In Front of the Crowd

You face the crowd, ready, and sure of yourself. You smile, ready for the spotlight. Ready for the lights to turn on behind you, to reveal you in the middle of the stage. To shower you with sun; exciting and magnificent.

For now, you stand in darkness. There are no lights on in the great hall, only the dim flashes of yellow from backstage that flow beneath the black curtains behind you. The back of your feet shine every one in a while as the curtains continue to shake behind you, allowing small amounts of light to pass through at different points, into the darkness ahead. Little sparkles of light pass through, allowing for a small amount of visibility. Your face is down, and your eyes, almost shut. You do not want to be seen. You are supposed to be a surprise in the play. Your appearance is supposed to be special and unexpected, and the kids behind you, not paying attention, are ruining it because that light keeps passing through. They are revealing that you are there to the audience.

Your fingers tingle. They lay bare at your sides, pressed against your thighs. Your arms are pressed against the sides of your chest. You stand straight, like a pencil. You do not want to move. You do not want to be seen. Not yet. Your shoulders are hunched forward, and your knees do not buckle. You are ready. You know what you are meant to do. You know to stand perfectly still, in the darkness, waiting for your chance to shine. Waiting for the lights to turn on.

This will be your first chance to show the world what you can do. You’ve gone the whole show without being on stage. Without showing your face to the world. But it is finally your chance. It is finally your time.

The stage is set. The audience is there. The lights are ready, and so are you.

The first act passed, and you witnessed it, waiting backstage. You watched as everyone around you ran before the curtains. How they showed off to the world, then walked away, confident and proud. You saw it happen. You were sitting in your chair, admiring them as they walked past you, never even acknowledging you. You smiled politely towards them. You were happy for them… Those other children.

The ones who performed first pushed the curtains out of the way as they finished their number. They walked out of the spotlight like they owned the stage. They made their way past the wires and boxes that were the other children and teachers. People that helped from far away, invisible, and not seeking any reward. Those performers then stepped out of the room. Out of the backstage, walking past those next kids that were waiting for their chance in the spotlight. The ones they were competing against. Then, the performers walked past the kids who sat on chairs, watching their performances in awe, never wanting a spotlight because it was too scary. The performers didn’t glance towards them. They did not acknowledge them. Why would they? The performers don’t care about people who they are not competing against. They only care about being the best. The performers walked out of the room, laughing and enjoying their time, not caring about anyone else.

You were one of the children in the chairs, too scared of the spotlight. You watched as those popular kids enjoyed their lives, not a care in the world. You saw the way they lived. The way they behaved. The way they held themselves. You saw their happiness; their enjoyment. You wanted that. How could you not? But you had no idea how to achieve it. For you, that was a pipe dream. Never even a possibility. Not for someone like you. You could never do something like that. It was not your time.

You’ve never been big. You’ve never been loud. Not popular, or smart, or at all cool. You don’t have friends and you are not in any groups or cliques. You’ve never had a reason to shine. You’ve never had anything to shine for. In fact, you’ve always liked the shadows. The “backstage”, sitting in a chair, alone, as everyone else performed, was applauded, and left, happier and more confident in themselves. So you always stayed where you were, comfortable with yourself. You waited in silence, wanting the show to end. Wanting everyone else’s moments to be over, so you didn’t have to be happy for them anymore.

Before long, the second act started. It was just as exciting and entertaining. Those same performers from the first act went out and were berated with applause just as much. A few new performers came out and enjoyed their spotlight, but still not everyone joined the stage. There were still many students waiting behind the curtain, wanting to be only a few steps forward. Wanting to be in the light. To be showered with words of felicitations.

You were still sitting in your chair, not enjoying the show, but bearing it. There were a few people around you that you recognized. The other loners, sitting in chairs beside you. You saw your teacher, with her hands on the wires that controlled the curtains. She was putting in all her effort to make this show memorable for her students. She worked as hard as she could, alone in the background. You watched as the students whose time it was to perform returned to the stage, eager to show off to their parents.

No.

Not their parents.

They were showing off to their friends around them. These kids were trying to come out on top, no matter the cost. They were fighting each other, needing to be the best, while everyone else watched, thinking nothing of it. The teacher paid no attention. She just saw what she wanted to see. She just watched as all her students enjoyed themselves and put on incredible performances, each one better than the last, because that was what those children were trying to do. The parents, too proud of their children, did not notice the combat on stage to be the best. It was only you that noticed it. Only you that saw those children, being put under far too much pressure by themselves, needing to be the best. They fought for it. Needing that validation, as if it was their birthright.

The children put on an incredible performance, without a doubt, and at the end, the parents cheered loudly. The kids came off the stage, and returned behind the curtain, friends again until their next performance. They were happy, and you watched them all.

You’re still standing on stage, after all that has happened. There is still a third act to get through, and you are standing on the stage, waiting for it. You are ready for your performance.  

You did not know this was going to happen today. It was totally unexpected, but as soon as the curtain closed over the second act, you felt drawn to it. As soon as those lights shut off last, you knew what you needed to do. You needed to shine, because it was your turn. It was finally your time. A few minutes after the second act ended, you stepped onto the stage in complete darkness.  You kept your head down, not wanting to see the crowd yet. Wanting the first time you see them to be at the surprise of seeing you. At the excitement they would feel at your performance. When the lights would turn on and reveal you on stage. You wanted to see that.

So, you wait on stage for those lights you know will come. You wait for someone backstage to notice you. Your teacher. Any of the other students. You want—You need just the tiniest amount of help, just like everyone else got. Just for someone to notice you, and turn the lights one, so that you can perform. So that you can astound the audience. So that you can have your moment.

You don’t dare turn your head, thinking that the slightest movement could ruin the surprise of having someone onstage. You just need to hope that your teacher is there for you. That she is not off celebrating with the other children, congratulating them on a spectacular performance. You just hope that the show is not over yet. That you can still get your chance.

But, the lights above do not turn on.

And the light shining below the curtains does not reveal your position onstage like you thought they would. No one in the crowd shouts, as if they noticed you. No one in the crowd makes a noise.

The audience does not see you.

The other children do not see you.

Your teacher does not see you.

The third act has not started yet and you are standing on the stage, hoping to be a part of it. To be part of the big finale, because you know this is to be your moment.

But maybe not.

It doesn’t seem like your moment, because you are here. You are on the stage. You are ready.

You look out at the audience of parents, teachers, friends, and students, but none of them see you. You stare up, hoping for something. Anything.

But, no.

You do not receive anything. No glances. No glares. As much as you had hoped for something to happen, this is not your time.

This is not your moment.

You’re distraught. You knew—You thought this was your one chance. You thought this was the third act. Your moment.

But sometimes there is no third act to a show. Sometimes, they finish in the second. Sometimes, the parents leave. They pick up their children; performers from before, and go home, happy and proud. Sometimes, the teachers leave when their work is done, not knowing there are still children to be picked up, alone on the stage. Sometimes, the audience empties itself when there is still hope for one more show. Sometimes, one child steps out onto the stage too late, and is left in front of the curtain, standing in the pitch black, in front of an empty audience, unable to move because of how embarrassed they feel from messing up so badly. Thinking that their time would ever come. They are left alone, stranded in the dark, crying of helplessness and solitude. One day, their time might come, but it is not when they thought. It is not now.