I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror. I blew my blond highlights away from my trembling lips. I tracked my shaky blue eyes, hoping the tears would stay at the surface.
Though I mentioned my blue eyes and blond tips, my skin color was the same brown as wet sand. Both sides of my family were black, but my grandmother had given me her crystal blue eyes. After twenty years I was used to them, but they pierced everyone through the heart when they looked at me.
Today was another one of those bad days. Sadness was an old friend of mine, one that came and went.
The bathroom door pushed open and a woman with a dim purple dress came through. Her long nails clutched her phone as she stood at the sink beside me, admiring her face in the mirror.
“Yes Dad, I told you. I made it to Grandson just fine. Everybody’s already gotten into their outfits for the first scene. Are you going to be in the crowd?”
Judging by how wide her smile became, I’m guessing her father said yes.
She cooed. “Oh, I can’t wait to see you and Mom! Don’t embarrass me by clapping in the crowd now. This is a real stage performance and you have to be respectful to everyone else.”
I gritted my teeth. Why couldn’t my parents pretend to care about my acting career? Why couldn’t I celebrate getting the lead role with some supportive friends? Why couldn’t I find somebody to love and be loved by?
A tear fell, and then I wailed, and the dam broke. I fell to the ground, even in my red raggedy dress that was made specifically for the play.
The lady turned to me and curled her upper lip, rushing out of the bathroom.
Ugh. Made sense that she’d be playing my evil step-sister.
I let myself cry for a good minute, wiping the tear on my rag-tag sleeves. Unlike my character, I had no fairy god-mother. No prince to save me. Not even any little mice to chat to.
I looked at my phone. Ten minutes until showtime. I was late to our pre-show meetup!
I scurried down the hall past the production team towards backstage, where the director looked around frantically.
The director lifted her mic from her mouth and scurried over to me, clipboard in hand.
“Cinderella! You’re late! Do you have an idea how many-”
“I’m ready. Where are my props?” I ask, tying on my apron.
“Where you should be!” the director pointed to center-stage. “Hurry up! Curtains lift in five!”
I sped over to my place and grabbed the duster, sniffling as I went. As the music began and the curtains rose, I reminded myself of the important stuff. You are lonely. So what? This is not a tragedy. This is an opportunity. The show must go on.
After two glorious hours, the show was over. The crowd poured outside from the lobby, and after accepting two bouquets from kind audience members, I changed clothes and headed to the parking lot.
When I reached my car I clicked the keys, and an old couple was shuffling by.
I smiled at them, and they returned the gesture.
“It was such a lovely, lovely show,” the old woman started. “The effects, the actors, everything!”
I nodded. “It really was.”
“The little lady who played Cinderella was just phenomenal,” Her husband nodded. “Her tears looked so real… as if she really didn’t have a friend in the world…”
I gave a tight smile. “I know.”
Hey there! I’m Shila! I’ve loved books since I could read, and decided I would write books I wanted to see written for others! Check my children’s book Imagination on Amazon!
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