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Rated: E · Non-fiction · Hobby/Craft · #855942
Write a narrative of an event that actually happened to you.
My black satin ballet slippers pattered as I ran like a pixie around costume racks and makeup stands littered with eye shadow and blush. The glow of penlights illuminating faces guided my path as I walked lightly to the chapel. “Girls! Annie time!” I shouted, my hands cupped to prevent the sound from going backstage. Emily quickly stopped the Spongebob tape. Eight girls pulled on ripped sweaters and stained aprons.

Quietly each of us tiptoed through the storage area towards the doorway that led backstage. All of us ignored the women changing from peasant skirts of purple, gray, and brown to oversized kids clothes for “Happiness.” They smiled and quickly muttered, “Break a leg,” and eight elementary school aged “orphans” beamed back.

“Remember, you’re to be silent back here,” I whispered to a wave of bobbing heads. Quietly I crept behind partitions to my vantage point. I could peak though a crack the size of my pinky and hear Kevin’s tenor voice clearly. I sat in a chair used for a queen in one scene. It was bigger than a normal chair with a tall wooden back and a star carved into it.

He has such and amazing voice, I thought. My heart swelled and I blinked furiously to hold back the tears coming to my eyes laced with mascara. Kevin displayed so much emotion when he sang it was incredible. Crying would leave me no time to fix my makeup though. No, I’m not going to cry, I told myself. The audience sheltered half eaten pieces of tiramisu, cheesecake, and cookies from the hot raindrops slowly falling. Kevin could cause anyone to live the song vicariously through him.

“Bring him home…” Kevin sang, holding the note as high as the heavens with the voice of its residents. I sighed in contentment and closed my eyes for a second. The audience cheered and clapped, never pausing to calm the stinging in their hands.

Nine girls including myself ran to the other side of the stage behind the curtain. Karli silently picked up a green, brown, and orange woolen afghan off of the prop table. Kevin pulled back the stage right end of the curtain where we stood and left to change his costume, leaving it open for us.

In pitch black silence, the audience too stunned by Kevin to make even the slightest sound, I grabbed my chair from offstage. Each girl ran to center, Karli holding the old blanket and myself the blue seated chair. The lights came up and the audience saw the girls in a semicircle around me and the raised platforms behind us but in front of the taupe curtain. Judy, the director, had me in a holey green sweater, a ratted gray dress, and old fashioned bloomers.

In turn, each of the girls pleaded with me to hurry and be careful as they covered me with the blanket. “You’re gonna get us into trouble!” Emily cried while playing Molly.

“Shut up!” Lindsey said, glaring over my shoulders.

“I’m gonna tell!”

“And I’m going to rearrange your teeth!” Lindsey said, her fist coming dangerously close to Emily’s bonnet. The two were precariously near to each other, leaning over my crouched form. Their fight was stopped by the entrance of Alice who was playing Miss Hannigan.

“What are you all just standing around here for?” she said, pacing in front of the girls who had scurried in front of me to hide me. Alice glared at each of them as she walked along the line of girls. “You’re supposed to clean the kitchen and the bathrooms before lunch! And if you skip the corners, there will be no lunch! And,” she paused , leaving the girls to wait in anxiety, “we’re not having hot mush today,” she finished, a sly drawl in her voice.

“Yay!” the orphans chorused, jumping up and down.

“We’re,” she accentuated, shutting them up, “having cold mush.” Alice smiled like the Wicked Witch of the West. The girls moaned and slumped. Alice quickly yelled a sharp, “What?!”

“We love you Miss Hannigan,” they sand with fake, cheesy smiles.

“Why any kid would want to be an orphan is beyond me!” she exclaimed, her hands flying in the air as she exited.

Bum, bum, bum, bump, went the piano. The girls stomped back into their semicircle around me. We scowled at the audience who was amused to hear that “It’s a Hard Knock Life” right after spilling tears like a full bucket of water that has holes in it.

We sang the song full of attitude and grimaces until my solo. The mood turned more sad and flowing, the lights dimming. Imminent was the harsh, pitiless ending to the song. The piano ended with two more bumps and on the first, the girls posed, slumping on another. On the second, I scowled and thrust my elbow onto my knee, propping up my face painted in foundation a shade darker than my skin.

I panted heavily as the fluorescent lights fell in time. Suddenly in the darkness I was blinded. The bright lights had disappeared and I was immersed in a wave of applause.
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