Stage Fright
Aidan Weeks
Class of 2018
Breathe. I peered out of the side of the tattered, blue curtain and got a glimpse of the
entire 327 children attending Trinity School. Tiny three-year-olds giggled and squealed while
their teachers struggled to keep them seated. Some squirmed free, running around in their
grape juice-stained shirts. The fifth graders chattered to one and another about the show.
“When is it going to start?” “I really hope this doesn’t cut into recess...” Teachers quickly
hushed their classes in hopes that they would actually listen for once.
I sighed and turned back to the stage. It was dim, but I could just see my peers hustling
about, preparing the props, adjusting costumes, and cramming last minute lines into their
brains. Some gave me sympathetic looks, others jealous glares. I got a couple thumbs up
from some girls I never associated with. None of these small gestures could take away my
nervousness. Two minutes left before it all starts.
My little heels clicked up the shaky ladder leading to the prop house. When I first saw
the structure, I froze. There was no way it could hold me and three other students. But, of
course, it did, and I became accustomed during practice to avoid it. It smelled of paint, and
nails poked out in every nook and cranny. Gabrielle gave me a wave because everything we did
could be heard outside. She and I both sank down in the corners, not visible by the window. My
costume fluffed around me and I fiddled with my microphone cord.
As the opening song played and the curtains opened with a loud whoosh, I felt as if
every single set of eyes could see me right through the house. The intro song began to play,
and my classmates hurried about the stage as if they were at a tavern. They began to sing a
sweet melody I had heard many times at rehearsals, each one equal to the next. I mouthed
along to the lyrics to prevent my nerves from getting worse.
The song ended as quickly as it had started, and my song soon was echoing through the
gym. Breathe. I was now Carmen, gypsy without a single care. I stood in the prop house and
perched up at the doorway. The spotlight blinded me, but I kept walking to the stairs. I paused
just as planned. Every single head was turned in my direction. My beginning note approached,
and I found my happy place. I didn’t stop, my voice in harmony with the tune, and I danced
across the stage till the applause ceased and the curtains closed. Great, I thought, only twelve
more scenes to go.
Peace
Pen and Ink
Tom Yao
Class of 2016
12