Box
I feel old. Old enough that I
shouldn’t hear their whispers and singing. But they’re in the posters on my
wall and in the pictures on my desk.
I don’t know why I feel the need to
open it today of all days, but I get up from my desk chair and remove the box
from atop my bureau. The silver is tarnished and it’s dusty so I dust it off. I
set it down on the desk and after a moment I open it. And I find myself
transported.
I. Hairpin
I’ve been thinking about it all day.
Your debut performance is a big thing, even if it’s just acting and only for
about two minutes.
My dad rides up with me on the
subway and drops me off. I greet the other kids and we exchange opening night
fears. There’s seven of us so we’re a small number and we’ve become close over
the weeks of rehearsal. I could rely on them for anything.
They
call us into the dressing room and I get into my dress, the color of mustard.
Your first costume is a big thing too; you never truly forget how it felt to
put it on, every little detail. And twirling backstage so that your skirt poofs
up – you never forget that.
I
put on my shoes and my lace gloves and the hairdresser does my hair, pinning up
my brown curls to keep them out of my face. When we’re all ready the wranglers
take us downstairs in the elevator.
We
huddle together backstage, a team. We listen to the singers from the sidelines,
waiting for our cue. Bhemol and I have to enter together – he’s sweet but so
jittery it’s distracting. I’m not jittery. I was up late into the night last
night rehearsing it all in my mind – when to enter, which direction to run. So
when it’s time to go on I’m ready.
The
two of us run onstage and the second you’re onstage your head is spinning
because there are big, big-voiced people surrounding you. But you keep your wits
about you. You run seamlessly in the specified direction, swiftly dodging the
dangerously large petticoats of the dancing women. I meet up with Bhemol in the
center of the ballroom and we’re both out of breath. The singers are waltzing
now and sometimes Bhemol and I’d joked how funny it’d be if we started to
waltz. Utterly absurd – us dancing. So instead we giggle for a minute and then
split up and join some more.
When
we get offstage we’re panting. Running in heels takes a lot out of you. We meet
up with the others and exchange congratulatory hugs.
As
we go upstairs I wonder if Elena will be there to congratulate us. I haven’t
been in the chorus for a full year yet so I’m still not completely unafraid of
her. But despite the strictness she has some beautiful toys that she’ll let us
play with them if we do a good job. Some of us joke about stealing them but
we’d never.
She’s
not there though. Probably in a meeting. So we change back into our normal,
everyday clothes after they’ve yanked the hairpins out of our hair. And when we
get downstairs my dad is there to meet me. We walk down the red hallway and sit
on the couch to watch the rest of the opera on the monitor. This is the part
where you’ll get the feeling that you’ve just had the best night of your life.
When
the opera is over we go outside to meet my mom and my second grade teacher Miss
Reinkraut. She’s so sweet and beautiful and my favorite teacher by far. I hug
her and all of us get a taxi. They are all so proud of me.
In
the taxi Miss Reinkraut reaches over and hands me a gift bag. Gift bags mean
presents so suddenly I’m very excited. I open it and inside there’s a box. I
wonder if there will be another box inside of that box, but there isn’t. It’s
just a box, but it’s a beautiful box, decorated with sterling silver flowers
and a butterfly with mother-of-pearl wings. I want to ask what it’s for – it
doesn’t look like a toy, but that might sound rude, and I wouldn’t want Miss
Reinkraut to think I’d forgotten my manners so quickly.
So
instead I balance the box in my lap and stare at it until we drop Miss
Reinkraut off at her house and say our goodbyes. And then we’re back home and I
have to wash up for bed because it’s very, very late and I have school
tomorrow. When I’m changing into my pajamas my mom says “Wait” and extracts
something from my hair.
“What
is it?” I ask.
“Just
a bobby pin,” she says. “The hairdresser must’ve missed it when he was
unpinning your hair.”
“Oh,”
I say. “What do I do with it?”
“Keep
it,” Mom says. “As a memento of your first night onstage The Metropolitan Opera
House.” She beams at me.
“But
won’t they miss it?” I ask innocently.
This
makes Mom laugh. “It’s one hairpin,” she says. “It’s The Met. They probably
have millions.”
“But
if I keep it isn’t that stealing?”
“No,
not at all,” she replies. She sees that I’m still unconvinced so she sighs and
says “If it really means that much to you then put it in a bag and we’ll return
it at the next performance.”
I
nod and she yells for Dad to come in and together they tuck me into bed. We
sing our evening prayers together and I say my customary “Goodnight, sweet
dreams, to both of you, and I love both of you, forever and ever, as big as the
whole world and the entire universe, as big as Mother Nature, and that means
always.” Then they’re gone and the lights are off and I can only just see the
box on my bureau in the dim illumination of my nightlight. Mom put the hairpin
right next to it and from under the covers I look from pin to box to pin to
box. And the little pin looks so lonely and cold so finally I get up and gently
place it in the box for keeps.
Unwittingly,
I that very night had begun my career as a thief.
II. Snow
I’ve been thinking about it all
week. Your debut performance singing in an opera is a big thing, the biggest
thing, even if it’s in a chorus of about twenty-nine other kids so it’s not
like anyone is going to hear you. But when you’ve waited as long as I’ve
waited, it means the world.
This time around I am jittery.
Petrified, in fact. But I have all my friends around to support me so I know
I’ll be fine.
We warm up. Warm-ups are scary.
Especially when the warm-up is with Tony who seriously terrifies you more than
Elena ever did. And everyone looks at you a little differently because they all
know tonight is your first time when they’ve been doing it year after year
after year.
The warm-up goes well which I take
as a good sign. I get into my green dress, black gloves, and the lace cap that
I really dislike. You never forget your first costume in Boheme; since it comes
back every year the next time it comes around you can turn to the little girl
getting fitted for your old costume and when you tell her that it used to be
your costume she’ll look at you with complete wonder that you used to be that
small.
When we’re all in costume we warm up
again. He’s like a taskmaster with warm-ups. Lots of kids doze off or space out
and get humiliated accordingly. Me, I get humiliated all the time for not
projecting when I sing despite my “unusually loud speaking voice” but I have razor-sharp
focus so I’ve never been reprimanded for that at least.
When we get called downstairs we’re
all buzzing with excitement. This production seems to truly be a fantasy to the
kids new to it and a treasure to the old-timers.
We ride the set onstage and I sit
with my best friend Tati and we discuss magic. We both believe in magic
passionately. Tati says that if anything is reassurance that magic is out
there, it’s this production.
When the set is locked onto the
stage we stand up and go our separate ways. I meet up with my stage parents who
pinch my cheeks and tell me how excited they are for me. I don’t tell them that
I’m excited for me because that might sound sort of cheeky and I wouldn’t want
that. At the conductor’s urging we sing the first line with the curtain down
and suddenly, spontaneously, the curtain goes up.
From there on out it’s all about
keeping your wits about you. It’s so easy to get lost and caught up in the
little set shops with real food or petting the donkey or yearning for Musetta’s
beautiful rose dress. But you have to remember to snap your neck around to the
audience and breathe and flash a smile when it’s time to sing. If you don’t,
Tony will call you out on it later. Trust me.
The breaks from singing are the
best. You can forget for a second that your director is watching from the
sidelines, inspecting your every move. You can run up the stairs and get a
flower from the flower man or if you’re lucky, one of the sweetest boys will
give one to you and you’ll think how romantic it would be if he kissed you
right here, on the steps.
So you blush and giggle and try to
look as becoming as possible which is difficult because you’re ten and nothing
seems to flatter you right now. When it’s time for Musetta’s aria it’s very
important to find a good spot for The Freeze, like maybe sitting on the steps
where you can rest your head on someone’s shoulder. It’s very hard not to
sneeze or cough or yawn but Elena taught us how to avoid doing any and all of
those so I’m well prepared.
Then the band comes onstage which is
fun. I wave my flag and sing but all the while I’m scouting for something to
steal.
I’ve built up quite a collection by
now and I’m always on the lookout for more. The lollipops look appealing but I
know that I won’t be able to resist eating them and the bagels aren’t quite as
appetizing but they’ll get stale.
The curtain goes down and then up
again for the tableau where we all smile and wave. And then we’re done and we
head back upstairs where most of the kids are dismissed but me and ten others
stay for a costume change. It’s time for Act III.
Act III is fun because it’s just
acting and you get to frolic in the snow in a pretty cape. Tati uses her cape
to pretend to be a vampire which I find both funny and scary.
Act III goes well and afterwards
Bobby, the costumer in charge of the capes, is helping me out of my cape and I
point to the snow that has collected in the bottom of the costume rack. “Will
you be needing all of that?” I ask.
No one needs that much snow so next
show he lets me bring a little red pouch that my grandmother gave me. He helps
me scoop up the snow and sprinkle it into the bag. I fill the bag up as far as
it’ll go and sincerely thank him because he’s one of the nicest people I’ve met
there.
When I get home and my parents have
tucked me in for bed I get up and take the snow pouch out of my box. In the dim
glow of my nightlight I scatter the snow like how they scattered the ashes of
that little boy whose house I grew up in and who I loved like a brother. But
this snow is better than ashes, because suddenly it’s winter in my bedroom.
*NOTE – I have two more stories in mind for this
piece which I’ll quickly summarize in a sec. I’m running tight on time so I’ll
write the raw draft for the next two stories tomorrow after school – I would
think I have enough material as is to start exploring and applying styles to.*
So, summaries…
III. Chalk – will basically be about Queen of Spades which was just a little
after II. Snow. I was an understudy (only show I ever did that for) so I
thought it’d be interesting to write about the show where I had to go on for a
boy (could definitely play up more of the awkward pubescent angle + gender
roles). Of course for this show there was also a stolen item involved. And like
with the first two stories – this is something I’m thinking of developing more
in future drafts and through applying styles – it will weave together onstage
life with what was going on offstage.
IV. Rose – will be focused on the last
performance of Carmen (this year)
which also happened to be my final performance at The Met. (I think because I’m
starting with first performance it’d be nice for it to go full circle.) That’s
a big time leap from III. Chalk but I think I could make it work. It’d
be interesting to explore those last day emotions. The thievery in this will be
a little different, because it was actually a bunch of my friends giving me the
rose petals they’d stolen from the stage.
Now for the prompts…
1: Tony… as an
animal I’d describe him as a bald eagle. Very stern, alert, a little
intimidating. Powerful – he commands the room, not with noise (I’ve rarely
heard him yell) but with presence. Very sharp, sharp eyes that see into your
soul.
2: Being at The
Met for an entire year would be the most awesome thing on the planet in more
ways than one. The idea of living there,
of being able to watch every single show and explore every single room would be…
magical. I think I would definitely learn a lot. But on the flip side, I really
doubt I’d get along with every person on the staff for that long a period of
time. And I’d get used to it after a while… I think what made it all so special
was getting to ditch life once, twice, maybe three times a week to enter that
other world and be a totally different person. It would lose it’s value if I
lived there year-round. But it would still be cool, though I think they’d kick
me out after a week.
3: One moment in
the story… I guess being onstage (as in the second story) and realizing that
Tony is watching me with special focus because it’s my first time and he’s
waiting for me to mess up. It’s a terrifying moment. I look over in the wings
(even though you’re not supposed to) and he’s there staring back at me. So I
quickly look away because I don’t want him to think I’m not paying attention.
And suddenly I’m a million times more self-conscious, making sure that I’m
standing up straight, that I’m cheating out, but most importantly, that I don’t
miss any cues. Because even though the audience won’t notice, he will.
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