I took a deep breath in. The theater always had a certain smell: wood and paint and paper. But, in the wings, it was different: you could smell the fabric of the curtains and the musk of unkept instruments from the orchestra below, and the emptiness on stage coupled with the energy from the audience was something almost tangible. It brought me back to my theater days when I used to act instead of writing. Albeit, I was in elementary school back then, and only comfortable enough to audition for anything because my step brother ran the elementary acting program back then.
It took the urging of my good friend María, our resident costume designer for this little excuse of a community college, to convince me to actually try out for a role again, and a huge letdown when I only landed the position of understudy. Understudies are never really used, and essentially meant that they still wanted me in the program, but didn't actually have a role that they wanted me to act out. But, thanks to a bad bug making its rounds through the campus, one of our leads, Chet, was unable to perform and it was time for me to fill his shoes.
"Full house out there." I turned around. María.
"What are you doing here?"
She raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean 'what are you doing here?' I'm in costume design. It's my job to be here."
"Yeah, but-" My job is all in the writing. I guess I'd never really been backstage all the much during actual performances and the later rehearsals. It was odd to see her in action instead of watching how the costumes were shaping up somewhere more quiet and laid back while we caught up.
She looked so out of place- in a single snug black outfit with a roll of safety pins at her hip among everyone else's colored gowns and poofy sleeves.
"What, you don't want me here?"
"No, no, it's not that, I'm just..."
"Nervous?" she finished, face softening.
"No. No, of course not."
She gave me a knowing look that told me she clearly didn't buy it. "Anyway, I just came to check your costume. Your costume falling off is one thing you won't have to be nervous about, thankfully."
She circled around me, studying my clothes and checking the tie on my baker's apron. "Chet was a bit bigger than you, but since all of this ties and doesn't have to be sewn to size, I think you're good... for this scene. For the next one, race up to the dressing room so that we can make some last second adjustments."
She stepped back to study her handiwork. "Alright, Sam. You're good to go. Good luck."
"Ahem." I cleared my throat noisily and she turned back.
"Ah, right. Sorry. Break a leg."
And, before I had the chance to respond, places were being called, the curtain was rising, and my attention was being drawn elsewhere.
And it was everything I remembered it to be when I was little- both completely exhilarating and harmonious at the same time. There's something to be said about playing the part of a character whose life is much more exciting than anything you could ever dream of in front of hundreds of critical onlookers. But, it feels right, like you're taking some of that fantasy from that script and not just bringing it to life, but living it yourself. It's... fun, for lack of a better word.
But, just as quickly as my scene began, I found myself back in the wings, having completed my part in the scene.
A younger student I didn't recognize grabbed my arm. "María is waiting for you. She said to hurry," the girl whispered. I had to contain a chuckle. María can be snarky, sure, but I'll never know what she's done to some of these newer students to scare them the way she has. One way or another, it was best not to keep her waiting.
The school was never great to begin with, but was going uphill quickly. Unfortunately, that 'uphill' was not focused on the arts. As the backstage was so small you could barely even call it backstage, the rooms makeup, dress, and half of the production's props was upstairs above the theater, with curtains sliding on tracks in two corners for changing (though most people didn't bother with the curtains) and lit mirrors mounted on the opposite end for makeup.
"Hey!" She smiled as I walked in. "How'd it go?"
I couldn't help the drunken grin that slipped onto my face and was met with a too-hard but well-natured jab to the ribs.
"See? I told you you'd love it, but for years, you just wouldn't listen."
I winced and rubbed my side. "Uh... you're welcome?"
"Anyway, here you are." She handed me several folded pieces of fabric: the costume for the next scene. Each piece was astoundingly thin, save for a leather jacket. I guess that's another place the school decided they could cut the budget.
"Erm. I guess you can step behind one of the curtains to change. Just... let me know when it's okay to look."
"Yeah, sure."
Behind the curtain, I slid off my baker's apron, shirt, and pants, and stepped into the new set of clothes. The clothing pooled around my ankles and waist and covered my wrists. I had to grab the waistband of the pants to keep them from falling down completely. Shit. I knew Chet was a big guy, but he wasn't that much bigger, was he? There was no way anyone, not even María, would be able to fix this in time.
"Ummm, María?"
She poked her head in slowly and peeked one eye open. "That didn't sound like a good 'Ummm María'"
I motioned down to my oversized outfit as best I could without letting anything slip over my shoulders or waist.
She took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. "Okay. Okay, we can work with this."
"We can? How?"
María moved behind me and took a fistful of the shirt's fabric, which she pinned in a giant role.
