions were hampered by a massive wall that formed the major design element for the second act—it represented all of the barriers that Fanta faced when she went to the city, when she contemplated returning to her home.
