Limelight

Golden light bears down harshly on my skin and as the play commences I bleed similar intensity into my act. Emotions coat my words as the script flows from my lips like a loving memory. Each new scene brings me closer to my character until the finale where I am no longer myself. My expressions are genuine, and my eyes bear no betrayal to the person I was before. 

When I become a figment of fiction nothing can free me besides the thunderous applause from my audience. At least what’s what I believed. That delusion snapped at the same time I was ripped back to reality in the middle of a play. 

“I loved you!” A woman declared. It was all a part of the script but under the blinding lights and the tension of a crowd, it caused my heart to stutter. Her heels clicked in rhythm as she stalked closer, their added height made me feel monumentally smaller. “I would’ve given you everything!” She shouted, filling up the theater with every bit of the fire I suddenly lacked. 

“What?” I stage whispered just a hair too soft. My character, a wanderer in the south, was supposed to be surprised but mainly unbothered by her declaration. I tried to mirror this while I pushed down the unease swirling in my gut. I convinced myself it was a product of stress becoming of the large crowd and desperately tried to shift back into normalcy. The woman before me, playing the character Helen, continued her lines, completely oblivious to my turmoil. 

“I loved you from the moment you walked into my salon!” She admitted while throwing her arms out in an exasperated emphasis. “I loved you and you threw it all away!” She accused, lacing her words with such raw emotion that for a moment I was looking at Cathy, the actor, not the salon owner created by an innovative playwright. Logically, I knew it was an act. I’d seen her fall so deep into roles she lost all sense of self as I have done so many times before, but something was different this time. I’d never admit it, but the words she just spoke to me are the ones I’ve been trying to say to her since our first performance. Still, we’ve played lovers before, and she’s read that line millions of times. There’s something about the past tense of the statement that made me so uncomfortable. 

I unintentionally took a step back as I tried to form a reply. Words seemed to scatter about my mind when I imagined the script. As I dumbly opened my mouth with no response the script was all but abandoned. 

               I watched as emotion overtook my coworker as the actor took hold of my hesitance. “I dismissed your sketchy background because I thought you were good. I thought you were the one in a million that, despite your heritage, you made it out. I thought you paved your own path, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. You're nothing more than the dirt where you grew up.” 

               If my heart stuttered before now, it’s all but stopped. I tried to pull myself together for the sake of the play and fall back into the role of a wanderer who wronged the young woman before me. Unfortunately, I couldn’t pull myself from the passion on Cathy’s face. Her words stuck home because they were the exact same as the insecurities I’ve been battling since my childhood. Cathy knew that. I’ve opened myself up to her after all the late-night practices and she’s using it against me. 

A voice in the back of my mind muttered the words I wish I had never heard. That as Cathy leaves the prewritten conversation behind then what she says next can only but how she really feels. I tried to turn down the idea, but the seed was planted. The festering feeling was only cemented by her next words. 

“You could never return my love because you are incapable of it. You can love nothing for you are nothing.” She finished. Cathy came close enough to the clutch the front of my shirt and I could feel her sharp breaths on my skin. I searched her eyes for any hint that my idea was false but the anguish in her eyes was undeniable. The scene was all but derailed so no one could fault me for the wounded noise I made in response. 

               To seal the deal, Cathy gave me a final shove and with the created distance she turned heel and stalked off the stage. My eyes were glued onto her leaving figure, and I gave a futile step towards her but it was too late to fix what was broken. You could never return my love because you are incapable of it. You can love nothing for you are nothing. Cathy’s statement rang in my ears long after she walked backstage. I watched her swivel to look back at me with the other actors congratulating her performance. On her face was a blinding smile that was quickly squashed when she saw my expression. 

               I felt my resolve crack and the tears well up in my eyes. I couldn’t let her see me cry after all she’s done. I only realized my mistake after I turned. Hundreds of eyes gazed up at me as the audience relished in my misery. I had forgotten I was on stage. As the hot tears ran down my cheeks I ran towards the other end of the stage. I could hear the standing ovation as I sprinted out of the theater all together. 

               The exit door slammed against the wall as I left. My tears were washed away as cold rain ran down my face. Undeterred, I stumbled farther as if leaving Cathy behind would stop the pain in my chest. Still, it seemed I could never escape criticism as the storm was now my audience. Thunder cackled at my demise and the rain wept with me. All the while, the frigid air tore me down as I sat down on a curb, letting my cries be lost to the wind. It wouldn’t let up even after another set of feet stood before mine. 

               “West?” Cathy questioned, squatting down to meet me. “Weston, come inside you’re going to catch a cold.” Her concerned hands reached for my shoulder but paused when I flinched back. 

               “It’s not true,” I mumbled.

               “Huh?”

               “It’s- I’m not incapable.”

               “Oh, West,” She whispered, almost too quiet as the wind whipped at our words. “That was never about you. I was Helen, the salon girl. That wasn’t me.” 

               “Liar,” I retorted, “No one can go that far without speaking from the heart.”

               “Maybe, but it was never about you.” 

               “So, it was partially true,” 

               “I was imagining my brother. He- uh he wasn’t very kind to me.” She admitted looking a bit sheepish. 

               “I thought you were going to throttle me, and it wasn’t even me you were thinking of?” I asked, voice shy of pleading. 

               An embarrassed laugh escaped her lips as she replied, “No, that speech wasn’t targeted at you. I got a bit lost in the scene.” Her damp hair fell in front of her face, but I could still see the sincerity in her eyes. “No, you're almost the opposite of my brother. You’re honestly one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. It’s so strange when you act as the wanderer because I’ve hardly ever seen you be cruel like that. I can’t imagine you in that scene because I-” She hesitated and brushed the stray hairs behind her ear. “Because I can only think of you when my character is madly in love.” 

               Not even a hurricane could make me miss those words. Despite the cold, I could feel myself warm up and I was once again left speechless in front of Cathy. She didn’t shy away as I processed what she just said. She simply leaned closer and awaited my reply. 

               Gracefully, she didn’t laugh when I said a shaky “me too.” Instead, she just closed the distance between us, and we sat together as the rain soaked our costumes. The quiet applause of the rain was the greatest I’ve ever heard.