Anticipation builds as Emma awaits her father’s opening-night performance in a new opera
Theatre
Maple and Marmalade
A loud knock sounded on Violet’s dressing-room door. “Places for Act One!” Violet leapt up from her dressing-table stool, her breath quickening. A little shiver of nervous excitement ran down her spine as she peered into the mirror one last time, checking anxiously to see that her microphone was in place. She didn’t look quite like herself; the reflection staring back at her from inside the frame of lights was not the image of a thirteen-year-old girl but that of a young Civil-War-era woman. What with the stage makeup, full hoop skirt, and her normally loose hair gathered into a stately bun, she scarcely recognized herself. Violet slipped her hand into the hidden pocket in her costume and groped about, closing her fingers around a pebble- like object. It was a small piece of wood, its surface was smooth and soft; the bark had been whittled away. She drew it out of her pocket and gazed at it wistfully, slipping into a reverie. She could remember vividly the day she had received it from her best friend, Thomas. It was an October afternoon; they were sitting on a hill beneath a maple tree, and the ground was carpeted with crimson leaves. It was a favorite spot of theirs, and that day they had both rushed to meet each other there, almost bursting with bottled-up excitement. “I have a secret to tell you!” Violet had gasped, grasping his hand. “I have one, too. An important one. But you tell first,” he insisted. She couldn’t imagine life without him As they settled down on the ground, Thomas pulled his Swiss Army knife out of his pocket, picked up a stick that lay nearby, and began to whittle. Violet smiled as she watched him absentmindedly work away; it was a hobby of his. He was always carving at something during their conversations. The end result was never more than a naked, pointed twig, but Violet found the habit endearing. “Tell away,” he said, looking at her expectantly. Violet leaned forward on her elbows and said in hushed excitement, “You know how I auditioned for the musical Little Women? The cast list came out today. I got my first lead role ever! I’m playing Marmee!” Thomas snickered. “Who on earth is Marmalade?” Violet slapped his knee reproachfully. “Not Marmalade! Marmee! How can you not know who she is? She is the most inspiring character in the history of literature!” Thomas raised his eyebrows, smiling his signature lopsided grin. “She’s the matriarch of the March family in Little Women,” Violet continued to gush enthusiastically, her eyes locked on Thomas’s hands as they continued to shave off slender ribbons of bark, revealing the smooth, creamy wood inside. “When her husband goes away to fight in the Civil War, she’s left to take care of the family herself. She’s so encouraging to me; she’s so strong and good and wise. She is always doing little things for others and guiding those around her. I want to be like her. And I get to play her!” Violet clasped her hands and lapsed into blissful silence. Thomas chuckled at her enthrallment, shaping the twig into a point, like a pencil. “Well then, good for you! I always knew you could do it!” Violet smiled, feeling warm and content inside. “What about you?” she asked Thomas. “You said you had news for me, too.” Thomas cleared his throat a trifle nervously. “Uh, I’m moving.” Violet stopped. “What?” Thomas fixated his gaze on his whittling, somewhat flustered, as he continued to carve away at the stick, which was rapidly decreasing in size. “It’s just been finalized. We’re moving to Oakbridge, two hours away. We leave in about a month.” Violet’s excitement faded away immediately. She didn’t say anything right away, but stared off into the distance, her chin cupped in her hands. She couldn’t imagine life without him. They had been best friends since kindergarten, and he had become like a brother to her. She had so many joyful memories of them together; she remembered him teaching her how to pretend to be shot by Billy the Kid and fall backward off of her tricycle when she was eight. She remembered giving him a lesson on baking snickerdoodles that included Thomas swiping cookies, just out of the oven, off the sheet when she wasn’t looking, and then complaining about his burnt fingers. She remembered how he had been in the audience for every musical she had been in, despite all of her small, unimportant roles, and how she would rush eagerly to the lobby afterwards, where she knew he would be waiting with endless praise and a somewhat painful slap on the shoulder. Violet breathed a shallow, shaky sigh. She had finally landed a lead role, something she had been working for and dreaming about for years, and he wouldn’t be there to see her. Thomas was quiet, too, as he used slow, deliberate strokes towards his thumb to round the edges of the piece of maple. It was hardly more than a pebble by now; the shavings lay in a heap on the grass. Thomas finished, slipping his knife away into his pocket, and examined his work keenly. It was like a wooden jelly bean, with a little dent in the middle. The surface was smooth and somewhat shiny. Thomas rubbed his thumb over it, smiled slightly as if satisfied, and turned it over in his hand, contemplating what to do with it. At a loss for words, he turned to Violet and held it out in his palm. “Want it?” Violet turned it over in her hand, smiling at it in a melancholy way. It was just a small token of their friendship, but it meant a lot to her. She slid it into her pocket, resolving to carry it with her wherever she went when Thomas had gone, like a talisman. * * * Now, as Violet hurried from her dressing room on opening night to take
Parting Is Such Sweet Sorrow
I stare at the flickering candle, the small light throwing echoes onto the flimsy curtain wavering with our movements. That cloth is all that separates us from the audience; they’re out there, waiting, waiting for us. I love focusing, letting the director’s voice flow around me, dropping into my character’s body. There he is! Romeo, staring longingly, lovingly, up at Juliet on her balcony. He doesn’t know she adores him yet. That’s what’s terrific about acting in plays—I know what my character doesn’t yet. “Step toward your character and join hands,” our director, Anne, says. I let my character develop in my mind until his words spring from my mouth as if he’s living inside of me. I’m here to bring Romeo to life in my own world. “Let a line form in your mind and let the character tell you how he would say it. Now come back . . . on the count of six, open your eyes onto the candle,” Anne tells us. The reddish-gold fire shimmers in the dark. The line is there in my head, a gift from Romeo—”O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night like a rich jewel in an Ethiope’s ear. Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear.” Everyone says his or her line in turn: Rachel, the stately prince, with the play’s opening words; Tanya, the boisterous nurse, enjoying a dirty joke; and Sasha, the wise friar, contemplating man and nature. I give extra strength to the lines addressing Romeo and Juliet’s love “OK,” Anne whispers, “you’ve prepared so long for this. You’re going to be awesome—especially since this is the last performance!” The cast mingles, hugging, wishing good luck, and sharing pre-performance nerves. My Juliet, Holly, throws herself into a chair and sighs. “I’m just so sick of Juliet. Anne isn’t letting me do what I want with the character.” I turn to face her. “Holly, don’t say that. I wanted to be Juliet, don’t you remember? I prepared so hard for the tryout—I was miserable when I got immature, rash Romeo instead. At least you got the part you wanted!” I can’t believe I just said that to Holly, one of my best friends in the cast. I hold my breath, waiting for her response, hoping she won’t be mad. But she stares at me and says, “Well, maybe there was a reason I got Juliet and you didn’t. Think about it.” She walks away from me. I collapse into the chair Holly just abandoned. What’s going to happen to the performance? Holly and I need all the chemistry we can muster to make the audience believe in the play’s world. Someone hugs my shoulders. I hope it’s Holly, but it isn’t. A few minutes later, we line up for the march-in. Anne encourages all the cast members, making her way back to tell me I’ll be great. Tears prick at my eyes but I brush them away roughly I know I can’t play this part without my heart in it and without closeness to Holly. The lights dim and the audience’s chatter fades. The actors’ whispers fill the jammed backstage. Tybalt rushes for her forgotten cloak and everyone adjusts hats, swords, vests. I fiddle with my iridescent cloak and the silk ribbons on my velvet tunic as Purcell’s Funeral March for Queen Mary swells. Usually it’s hard not to laugh when everyone starts clapping and whistling as we proceed down the aisle. Tonight, though, it’s easy for me to keep a straight face. The play begins and seems as though it’s on fast-forward. The Montagues and Capulets brawl in the streets, Romeo and his friends sneak into their sworn enemies’ party, Juliet and Romeo are struck by love. Holly and I aren’t acting to our full potential together, and I know it. As the balcony scene begins, I realize what I have to do. I give extra strength to the lines addressing Romeo and Juliet’s love, playing them differently from ever before. As I say, “My life were better ended by their hate than death prorogued, wanting of thy love,” Juliet smiles at Romeo, but I know it’s also Holly smiling at me. The play races on until the “banished” scene. This is the hardest moment for Romeo, finding out he’s exiled from Verona for having murdered Tybalt. Every line slips off my tongue so naturally it’s as if I am Romeo and this banishment is happening to me. I feel everything: his anguish, despair, and guilt. I can’t believe I won’t have a chance to do this again. I stumble offstage afterward, amazed by the beauty of the scene. My friends crush me into a hug, and I realize I’m overwhelmed with love. Love for my friends and their love for me. Romeo and Juliet’s doomed love. And, most surprising and extraordinary to me, my love for Romeo. Hannah Postel, 12Madison, Wisconsin Leigh Marie Marshall, 13San Francisco, California
