Anna's 'Memoir' Final Draft....

(Anna, center, in green shawl)

The Untold Stories of Opening Night

 “...Take joy, my King in what You hear; let it be a sweet, sweet sound in Your ears...”  I smiled as I opened my eyes. That song always started off a performance perfectly, especially on Opening Night. It reminded me of the calm before a storm.

     “Places!” Kathryn, our stage manager, called out cheerfully. A round of applause erupted from the cast and crew of Les Misérables. I joined in as loud as possible, trying unsuccessfully to vent my nerves. This was it. The moment we had all waited for. Tonight completed two months of hard work: auditions, callbacks, learning harmonies, mastering all of our stage blocking, and rehearsals. A plethora of rehearsals. Tonight we were actually performing in front of a real audience. It mattered not if we messed up now. No “do-over’s” allowed during shows. No directors telling you to “try that again.” It was now or never, but without the “never” option.

     Desperately needing to walk around and get some fresh air, I made my way out of the stuffy greenroom. I grabbed a drink at the water fountain, fervently trying to repress the queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. My friend, Megan, came up behind me while I drank. Straightening out, I noticed that she had a tense look on her face. She gave me a hug saying encouragingly, “I know you’ll do great.” 

   “Ditto,” I murmured tersely, but with a slight smile. Since we did not need to go on stage for a couple of scenes, we slowly wound our way back to our table. A group of my friends sat at our table, all waiting along with me. Few words left our mouths; they all felt just as edgy and tense as myself. I hummed through my songs, getting all of the notes hammered deeper into my brain. Pathetically, I grabbed my rehearsal notes and started reading through them again, as if cramming before an exam. I realized the fruitlessness of this endeavor; I already knew everything by heart.  I stuffed my papers back into my bags. I need to get my mind off of the show for a bit, I decided. Determined to stop thinking about the performance, I forced myself to count all of the colored blotches on the table; first purple, then orange, blue, green, and finally red. 

   “One scene to go,” Alyssa, one of the girls sitting at the table, announced quietly. “We should probably get backstage.” I nodded silently, stood and followed her out the door. My pulse quickened and the adrenaline started coursing through my veins. Could I really do this? What if I forgot my part? Or fainted? Or vomited on stage? The nerves built up again. My heart thumped more rapidly and burning beads of sweat appeared on my forehead. Stop. A tiny voice in the back of my mind told me. You know your part. Why freak out? You’ve done this before. No need to worry. I bit my lip. At that moment, the trumpets sounded from the auditorium. That did not comfort me. In fact, I actually did feel like vomiting.  The magic calmness of the song we had all sang a short time ago had faded into oblivion, leaving me with my uneasy thoughts.

   When we got to the stage doors, our Jean Valjean, Nathan, could be heard singing his song. It made me feel amazing when I heard him sing. I could experience Valjean’s pain and anger. Those feelings washed over me as I listened, covering my fear, not exactly giving me courage, but dimming my anxiety. We tiptoed backstage, making as little noise as possible, blindly feeling our way through the dark. 

   As Nathan sang his last note, the audience became insane and started clapping and cheering. If it were not for those people out there, we wouldn’t even perform this show. My friends and family sat just beyond the curtain, all lovingly cheering me on. Only they mattered. I could even hear my mom and her one-of-a-kind “whoo-whoop” shouts. I smiled affectionately into the darkness. The familiar introduction to our song began, and finally, it clicked. Why had we worked so hard? Why had we given up two complete months of our lives to this project? We were blessing the audience. Who knows? Maybe someone out there watching the show needed to hear this story about honesty, bravery, and forgiveness. I realized that, even though this was a real performance, it really did not matter if I sang the wrong note, or forgot my lines. Not because we did not have a chance for re-do’s. No. It did not matter because we were there to be a blessing and a light to someone in the dark. But, I reminded myself as I stepped on stage proudly and triumphantly, most of all; we are here to make “a sweet, sweet sound” unto our Lord’s ears.