"Words"

Words

Lucinda Heck Sloan

She stood for what seemed hours before the mirror without doing a thing. She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. All she could see what the uvula at the back of her mouth. She thought hers was too big and immediately closed her mouth.

Trying some vocal warmups that she had learned in a theatre class, she hummed, buzzed, and did some tongue twisters. She took deep breaths as she raised her hands above her head and exhaled slowly as she lowered them. These did help her relax, but the tension in her shoulders was like a vise. She did some stretching exercises she had learned at the Y.

Feeling better she went back to the mirror. She closed her eyes and tried to talk. Only gibberish came out. “Come on, grow up, you’re an adult. This is easy.” She sighed and wondered if there was something psychologically wrong with her. “No! Don’t be ridiculous. You said ‘yes’ to this, and now people are depending on you.”

“I’ll get dressed and take my time putting on makeup,” she told herself firmly.  Applying makeup was a kind of ritual for her. As a professional singer, she took her time doing this knowing that the lights could show every flaw. Also, audiences could be brutal. You had to meet their expectations for a classical singer, especially one they considered a diva.  Not too much though you want people to recognize you.” So many women overdo the makeup and then look like a mortician had done it.

She went to the bathroom, sat down in the makeup chair, pulled back her hair and started. After washing her face and putting on her daily routine of serum and lotion, she smoothed on the foundation and messaged her face. It felt good, the muscles around her lips seemed to relax, a smile appeared. Then touch of color on the cheeks, eyeliner but no shadow, some highlighting on the below the eyebrow and below her eyes, and a damask-rose gloss lipstick. Satisfied with the understated look, she went to the closet to get the dress.

It was ivory with navy-blue lace trim around the neckline, the cuffs of the sleeves, and the hem of the dress. The lace also had small yellow flowers attached to it. She really loved the dress and was willing to pay the exorbitant price. She then returned to the mirror in her living room to take a careful look of herself and the image she projected. Immediately she put her fingers over her lips. The action, she knew, was an attempt to stop saying something or letting the words out. But she had to say them. “I won’t cry,” she demanded of herself.

Getting a drink of water and sitting in a chair did not help. The water ‘went down the wrong tract’ and she coughed expelling all the water in a single blast. “I’m glad it was only water. What a horrible stain this would have made on new dress.” She got up and patted the dress with a towel from the bathroom. She sighed deeply, “I do look good, and that should help when in front of the people. I get nerves like this when I perform and after the first note things go fine.”

Pacing around her room, she stopped and tried on her shoes. Her feat had swollen, and they hurt. “I will have to endure it; I don’t have another pair.” She kept them on hoping she would get used to the pain.

It was already 1 pm and she had to leave by 2. She became nauseated and laid down on the bed. “I can do this. I must do this.” Being this nervous was something she had not counted on. She had spoken in front of people many times. “I’ve travelled all over giving lectures, performances  and workshops. My reputation was on the line with those, and I didn’t even break out on a sweat.” With this thought she lifted her right arm checked for perspiration and any odor. No she was fine, but then immediately noticed that her face was moist and her makeup was running. She folded a piece of paper and started to fan herself.

“I will put on some jewelry. My grandmother’s pearls should be great; they are long and elegant.” As she worked to close the clasp the chain broke, and the pearls spilled onto the floor. At this point she began to cry. There was a light knock on the door. “Is everything okay? Do you need any help?”

“No, I am fine. I am forty and should be able to get myself ready. I need to fix my makeup. The eyeliner is too dark, and I put it on too thickly. Be ready in ten.” She suddenly felt too old to be doing this. “It is time to have love in your life beyond the music.” For the longest time music provided her with all the emotions she needed to feel. Every emotion that can possibly be experienced is embedded in music. But this was a false life and there was no risk involved.

They had met backstage after a rehearsal. He was a man’s man; unlike anyone she had ever thought of dating. Putting her hand on his shoulder she asked him if he could turn on some lights so she could find an earing she had dropped. “Of course. And by the way you sound great today. You know I listen every day, so I have a good sense of your voice. You are in fine voice today, fresh and relaxed.” Taken back by his remark she realized he was right. It was a good day for her. She had sung through the scene effortlessly and with a deep understanding of the text she was singing. She was not just going through the steps.

“Thank you! You are very perceptive.”

“I studied music in college. I tried my hand a being an accompanist, but I never found a singer I really liked as a musician or a person. I was too picky my friends told me. I had such strong ideas on how the music should go that I never gave the singer room for their own ideas.”

“So now you work in the nuts-and-bolts area of opera. Do you miss playing?”

“Actually no, I find watching and listening, and of course criticizing, amply fulfilling. The guys back here say I should write a column for a magazine or newspaper. ‘A View from the Rear’ or something like that. I may try my hand at that.”

They talked for a few more minutes and they found her earing. “Would you like to go for coffee or something after the rehearsal and I finish back here?”

Without thinking she said yes. From there it went from a mutual love of music to friendship, and then to love. She answered ‘yes’ immediately when he asked her to move in with him and ‘yes’ to the marriage proposal. So why were these two words ‘I do’ so impossible to say? Like an answer that comes to you in the middle of the night she knew why. This was not an opera where she could walk off stage and leave him on the set. He was a real person with a deep love for her and she was afraid she would not live up to his love. She had watched so many marriages fall apart because they put other things first, were gone from home too much, disagreed on having children, and even jealousy. At this age so much of this was in the past and now she had the opportunity to look forward and focus on all the things she had wished for when on stage. This was real life with risks and of course love.

In the bathroom, with a washcloth, she dabbed her face and reapplied the foundation and rouge. She walked to the mirror but still could not say the words. Opening the door, she saw her family waiting with smiles on their faces. Walking towards them she could hear them saying: “Well its about time!” “You look so beautiful.” “Remember to smile.” “Here are your flowers.” Her father took her arm and led her to the back of the church.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

And then the words “I do,” came with love and confidence from deep within her.