Miss Hamilton tried to assure us that blunders during dress rehearsals were a good thing.
"Let's make all our mistakes these nights and be perfect in front of the audience," she said.
The evening before the play opened. I had a nightmare that I had lost my voice. When I stepped onto the stage. I couldn't make a sound and the whole audience broke into a fit of hysterical laughter. I saw Iris's face burst into a fat, happy smile and Mommy's face streaked with tears. I woke and found my heart was pounding. It seemed impossible to fall back to sleep and that made me even more nervous. If I'm not rested and I'm exhausted. I'll forget lines, moves. everything. When the alarm sounded in the morning, I woke in a panic. My eyes looked bloodshot. I wanted to stay home, but I knew if I didn't attend school, the principal could keep me from performing.
Mommy rose to have breakfast with me and encourage me.
"I know this is a big day for you. You'll be floating, hardly hearing or seeing anything, Cinnamon, but you've just got to stay firm, stay confident. You'll be wonderful," she assured me.
Here she was recently recovered from a terrible emotional crisis in her life giving me comfort and boosting my morale. How I loved her. I thought, and hugged her tightly before I left for school. She was right about the day. It seemed to take forever. I spent most of my class time glancing at the clock, longing for the sound of the bell, hardly hearing the teachers. Thankfully, none had scheduled an exam. In the cafeteria I sat with members of the cast. We had gravitated to each other out of a mutual sense of anxiety, drawing comfort from each of us freely admitting he or she had trouble sleeping the night before, and everyone confessing fear of forgetting lines.
"Don't worry about it." Dell assured us. "When you step onto that stage tonight, you won't remember being afraid and you won't be tired. You'll be so juiced.'"
I didn't see how that was possible. When school finally ended. Miss Hamilton stopped me in the hallway and told me to just go home and rest. We had an early call for makeup and then it would begin. Or end.
At home Mommy had gotten herself back into the flow of activity. She took over preparing our dinner because she wanted to be sure I ate something light. Daddy had promised to get home early. Grandmother Beverly was coming to the play. too. "to see if all this time had been wasted."
Mommy looked so much her old self, hovering around me as I prepared to leave for the school theater. All I could think was if I failed, she might regress. It added to the pressure.
"You'll do fine, honey," she told me as I started down the stairs. "Just being part of something like this is wonderful. You'll see."
We hugged. Daddy was still not home, but he had called to say he was on his way. Miriam Levy, the head of our student makeup crew, was coining by to pick me up. I headed out, looking back once to wave to Mommy in the doorway, and then I released a hot, anxious breath and got into Miriam's car.
There was so much commotion in the makeup room, it was hard to worry. Miss Hamilton was busy with details, putting out small fires. We had no time to talk. Finally, twenty minutes before the opening curtain, she gathered the cast together and gave us her pep talk.
"I want you all to know that I'm proud of you already. In my short life in the theater. I learned that what makes the difference is not perfection, but the ability to deal with imperfection. Mistakes will happen. Expect them, but stay on your feet and react to them so that the audience never knows. Good luck, gang. Thanks for giving me so much of yourselves," she concluded, her eyes fixed solely on me.
We took our positions. Someone cried. "The place is full!"
My heart dipped like a yo-yo in my chest and touched the bottom of my stomach. I thought I would vomit and was happy Mommy had made sure I had a very light dinner. When the curtain opened, there was applause for the set and it began.
Like a baby duckling just realizing it can swim. I glided through the lights. I could feel myself growing stronger, more confident with every successful line delivered. Dell was as strong as ever-- even stronger-- and our performances enhanced each other's. I felt as if I had been on the stage all my life. Maybe it was remembering Mommy and myself in the attic, all those stories we acted, those people I portrayed. Whatever. I didn't miss a word or fail to hit my marks.
When it came time for Dell's and my most dramatic scene, I could sense that the audience was rapt. but I didn't think of them. I thought of who I was in the play and what I was saying and what was happening. How much I wanted the sense of calm and completion my character had at this moment. How brave her love had made her. The sweet tragedy brought tears and when the final curtain closed, the applause was thunderous.
I had avoided looking directly at the audience all evening. The lights had helped block them out, but when we took our curtain calls, and I came out on the stage. I was overwhelmed by the sight of all those people rising to their feet. I glanced at Miss Hamilton. She was glowing so brightly, she looked like a little girl again.
The moment I stepped off the stage, we hugged. "Thank you," I told her.
"No. Cinnamon, thank you. Thank you for being who I thought you were. This is just the beginning for you," she promised.
Afterward, friends and family came backstage. Mommy looked so beautiful and so healthy, my heart burst for joy. Daddy couldn't stop complimenting me and I saw how much he enjoyed the accolades other people were lavishing on him.
"She's a natural."
"What a talented young lady."
"You must be so proud."
In the background, looking overwhelmed herself, stood Grandmother Beverly. She, too, welcomed the praise and was glad to take credit for being a member of my family.
"I knew you would do well, honey," Mommy whispered. "Our spirits assured me.
"And you know what?" she added.
"What?"
"They were here. too. I could hear them clapping for you." We laughed.