Sweaty Palms and Big Breaks

October 11, 2011
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"Are you ready?" Evan asks. I nod, of course I am. A large lump forms in the pit of my stomach though, I wonder if any of the other people feel this way. I dismiss this thought, of course they don't, they are veterans of our musical theatre program. As am I, why else would I find the smell of hairspray comforting, why else would animal crackers remind me of show-tunes? I've done this since first grade, I got this. I hope.

* * *

"What was my line again?"

"Wait, was that my cue?"
These are the questions whispered back stage, hands cupping mics attached to our sweaty cheeks by medical tape. The extras sit together, whispering secrets to each other. Their hands hang by their sides, they have no microphones to quiet down. They sneak glances at the main cast, and go back to their whispered rumors. I look across the stage, and hiding by a curtain is Bennett. He smiles and waves across the semi empty stage. A laugh inducing monologue continues upstage. I hear the laughter erupt from the crowd at all the right moments. Only a couple minutes until I walk on stage. I rub my eyes, careful not to smudge the last minute 2.99 mascara we bought when we discovered my mascara had melted in the tube. The laughter is dying out. It's almost my time to shine.

* * *

I blew it. I feel like knocking the scenery over, pulling down the curtains, stopping the play. I feel like asking for a re-do. But that doesn't happen. Instead I go on stage for the final bow, head hung low, flashing a small smile instead of the 100 watt one I prepared just for this moment. And I bow.

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