Focus on Me

If there was ever a time to be more awkward, now would be that time. I mean like why wouldn’t I trip off the stage break my leg and actually put meaning behind the phrase “Break a leg.” I mean, why not? It’s not like it’s the one time I need to be a graceful giraffe instead of a charging bull.

I peak behind the theatre’s blue curtains (why not blue, when I accidentally cut myself on a prop and bleed everywhere, everyone will know it’s me bleeding over here) and see a crowd of bustling people with no faces. Babies crying, children screaming, I guess a joke is told since an entire section laughs, probably at me peeking behind the stupid blue curtain. I jerk my head back behind the curtain and trip over a potted fern. I kinda just lie there staring at the fern. Tons of serrated plastic leaves poke all around. With my luck when I get up, one will slash me in just the right place and I’ll die. At least then I won’t have to perform and these damn butterflies in my stomach will shut up. I get up and settle down. No cuts.

I glance at the clock. Eleven more minutes to the performance. Fuck, what if I mess up a line and everyone boos and throws tomatoes? Everyone’s stuck backstage getting dressed. Wait. Am I wearing what I need to wear. I grasp the clothes that enwrap my body. Leather, white cotton shirt, jeans, boots. Okay. I let out a sigh of relief. I glance left and see my hair in the mirror. No! I forgot the gel! I quickly run over and squirt the gel into my palms and I try making my hair look like a greasers. Shit does that look okay. I don’t know. It’ll have to be enough.

Nine minutes to show time. What!?! It’s only been a couple of minutes!?! Jeez can I just get this over with, I don’t think my heart can handle much more of this. How does everyone look so confident. I must look a train wreck. I can feel the sweat on the small of my back. I’m shivering, I wish they would turn off the air conditioning. No wait, nevermind, if they did I’d just be a pool on the floor.

Seven more minutes. Anxiety grips my mind and doesn’t let go. Why did I have to try out? Why did I have to accept this role? Oh my gosh, everyone in the entire world can tell I’m nervous, I’m just exuding the smell of anxiety and they’re waiting to tear me apart. Why am I talking to someone. Please mouth stop talking, you’ll tell the stomach to heave. Oh my gosh can you stop talking to me! Please just go away! Let me have an anxiety attack alone please! Thank goodness. Yeah, you better just walk away. Tears, no, go away, you are not welcome. Stop, I told you to stop! Please, just stop!

I walk briskly out of backstage and out into the hallway. Five minutes remain on the clock. I can’t do this, I can’t do this, I can’t do this. Maybe the building will burn down, yeah, the play won’t happen and then I won’t have the feeling to puke. Tears escape the prisons behind my eyes and cascade in waterfalls down my face. I can’t do this, I can’t do this. I slide to the ground, knees against my chest.

“Hey! Brendon!” I look up with surprise to see Anabeth running towards me. Her curly brown hair is pulled back into a messy bun, strands of hair frame her face. Clipboard in hand and black STAGE MANAGER shirt pulled together at the waist with another hair band. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Curtain rises in four minutes.” She looks up from her clipboard and looks at me. No, please don’t, I look like Hell. “Brendon, are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m okay,” I quickly wipe my eyes and fake a smile. “See.”

“No. And don’t try to pull this crap on me. I am your best friend and I can see through all your lies.” She stares at me with concerned eyes.

“Am not!” My voice slightly quivers.

“Don’t make me come over there and beat you up, I know you’re not fine, now spill it.” she comes over and sits down next to me. I lay my head down on her shoulder, cinnamon smell radiates off of her. I immediately feel relaxed (but I still feel the butterflies).

“I’m just so nervous of messing up in front of everyone,” a load comes off my shoulders.

“Why.”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s not like you haven’t performed in front of people before. You’re not this nervous when we do Shakespeare in class.” She looks down at me.

“I know.”

“Then why are you so nervous.”

“I don’t know. I guess it’s now not for fun and there’s lots of people counting on me and I don’t know I’m on a team now.”

“‘I guess’ isn’t enough.”

“Well what do you want me to say?” She shakes her shoulder and I lift my head, she stares me in my eyes.

“Is your Gram coming.”

“What does that have to do with anything?’

“I know how you and your Gram interact. Now, is she coming.”

“Yes…”

“You shouldn’t let her get to you.”

“I know but-”

“But nothing. You are one of the best actors getting on that stage right now. You wanna know why. Because you don’t care, that’s why. You don’t give a shit about what other people say about you and you just continue being you. The only thing standing in your way of giving a good performance is your Gram. Now Brendon Soldatino, when you get up there don’t focus on her, focus on me. I am right here when you need me, when?” She stands up in front of me.

“Always.”

“Always, now get out there and put on the best show you’ve ever done.”

I smile a little. She holds out her hand and helps me up. I look her in the eyes and I see a fire in her eyes. Hmm, I’ve never noticed how golden her irises are.

“Thanks.”

“Welcome, now go!” She shoves me towards the door, everyone’s lined up for scene one. I get in line and look back at her. She gives a slight nod. I walk out onto stage. Focus.