Julia's Dream

Waiting in the wings, she almost fainted. She wasn’t up next, but she would be soon. Too soon. One act stood between her and the stage. There were three of them–a mother, a father, and a daughter dressed in dance attire.

The mother wore a skimpy pink and black leotard with a flamboyant skirt attached to one side, made of lace and sequins. The father was dressed in a black, Fred Astaire-like jacket, a white formal shirt, and a top hat. The girl, about three, donned a short pink and black tutu. All had matching shiny black tap shoes. The mother tried to calm the girl as she practiced her routine, chattering constantly, “Sh, sh, not so loud, we have to wait our turn.”

“But why is it taking so long?” the little one whined.

While mom covered the girl’s mouth, whispering, “Sh, sh,” the father reached into his pocket, pulled out something, unwrapped it, and stuck a lollipop into the toddler’s mouth.

Once the trio took their place on stage, the jitters hit Julia. Slam–it felt like she’d been hit by a semi full of monkeys that kept jumping on her back, bulldozing into her stomach. Her knees grew so wobbly, she had to lean against the wall. I don’t think I can do this. I wonder if it’s too late to change my mind?

Thankfully, someone noticed and slid a folding metal chair under her. A woman, out of nowhere, walked over to Julia. She smiled and whispered, “Sit. It’ll help.” Julia sat. Manicured nails attached to long, slender fingers placed a glass of water in her hand, closing her fingers around it. “Here, sweetie. Drink this. First time?” the voice attached to the hand asked.

Looking up, Julia nodded. Taking a deep breath, she drank, welcoming the cool liquid sliding down her throat. Smiling up at the woman, Julia whispered, “Thank you, I’ve never done this before.”

“I can tell. I’m Angela. It’s my job to calm down newbies.” Angela crouched down beside Julia, who sat, beads of sweat forming on her forehead.

Julia heard fingers snapping. A soft cloth appeared out of nowhere. Someone patted it over her wet forehead. Another applied perfumed powder with a giant pink sponge.

Julia watched as the trio finished their routine. She heard the applause. She knew she was next. The water she’d drunk sat in the bottom of her stomach like a pool of lava, ready to erupt.

Angela, still crouching beside her, reached out and laid a gentle hand on her knee. “It’s going to be just fine, honey. Look at me, don’t look out there,” she whispered.

Julia turned and looked into the most beautiful blue eyes she’d ever seen. She forgot about everything except the beauty of those eyes. It was like staring into the calmest, most dazzling pool of blue liquid that ever existed. And she smiled.

“Take deep breaths. Keep looking at me and breathe. Don’t think of anything except looking at me and breathing. Everything’s going to be fine. You wouldn’t be here unless you had talent,” Angela said, with the most soothing voice Julia had ever heard.

Julia did as she was told. She smiled at her new friend, her heavenly blue eyes. She’s right, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have a chance.

Julia’s name was called. Angela helped her stand, straightened her dress, and patted her hand. Then hugged her, turned her around, and gently pushed her onto the stage.

Julia shielded her eyes from the glare. The lights were blinding. She took small steps toward a microphone that someone had placed in the middle of the stage. “Go on. A little faster,” Angela whispered loudly. “You got this, girl.”

Upon reaching the microphone, Julia grabbed it and hung on. Her hands clutched the microphone stand until her fingers ached. She stood tall and smiled, just as she’d been coached, how she’d practiced a thousand times.

Bending her head slightly, she spoke into the microphone. “Hello, my name is Julia–Julia Crawford.” She jumped slightly, hearing her voice boom out into the atmosphere.

She looked over her shoulder into the wings and saw Angela smiling, her hands stretched out, thumbs up. Julia smiled back weakly.

Someone from the judges’ table, positioned in front of and slightly below her, asked a question. “What will you be doing for us today, Julia Cawford?”

“I…I… I’m going to sing a song.” She heard a voice say.

“It’s an original,” she added. “I…I…um wrote it myself.”

A light murmur of laughter was followed by someone speaking into a microphone. “That’s what an original means, sweetheart,” it said, booming out over her, the other judges, and the audience.

More laughter. She felt her face turn red. She heard her heart beating in her ears. How stupid. Why did I say that?

Another judge spoke, a female. It was softer, gentler, more reassuring. “Don’t worry. He only said that because it’s his job to make people laugh. Don’t take it personally,” the judge said.

“Are you ready? Another faceless voice boomed.

Julia clutched the microphone tightly until her knuckles turned white. She nodded. Music started playing in the background. Her music. This was it. This was really happening.

Julia remembered Charlie’s words the night before. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Just do your best. Your best is all you can do. I wish I could be there cheering you on, but I can’t–I have to work. I’ll be thinking of you, though, and sending good vibes your way.” He’d said.

Julia smiled. Closed her eyes. Then opened her mouth wide. Tried to sing. Something was wrong. Her throat was dry. The words came out crackling. Tears formed at the corners of her eyes. Julia bit her lip, trying not to cry.

One of the judges stood up. “Someone bring her some water,” the voice said, gently, fatherly.

A man, a glass of water, and a Kleenex appeared beside her before she had time to turn and run away. She drank a massive gulp of the cool liquid, dabbed her eyes with the tissue, and returned the items to the stranger.

“Take a deep breath and try again,” the fatherly voice said.

Julia cleared her throat, stood tall, and imagined she was alone. Back in her apartment, singing her heart out like she’d done a thousand times before, pretending she was on a stage singing to a vast audience. She closed her eyes lest the spell be broken.

When she’d pushed the last note from her lungs and uttered the last syllable, Julia relaxed her grip on the microphone and opened her eyes. The lights had been dimmed. She could now see the people in front of her. Rows and rows of seats with faces, all staring at her. Then the clapping started.

She stood frozen, looking out over the crowd. Some seated, some standing, clapping. All of them were clapping. Two thousand people, four thousand hands, forty thousand fingers moving through the air, clapping. Huge smiles covered their faces, with four thousand eyes staring at her.

This must be a dream, she thought. I’m going to wake up any second, and it will all be gone. Poof, and I’ll be back in bed, waking up from the most wonderful, incredible dream ever.

She waited patiently. Should she bow? Wave to the crowd? Or stay transfixed, waiting for it to be over, to wake up?

Julia looked down at the judges, standing with their arms over their heads, clapping, smiling, and shaking their heads in disbelief. They were a mere ten feet from where she stood. She was frozen, Unable to move. This has to be a dream.

It was all too dreamlike to be real. She stood there transfixed. Her eyes scanned the audience, starting at the top balcony, then moving slowly and carefully over the entire crowd. A warm glow burned inside her chest. Her smile grew, spreading out until it wouldn’t stretch any further.

Her eyes moved from the audience to the judges. She watched them standing there, some with thumbs up, while others shook their heads in disbelief. She stared at each one in the eye, watching their facial expressions. She’d wowed them. Just like Charlie said she would. He was going to be so proud of her. This has to be a dream. Any second now, I’ll wake up, back in my room.

Gradually, the clapping and whistling slowed and then stopped. The crowd sat back down in their seats.

Then the judges sat back in their judgey seats, still smiling at her. She looked over to the wings. Angela smiled back at her, mouthing–Way to go, girl. Then motioned for her to turn back around.

Julia turned and stood there, transfixed. Waited for the dream to come to a smashing halt. To wake up.

“I’ll start, " boomed a voice from the judges’ table. “That was undeniably the best performance I have ever heard. Ever. I vote yes.”

On it went down the row of judges. All four adored the song she’d written. Loved her voice even more. Each voted yes.

Julia etched every syllable the judges spoke into the ridges of her brain. She paid close attention to every movement they made: how they smiled, shook their heads in disbelief, and turned to each other with awe written on their faces. Nothing escaped her. Julia recorded everything that happened.

She was beside herself. She couldn’t stop laughing or crying. She bent over, hugging herself. She’d done it. All those years of practicing in front of her mirror had paid off. All those long, lonely nights spent trying to find the perfect notes to accompany the right words were worth it. She’d made it.

Maybe it’s not a dream after all. Maybe I’ve really done it. Or, perhaps I’ve died and gone to heaven. That’s it. I’m dead. So, this is what heaven is like–where you get to fulfill your greatest dream, have it all. But if this is what death is, I’ll never be afraid of it again, ever.

Still smiling, Julia turned and began walking off the stage. Angela was trying to convey something to her. “What?” Julia whispered, cupping her ear.

“Bow,” Angela was saying. “Bow. Turn around and bow first.”

Julia turned around, faced the judges and the crowd, and smiled the widest smile possible. Then she lifted her hands in the air, stood as tall as she could on her toes, and bowed. One long, arching bow. Her hands swept the air the entire way down until they brushed her toes. She paused, then slowly stood, turned, and began to walk backstage. Her heart was filled with such pride that Julia feared it might explode.

She stopped halfway between the center of the stage, where she’d sung her heart out, and where she’d last seen Angela. She wasn’t there. The entire backstage was empty. What’s going on?

Panic squeezed her muscles. She couldn’t move. What’s happening? Was I right before? Am I dead? Did I die and go to heaven? Was Angela an Angel?

Her feet became heavy, too heavy to move. When she tried to lift them off the floor, nothing happened. It was as if someone had poured a bucket of glue on the floor while she sang. She grew hot; the room began to spin. Frantically, she searched for the chair where she’d sat waiting for her turn on stage. “Help, help,” she tried to scream, but her voice wouldn’t work. All that came out was a feeble, “hel…hel…”

“Julia, Julia,” a voice rang out. “Julia, honey.” It was Charlie’s voice. Did he make it here after all? Julia tried to turn but couldn’t. Something was wrapped around her, pinning her arms to her sides. What was going on? She tried to wriggle free from whatever was holding her captive.

Someone was shaking her. A hand gently pressed down on her shoulder and shook her. “Julia, honey, wake up,” Charlie said. “You’re having a bad dream. It must be jitters before your big performance today.”

Julia sat up, confused. She looked around at her familiar bedroom, over at Charlie lying beside her, a worried look on his face.

Charlie reached over and hugged her. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Just do your best. Your best is all you can do. I wish I could be there cheering you on. I can’t, I have to work, but I’ll be thinking of you and sending good vibes your way.” Charlie said.

Julia shuddered, then took a deep breath. Here we go again, she thought. Then she slipped out of bed, feeling better. Why? She wondered. Then she shrugged. She had no idea why the jitters were gone. Perhaps it was because she’d already won.