Your body is shaking. You look to
the others backstage; they all have a determined kind of fear in their eyes.
And the ones that don’t, well they’re going to look like deer caught in
headlights as soon as they walk on that stage. The music strikes again. The chorus
files out.
You crouch
down, your feet and ankles throb in your black character shoes. Your husband’s
face is buried in his hands, and he’s hitting himself lightly on the head with
his cane. You try to look him in the eye, but his are closed and he turned away
when you bent over. You put your hand in-between the cane and his head.
He stops
and stares at you. You see that he is beyond embarrassed. You two share a conversation
that is half in whispers and the other half is mouthing the words.
“I screwed
up.” He says, “Stupid, stupid, stupid!” he starts with the cane again. You grab
it again, this time you put your hand over his.
“No one
will notice.”
“But the
line...”
“No one
knows but us.”
You hug
him; he accepts. Standing, you smile. He smiles back and you walk on stage arm
in arm. The audience roars with applause, and you get a standing ovation.
When the
curtain closes, neither of you have to say it, but you both do.
“What an
amazing opening night!”
