Dreaded Time

My reflection stares at me in the mirror. Or rather, I stare at it. 

There is absolutely no way I'm going to make it onto that stage. 

My eyes trail up my too long legs, bony hips and flat chest before finally settling on my face. As far as faces go it’s alright I guess. It has been the source of a fair amount of “aww’s” and cheek pulls from relatives over the years, with my small button nose, rosy cheeks and a rounded face surrounded by a slim amount of baby fat. 

I feel my lip curl, wishing I had some make up as I look over the smattering of freckles covering my nose and cheeks. My mum constantly tries to tell me they're adorable and that if I wear any makeup I will look like I'm trying ‘too hard’ and will stand out or something. ‘School is not a runway Lexie’ she’d always say.

I stare into my comically wide green eyes and sigh, she’s wrong. I couldn't possibly stand out from my classmates any more than I already do. Where all the girls in my class have straight silky blonde hair, mine is a thick curly mess, oh yeah and did I forget to mention flaming red! And where they all have small and petite frames, I have legs the length of circus stilts and tower over them at 5’8.

Huffing, I look over at the clock on my nightstand. The performance starts in two hours and if I want to make it on time I have to leave within the next twenty minutes. Reaching over the mess of clothes I made trying to choose my outfit I pick up my stupidly old Nokia cell phone. Going into my quick dial I call my best friend Remmy.

“You are going.” She says as soon as the call connects.

“How did you even know I was contemplating it?” I ask with suspicion underlying my voice.

“Puh-lease”, she scoffs, “I have known you for our entire lives, you are so having doubts.”

I push my thick curls back and stare at the ridiculously frilly pink quilt on my bed. 

“I really don’t want to.” I say in an embarrassingly small voice.

Rem obviously takes pity on my patheticness and I hear her sigh down the phone. 

“It will be fine Lex, you are an incredible singer and I will be there watching you the entire time.” 

“Yeah you and five hundred others.” I oh-so helpfully remind her.

“Is that what you're stuck on?” she asks. “Who cares what they think.”

Easy for her to say, Rem is easily the most outgoing person I know. She exudes confidence and has a detached ‘don’t care’ attitude going on. Which is the complete opposite of me, probably why we’re such great friends, she’s the yin to my yang, the crazy to my normal, we just balance each other out. 

“I-I just don't know about this, what if I forget all the words?” I question, voicing my biggest concern.

Rem barks out a short humorless laugh “Come on Lex, you know you won’t. How many times have you practiced it?” she challenges. 

Picking at the frayed edges of my quilt I mumble a reply. “A couple of times.” I say, knowing she will call me out on my lie. 

This time her laugh is full of amusement. “A couple of times?” She repeats “More like a couple hundred. You have nothing to worry about Lex, I know you’re nervous but you’re going to be great.” This is why I love her, without pause she has an incredible ability to go from teasing me into an attempt to soothe my worries.

Nevertheless, I still feel my stomach churn as I listen to her consoling words. 

After a couple more minutes of her trying to calm me down, Rem ends the call saying that I have to leave now or I won't make it. 

She’s right of course, but the closer it gets to the production the more real it seems, which just seems to boost my already high level of nerves into overdrive. 

Merely thinking back to rehearsals is enough to make me sick. Standing on that wide glossy stage, illuminated by the glowing beam of a singular spotlight. 

My stomach flutters with anxiety as I recall the feeling of being ushered under the blinding glow and heat of those lights above, enough to cause my eyes to squint and make the back of my neck break out into a light sweat. 

I'm so wrapped up in the nightmarish memory that I barely catch my mum's chirpy call from downstairs.

"Lexie! It's time to go!" She sings.

Much to my chagrin, I release an embarrassingly short-winded sigh before I square my shoulders, glance at myself in the mirror one last time, and then force myself to walk downstairs.

While mentally preparing myself on the way I gulp as uneasiness over takes me, I just really hope the night won't end in a colossal disaster.

I somehow end up in the passenger seat of our old silver Sudan, speeding down the long, familiar streets on route to Moorevale High School. 

I hear my mum sigh and look over to see her pulling at the messy bun piled at the top of her head and chewing on her bottom lip, a nervous habit we both share.

“We’re really pushing it, Alexandria.” She voices, using my full name.

Knowing that she is frustrated I decide to stay quiet and instead opt for leaning my head against the car window that sends a shiver down my spine when my flushed cheek hits the cooled glass.

Time seems to be working against me as I soon come to glare at the looming walls of my school when we pull in. The normally half hour trip seemed to go in a blink of an eye and every step we take closer adds another butterfly to the storm churning inside my stomach. 

I blink again and we seem to be backstage surrounded by the hustle and bustle of people coming in and out wheeling clothes, props, and heavy equipment on crates.

My eyes go unfocused and it feels as if my head has been pushed underwater as I become only half aware of my surroundings. My mum's voice is seemingly muffled as she presses her cool lips to my cheek and wishes me luck before disappearing, probably on the way to her seat.

I must look as hopeless as I feel because before long a large, stocky man sporting a thick beard is approaching me, introducing himself as Mr. Hughes. His large hand and sausage like fingers are surprisingly gentle as he guides me towards a place to sit down, an old worn looking stool, where I am to "wait out until it’s my time to shine". 

“Break a leg kiddo.” He mumbles quickly, and I barely have enough time to nod in appreciation as he turns on his heel and briskly walks back the way he came.

Minutes that feel like milliseconds pass of gentle laughter and applause from the audience beyond the curtains. I remain seated on the rickety stool with my knee hammering up and down.

Whilst seriously contemplating the thought of hightailing it out of here I hear my name being called.

“Alexandria Fernsby.” A woman calls, frowning down at her clipboard before looking around the room when no one immediately responds.

Standing on shaky legs, I squeeze out a small smile to her as we make eye contact and she nods, looking down and checking my name off in relief.  

I force one foot in front of the other and make my way to the stage entrance.

Each step seems like a mile and each second now an hour. It's funny how that works, time is just a concept after all but it is an ostensibly changeable one, especially in moments of frozen panic.

I finally reach the edge of the old heavy blue drapes that have been pulled back to the sides of the stage. 

My throat constricts in dread and the strong pressure on my chest I have had since the car seems to get impossible heavier. 

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

I know I’m taking too long as I hear a rustle behind me, and only because I can't stand the thought of some stranger looking at me with pity in their eyes as they try to console me, I step out.

Out into the blinding lights and the hundreds of dauntingly familiar faces.