Chapter 32
Matt
It’s chaos in the gymnasium on Sunday night as the kids prepare for the big show.
Prepare is probably too generous a word for what’s happening here.
Currently, my young cast members are running, yelling, snacking, vocalizing, and last-minute peeing. My parent volunteers are doing their best to round them up, as we just got word from our eleven-year-old stage manager that it’s five minutes until curtain.
There have been no signs of Penny yet, and I’m starting to worry she’s not coming after all.
Buck up, Barbera.
You have a show to do.
I clap my hands once, and like moths to a flame, the kids gather around me like they always do for our pre- and post-rehearsal ritual. Only rehearsals are over now. Tonight, it’s the real thing.
“Alright, friends,” I address them all with a big voice that sounds way happier than I feel. “It has been such a pleasure building this with you over the past month. I couldn’t be prouder of the amazing work you’ve all done and how much joy and passion you’ve put into this show. So tonight—”
The door to the gymnasium creaks open, and all heads—including mine—turn to see who’s coming in.
“Penny!” the kids all shout.
Penny, my heart says inside my chest.
“Hi, guys!” she says shyly. “Sorry to interrupt, I just wanted to say merde before the show.”
“Merde?” Mikayla’s nose scrunches. “What is merde?”
“Oh, it’s, um—” Penny’s eyes shoot to mine. It’s clear she feels bad for taking the focus away.
“Please,” I say. “Come join the circle. Tell us all what merde is.”
And while you’re at it, tell me what I can do to fix us.
She finds a spot between two fourth graders—far away from me—and says, “Well. In the theater, it’s bad luck to say ‘good luck.’”
“How can it be bad luck to say ‘good luck’?” one of the kids asks.
“I know,” she says. “Kinda silly, right? So theater people usually say ‘break a leg’ instead. But—” she says emphatically, stopping a kid who’s about to say that very phrase.
“In the dance world, where I come from—for obvious reasons—saying…” She mimes breaking a leg.
“…is even worse luck. So we dancers say merde instead.”
“But what does merde mean?” Mikayla asks from across the circle.
“Well…” Penny winces. “It’s French for poop.”
“Poop!” The kids laugh and holler. “Pooooooooooooooooooop!”
“Sorry,” she mouths to me from across the circle when more chaos ensues.
I shake my head, letting her know it’s totally okay. I clap again once, and miraculously, everyone quiets down and regains focus.
The lights in the gymnasium flash, signaling our cue: “It’s showtime.”
“Alright, friends,” I say. “Give it all you got out there tonight, okay? Penny and I are so proud of you. Hands in the center and merde on three?”
The kids look positively giddy at the opportunity to say poop in another language.
All hands go in the center, Penny’s coming in last and landing softly on top of mine.
We take a collective deep breath, everyone shouts, “One…two…three… MERDE!” and disperses, our parent volunteers guiding them toward the backstage area of the auditorium.
“Have a great show, everybody!” I shout as they trail out.
When I turn, Penny is still standing in place.
“Sorry about that.” She winces again. “I wasn’t thinking when I said it.”
“Are you kidding? You gave third graders the opportunity to scream ‘poop’ before they perform. Pretty sure they’re going to have the best show ever. You shook the stage fright right out of them.”
“Alright.” She chuckles.
Man, it’s good to see her smile again.
“That present for me?” I nod toward her oversized purse, where a gift-wrapped box is peeking out slightly.
Her face goes white at that, and she clutches her bag tighter to her side.
Damn. Wrong thing to say, I guess.
“I was kidding, Penny. I don’t expect any—” I clear my throat and gesture in the direction the kids all went. “Shall we?”
“Oh, I bought a ticket, so I’m sitting in the house.”
“You didn’t have to buy a ticket. You’re part of the team. You can watch backstage from the wings with me.”
“I know. But it’s my first baby step getting back into dance and choreography. “So… I kinda want to have the whole experience. You know, watching the lights come up, seeing the kids hit all their formations. Because you know they’re going to hit them this time.”
We laugh. These kids haven’t hit their formations once in all the rehearsals we’ve had, so we both know how little a chance there is that it’ll suddenly happen tonight.
“I totally get it. You should have the whole experience then.”
“Unless you need my help backstage,” she offers.
“Nah,” I wave a hand. “I have more than enough parent helpers back here to keep things in chaotic order. Go. Enjoy.”
She turns to head in the opposite direction.
“And Penny?”
“Yeah?” She stops and looks at me.
There are about a million things I want to say to her right now. But those will have to wait until after the show. So for now I simply say…
“Merde.”
She smiles. “Merde to you too.”
The show happens without a hitch.
Well, that’s not entirely true.
The show certainly happens. But there are hitches a’plenty.
The music stops working at one point, and we have to unplug and replug our speaker system to get things going again.
During the Menorahsaurus battle scene, one kid forgets the rules of stage combat and attacks his castmate too fiercely, almost tumbling into the audience.
During Mikayla’s salty peach fairy dance, she slips and falls, causing a collective gasp from the audience, but like the trooper she is, she gets right back up and continues to thunderous applause.
From where I stand in the wings, I have a decent view of the house.
I’ve searched for Penny in the audience every time things have gone wrong, wanting to see her reaction.
Truthfully—and I’m not proud to admit this, because my attention should be one hundred percent on the kids—I’ve searched for Penny’s reaction every time something’s gone right, too.
Watching her watch the show is a joy I didn’t know I needed. She’s been completely locked in, laughing, smiling, even jumping to her feet at one point for a spontaneous one-woman standing ovation.
But the show is almost over, and her energy has suddenly shifted.
The kids are lined up on stage waiting for their cue to start the very last number. I peek out the curtain, hoping to catch one more moment of Penny enjoying the show.
But instead of staying until the end, celebrating with the kids, and syncing up with me afterward so we can finally talk about us the way we promised each other…
She rises abruptly from her seat.
And she leaves.