Between You & Me - By Marisa Calin Page 0,44

take a breath. It’s almost the end of the semester, nearly the holidays, and she’ll be gone. Bittersweet. Maybe I’ll be able to get on with my life.

We have the dress rehearsal tonight. I shall immerse myself in Lily’s life, or try. Seeing you at the top of the auditorium steps brings me quickly back to myself. I watch you focusing a spotlight on the balcony above me, your concentration lapsing into laughter as I notice Kate’s arms wrapped around your knees to keep you stable.

I turn instead and watch the ripples of light dancing on the cyclorama behind me. After a few minutes, a silhouette steps into the picture, a fan of shadows, one strong with fuzzy impersonators from all the lights overhead. I pause, my space shared. Mia?—the shadow of a gesture I’d know anywhere—better, it’s you. I turn. Your hair is still sliding back into place from you running your fingers through it. But you’re not looking at me, you’re gazing up at the balcony. Light spills through the windows, as if we’re outside looking in. A spotlight swings across the stage, catching you in its beam and I look past you to Kate at the lighting rig. You, never in the spotlight, are illuminated by its cool glow. Standing center stage, you bring up your right hand and the spotlight’s focus softens, your shadow fanning out around you. You gesture with the other hand and the auditorium lights go down, leaving us in the dark except for the light from the house and from the balcony, glowing by lantern and moonlight.

Noticing me now as if for the first time you beckon and I follow you up the stairs to the balcony. You set me in place and step back to scrutinize me.

YOU

Bring up the moon!

The cool light brightens, giving the side of your face a bluer hue against the golden glow of the lights from the windows. And then you smile, your green eyes glinting.

YOU

Don’t ever say I didn’t give you the moon.

The people in the theater seem to have thinned out. I can’t see anyone, not even Mia, and it feels as if we’re alone. We stand here in the quiet, your eyes still on me, but the big picture is clearly all you’re thinking about as you disappear abruptly back down the stairs, leaving me alone on the balcony. I squint into the darkness. I can’t see more than a few signs of movement, and I hear you with Kate up at the lighting rig. Then your voice out of the darkness:

YOU

Thanks, Phy.

And that’s it. I stand on the balcony for another moment looking out at nothing. I can still hear your voices, hushed voices that carry like the hiss of a whisper. I know that feeling. I’m jealous. Feeling exposed today for all the wrong reasons, in a shining pool of light that isolates me from everyone else, I head quickly down the stairs and escape behind the curtain into the wings. I pause in the darkness, safe and invisible. I’m not sure how many minutes I’ve stood here when I hear footsteps coming down the aisle toward the stage. There’s a voice. Kate’s:

KATE

… It’s always nice when someone tells you they like you.

I put my face instantly to the gap in the curtain. The stage lights illuminate the space in front of the first row where she’s standing, with you. You like Kate? That’s impossible! She can’t mean you. You would have told me that! But you haven’t. Have you confided in her about someone, and not in me? She swings her hair intimately over her shoulder—no hands, just a swish of her head, which is ridiculous! I fight my childish impulse to jump out and yell aha—the vindictive “I know all your little secrets” kind of yell.

KATE

So, what’s the plan for tonight?

You have a plan for tonight? You’re heading out of my line of sight. There’s nothing I can do without sending a great big ripple down the entire curtain if I touch it. Your voices move toward the door.

YOU

I figured we could celebrate opening night somehow. A good-luck thing. Seems like a decent reason …

I push through the curtain, incredulous that you could do this without me. You both turn. You have your “I’m hiding something” face—I’ve never been on the receiving end of it. I’ve only ever seen it from the corner of my eye when we’re side by side and my expression matches. You’re still looking a little