November 15th
I took a deep breath in, and held it. In those few seconds, the fears I had been accumulating for the past few weeks came rushing back in, fluttering into my stomach and wrapping around my body, turning me into a trembling wreck. But then I exhaled. They flew away and I opened my eyes, admiring the darkness around me. I twisted and untwisted the strap of my costume, fidgeting to fill the time. It is hard to stand still for so long when you have been anticipating a moment forever. Or I guess, not forever, but in comparison to my eleven years on the earth, it seems like forever.
I was still clutching the sticky note in my hand. I could guess what it would say. I knew it would only make me more nervous, but out of impulse, I unfolded the message from my mother.
Harper-
Are you sure about this? I’ll try to be there but I have a 6:00 call.
.Mom
Letting it drop to the ground, I shoved my way through the rest of my classmates, all nervous and searching for their parents in the audience. Even though I know it is immature to peek out, I did anyways. A bluish glow in the back of the auditorium caught my eye. Sure enough, a middle aged woman was inching out of her seat, apologizing to eager grandparents. She had her screaming phone plastered to her ear, and I could swear she blinked her eyes straight towards me before disappearing into the hallway.
September 23rd
My friend Iris’s mom pulled up to my building after our ride home from school. Before dropping me off, she asked, “All set?”
“Yep! See you tomorrow!” I yelled, already halfway out of the door.
In the elevator, I took out the paper stuffed in my backpack. It read: 5th graders needed for Carboro Middle School production of Annie!
I heard the anticipated ding of the opening doors. I stayed still, my eyes glued to the paper while people shuffled in and out. On my way to the apartment, my key swung around on my stomach, each thump making me feel more grown up. I shoved the door open, and headed straight for the refrigerator. The dreaded muffle of a conference phone call seeped through the walls.
My mom’s voice got louder as she neared the door and she cut in, “sorry, I am going to put you on hold, I need to check on something.” She met my eyes, and I snapped my head back into the fridge. Hesitating, she apologized, “I’ll be back on in a minute.”
That’s what I was to her, a “something”. As I looked into my fridge lined with vegetables and week old coffee mugs, I sighed and took the carrot sticks, eating them straight out of the bag. I could hear my Mom’s feet shuffling through the hallway. In response, my feet inched to the freezer, wishing it would hide my existence.
“You got home early,” she remarked, still looking at her phone.
I replied, trying to sound indifferent, “I did.”
“You ran?”
“Iris’s mom drove us. It’s raining.”
“How sweet of Ms. Goodman to do that,” she told me, managing to fit in a motherly lesson.
I piped in, “That’s what parents do.”
I hoped she was caught off guard, but I couldn’t tell. Her eyes still fixated on her email as she drifted back, “I see… I’m working at home today.”
“I know,” I grunted.
I was watching her feet with laser eyes, willing them to retreat back to her room. I knew I was being annoying. Sometimes that’s all it took to get her out. Finally, I saw her turn and walk away with an aggressive stomp, plugging herself back into the never ending conference call.
I took my face out of the crack in the fridge, and slammed the door closed. The flyer from school was crumpled and worn, but I used the magnets to hang it up on the fridge. I grabbed the last muffin, didn’t get a plate, and ran to my room, flaking off crumbs while I went.
—
At the table, I brought up the confidence to ask my parents about the flyer. I wanted to bring it up when they were distracted; it would be easier to get them to sign it that way.
“Dad?” I asked, sure that he would sign it.
He responded, still reading his magazine, “Harper?”
“School thing. Sign here,” I said, trying to cover the flyer information with my arm.
My mom motioned to my dad to look up from his magazine. After a still and silent pause, she reached across the envelopes piled over her plate. Sighing, she pulled the paper out from under my hand and skimmed the top. I held my breath, and crossed my toes under the table. Finally, she scribbled on the line, sliding it back over to me. I decided it was time for my exit.
From across my bedroom, I could see the photo of my mom and I at my fourth birthday. It is the earliest picture I have with her. She is smiling, hugging me tight, and I was hugging her back. I guess that was before I grew up and gained the ability to articulate my thoughts, before my dad learned to articulate his as well.
Below the picture was an impressive array of sticky notes collected over time, each one with a different reminder. My collection was behind my closet door, hidden from my view, but still, each message seeped into my thoughts, weighing them down. The obsession she had for communication was confusing. Although usually the notes were just little reminders but sometimes they were more than that. In her world, I think humans would never be able to talk. If she had to choose, she would probably never say a word, they never come out meaning exactly what she wants to say. Although I don’t mind having a quiet home, my urge to communicate is suppressed by my spacey dad and absent mom.
I could see the last sliver of light coming out of my parents’ bedroom. A pile of envelopes and checks was stacked on my mom’s bedside table, outrageous compared to my dad’s simple journal and ipod. I heard voices slowly rising and falling in the kitchen, so I resorted to my headphones. An entire disney soundtrack later, I heard the bathroom door close and open, and finally my Mom had gone to her bedroom. I tiptoed into the bathroom only to find another note taped on the mirror.
Harper-
Not so sure about this play. Are you sure you want to be on stage?
It is scary to be in front of so many people . l can call the school to cancel.
.Mom
I deflated. I knew it was her immediate reaction to reply with concern, but my eyes began to burn, and I felt my throat tighten. I ripped it off its place in the mirror. My crestfallen reflection appeared, staring straight at me with empty eyes.
Later that night, I couldn’t stop thinking about the flyer. The bright lights, people clapping, and fancy costumes sounded magical to me. I wasn’t sure if my mom knew what she had told me. The note was now far away in my closet, but it felt ironed into my wishes.
Finally relaxing my body, I let my dream take me to sleep.
September 24th
“Harper! Over here!” Iris shouted.
I realized that she was on the corner, shouting and waving at my absent face. The images of spotlights and curtains dissolved as I ran across the street to meet her.
She spurted out, “So are you doing the show?”
“Sure,” I said, trying to act relaxed. I crunched the fall leaves down with the toe of my mary jane.
In my first class, my teacher, Ms. Manoni, asked us, “Who wants to be in Annie for the middle school performance?”
Iris, among with a few other classmates raised their hands. My hand rose with theirs, and I hoped that no one could see the apprehensive look on my face. I had raised it in an impulsive peer pressure situation; everyone else seemed to be excited, so I was too. After all, my mom wasn’t in control of everything.
My body was still anchored to the carpet, but my mind had drifted far off into a land of pretend. I heard Ms. Manoni’s voice getting louder. Suddenly, I had entered real life and she was looking at me, puzzled.
“Harper,” she started, “are you planning on being in Annie?”
I felt my cheeks flush, and I sputtered, “Pretty sure,” my throat felt clogged, I didn’t know what else to say.
My classmates were looking and I suddenly felt isolated in the middle of the carpet.
Ms Manoni continued, “Well I think you would love it. I remember seeing you recite your poem at the beginning of the year, and I mean… you really shine through on stage.”
I was speechless. She had complimented me, but it was hard to react to when everyone has turned around. I stretched my mouth into a smile, and fidgeted in my spot on the rug. She caught on to my silence, and smiled apologetically. As she went on teaching, my hands continued to shake but I was sitting up straighter, assured of my new found talent.
Although I couldn’t wait to perform, I wondered if the show would live up to my high expectations. Eventually I had given my performance so much thought that I felt like it had already happened. The recurring notes and sidelong glances from my mother managed to draw me back to the unavoidable reality.
Harper-
Out shopping. If the Masons come remember fork on the left – knife on the right.
.Mom
Harper-
Forgot about RSVPing to your classmates party. I need to work in the office some
more so can you go with Iris?
.Mom
Harper-
There was a situation involving off leash pets that I heard about. Don’t go up to pets
off leash. And I packed your lunch today.
.Mom
Harper-
Can you get the creamy peanut butter next time? And I’m worried that you will cross the
wrong street. Look both ways- I guess that’s obvious. Remember: CREAMY PEANUT BUTTER!
.Mom
I flopped on the couch the second I got home from school. As the familiar buzz of a speaker phone call got louder and my mom walked in, I picked up my comics and started to read. I stared at the same image, my eyes focused on the page so that my mom wouldn’t want to engage with me. She probably wouldn’t have asked me about my day regardless. She scribbled on the calendar, and I caught her glancing at me. Finally, she walked off to her room, and her voice muffled. Curious to see what she was writing, I trotted over. My name scrawled in red sharpie caught my eye, and I hesitated.
I felt a rush of excitement, she had marked it on the calendar! I jumped around on our carpet, spun, twirled, and then fell to the ground. As my vision cleared, I stood up and skipped to my room, determined to start practicing my songs.
November 15th
The auditorium door echoed as it closed, and the loud bang made me jump. I could see Iris playing with other, more easy going friends. I had stood in the same corner backstage for at least a half an hour, but when I looked at the stage, the cast had only gotten through the first song.
I took celery sticks out of my lunch box, and ate them, choosing between ruining my costume with colorful food or ruining my taste buds with celery. The crunch of the celery echoed through the wings, and my once innocent snack had turned into a deafening meal. The bubbly feeling I had vanished, replaced with a heavy fear that maybe my mom had been right. Trying to calm myself down, I imagined the applause, but I couldn’t get myself out of the mindset that I would forget something or stumble.
I wanted to go over and join the other girls waiting for their cue, but they were still looking through the curtains and it would be mortifying for a middle schooler to see me breaking the rules.
The squeak of the auditorium door caught my ear, and I made out my mom’s face from across the room. She strolled in and stood in the corner for a while, flipping through her phone. I could see heads turning and looking at her, including my dad’s. It was these little things that always made my dad angry. I could feel the tension building, and I wanted to be able to run over at her and yell. I drifted into my wishes as the soft music took me away.
Maybe she turns it off. Just as my dad gets out of his chair, she realizes her mistake, and puts her phone away. The surrounding people resume watching the show, and my dad sits back down, moving his program off his seat to make room for her. She drifts back into the audience, and smiles at my dad as she silences her phone. The show goes on, and I perform knowing that my parents were watching me.
It felt immature to imagine her actually watching the show, but I couldn’t help it. In my thoughts, she was a considerate and active mother, but on the outside, she seemed apathetic. I stopped resisting my wish, and I let the lights blur and my imaginations return.
When I enter stage, they yell out my name, and cheer for me. Of course, my performance is amazing, and by the time that the production closed, the audience is lead in a standing ovation. Her face beams from the back of the theatre, and later they both come to meet me with flowers and hugs backstage. If only…
As the stage in front of me came back into focus, their voices in my head dissolved.
Feet were shuffling. Costumes scratching. Eyes darting for the right wing.
“Harper!” Ms. Manoni hissed.
I scurried into place. I could feel my weight shifting back from the tips of my toes to my heels, and I wanted the butterflies to fly away with me, up and out. My mind was racing, but from the outside, everything was motionless.
The moment that I had dreamed about night after night was arriving, almost too fast. I wanted so badly to do well, especially since it might be my only chance to try performing.
I began getting desperate, and I wanted nothing else than to see my mom’s face watching me while I performed.
The line was slowly shuffling closer to the stage, and the spotlights shone hard on our suddenly nervous faces. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to go out and face the disappointment that my mom wasn’t there. I could hear the piano chords starting, and I felt a rush of nerves.
Hey, hobo man! Hey, Dapper Dan!
You’ve both got your style
But Brother you’re never fully dressed
Without a smile!
I tried to give my best, most confident grin to Iris, and I took a breath, hoping to release my anxiety.
Suddenly at my cue, my feet pushed me forward and I had crossed the line of tape. Right before the lights blared on my face, I saw a blue light shut off, and I made out my mom as she slid into her seat, front and center. As she leaned back to watch, I took a breath, and belted the lyrics as loud as I could.
—
I ran off the stage and through the wings, out of breath, out of emotion. I stood, with my hands on my knees, trying to remember the thrill of performing. I was interrupted by the chatter that had erupted around me. As my head wandered away from the chaos, my muscles relaxed. The curtains had finally touched each other in the middle of the stage, and the lights had gone down.
Before I knew it, parents, grandparents, friends and strangers were swarming around us, searching for their kids. Almost as if the curtain was thrust open again, all of my anxiety filled up, and I tried to escape. Escape the rush, the people, and escape myself. I wanted to find my parents, but with every intention of stepping forward, I willed myself back, imagining that they might not be there. I wanted to find Iris so that her Mom could take me home. I didn’t want to rely on my parents being there. Acting out of fear, I decided it would be worse to have my excitement to be crushed if they were gone.
Suddenly, a bundle of chrysanthemums was shoved straight into my face. I instantly recognized the sweet smell, the same as the ones my Dad planted in our window box. As I looked up, I met eyes with my mom. I could see the surprise in her face, and I was sure that mine looked just as shocked. She smiled, and handed me the flowers. As I reached, I saw a yellow note stuck into the middle flower.
Wonderful performance. We were rooting for you!
.Mom and Dad
She took my hand and lead me to the door. In my head, I was repeating those words, over and over. We were rooting for you!
Academy of the Heart And Mind 