Starry-Eyed

by Ted Michael

  . . . . .

  Jess hesitated midstep, one foot off the ground. Mia’s you’ll-do-just-fine sneer snaked down inside her, touching the terror she had begun to conquer, taunting it to rise back up through her throat.

  Jess put her foot down. Blue light in, black light out. She hurried to her mark, single white tape strip on the black floor, determined not to lose her nerve. She stood, looking into the audience, still Jess, raw, not yet embodying Lili from Carnival, as the accompanist played the opening notes of “Mira.”

  She sang on cue. Her voice sweet, a bit trembly, but nice. No wrong notes. Her peers sat patiently, waiting to be wowed.

  Note by note, Jess began to fill Lili’s shoes, a girl far from home, wrapping herself in memories of the place where everybody knows her name.

  “You’re fine,” Jess’s thoughts poked through the song, occupying a parallel layer in her brain. “You can do this. You can be Lili.”

  Jess anchored herself in images of Lili’s touchstones, a familiar chair, house, street, just like she had done in her musical theater singing class earlier that week. Her voice lost its tremble, gaining in strength. From Row C center, Dylan smiled. Stella nodded her head in time with the music, unconscious acknowledgment. Jess was on the right track. She gave herself over to the sensation, fed by the growing connection with the audience. She could feel it now: they were seeing Lili/Jess, maybe even just Lili, not Jess as Lili.

  The high note was coming. Jess could picture her sheet music, dark pencil marking where she had time to take a breath. She nailed it, solid, steady. The rest would be cake. She was in the clear.

  Relief washed over her, and she smiled. But in that infinitesimal distraction Lili’s presence peeled away like clothes falling to the floor. She was Jess again.

  Naked.

  Lost.

  Midphrase.

  The accompanist kept vamping, coming back around with musical room for her to jump in, but the words had vanished.

  Jess’s eyes darted around like a pinball in an arcade game, out to the back wall of the theater, down to Dylan gritting his teeth, behind him, to Stella, indecipherably feeding her the next phrase. How could she still not be able to kick this stage fright thing? It was even worse now that she was a senior. People probably had more sympathy for her when she was younger, but to have gotten this far and still freeze up onstage was ridiculous. She felt the eyes of her peers boring into her.

  She turned her head toward the piano looking for a life preserver to be tossed her way as she drowned.

  “I’m sorry. Line?”

  “‘Can you imagine . . . ,’” the accompanist said, giving her the prompt.

  She finished the song, barreling through in a blur. She made no more mistakes, but the moment of connection was gone. She smiled weak, offered a quick obligatory bow, and half walked, half ran off.

  Blinking rapid-fire, Jess tried to trick tears back, wiping the wet away.

  She gathered herself in the wings, then went back to her seat in the audience next to Dylan, who pulled her in with a brotherly arm, whispering, “I’m just glad the dance department doesn’t have to do this every week!”

  Stella leaned forward, her auburn hair falling over her right eye. She squeezed Jess’s shoulder. “You were great. Don’t even worry about it.”

  They watched the rest of the performances in silence.

  . . . . .

  Later that day, Stella and Jess sat at the corner table in the lunchroom, and let the noisy chatter and rush of kids obscure them. Stella was a glass-half-full kind of girl with her own sense of style. She was always there with a look-on-the-bright-side and a practical solution. A musical theater major a year behind Jess, Stella was also a killer pianist and often played accompaniment for her friends. Stella pushed her cat-eye glasses up higher on the bridge of her nose.

  “You really should eat, Jess.”

  “Ugh, I can’t. So close . . . and yet so far. I was almost in the zone and then I choked. Humiliating.”

  “Everybody messes up lyrics, Jess. No big deal.”

  “Yeah, but just when I manage to stop shaking long enough to actually get into a song, I blank on the words?”

  “So what? You nailed it up until then. It was great.”

  “I don’t know, maybe it was a bad omen. That admissions rep from U Michigan will be here in two weeks. You know how I perform that day will decide whether they accept me into their musical theater program and it’s one of my top choices,” Jess said. “I’m never going to get my stage fright under control by then. Maybe I’m just not cut out for this.”

  “Honesty. Finally.”

  Mia.

  Hip shoved out, smirk in tact, curly black hair irritatingly shiny, Mia. The heeled boots she wore every day made her two inches taller and it always took Jess by surprise. Jess still had the mental image of Mia as the petite, perky girl from middle school. She wondered if she still acted like that girl with her new friends, saving the snarky sass just for her.

  “I was getting tired of your If-Only-I Didn’t-Suffer-from-Crippling-Stage-Fright-You-Would-Understand-How-Fabulous-I-Am routine,” Mia continued. “It’s good that you’re facing it. You really just don’t have the chops, do ya Jess?”

  Jess felt the familiar flip-flop of her stomach, bringing back her pre-performance jitters. Her gut grumbled, but she steeled herself.

  “I’m not going to play your little mind games, Mia.”

  Mia pulled at one of her curls and released it. “You don’t need me for mind games. We both know how well you play them all by yourself.” She gave an irritated wave at Jess, dismissing her. “Just stay all tweaked like you are now and that admissions rep will zero in on ME. As it should be.”

  “You are so delusional, Mia,” Stella said. “You seem to be forgetting there are other singers to compete with.”

  Mia laughed hard and sharp. “Yah. Okaay,” she said. Then she spun around on the ball of her shoe and left.

  Stella looked at Jess. “Let’s assume she’s not threatened by me because I’m a junior, shall we? Otherwise, I think she just insulted me.” Stella laughed it off. “But seriously, what is her deal with you?”

  “Long story,” Jess said. “It’s not important.”

  “Clearly, it is.”

  Dylan arrived at the table, balancing a tray with three heaping plates of mashed potatoes while still managing to wave hello to friends on the way.

  “Sorry, no gravy,” he said.

  “What the . . . ,” Stella started.

  Jess shook her head and laughed.

  “I once told him that when I was little, whenever I got depressed I would cheer myself up with a mountain of mashed potatoes and gravy.”

  “No big deal,” Dylan said. “We got lucky. It was meatloaf day.”

  . . . . .

  Jess and Stella unlocked a practice room down the hall from a dance studio where Dylan was stretching at the bar. It was late Saturday morning and City Arts was relatively quiet except for a few small-group ensemble rehearsals going on. Students were allowed limited access to the school on the weekends, ensuring what the faculty called “equal opportunity practicing.”

  “You need a different song,” Stella said.

  “You don’t like ‘Mira’?”

  “It just doesn’t do anything for you. It’s like what Professor Langdon always asks us: How are YOU connected to the song? Why did you choose it?”

  Jess shrugged. “Ugh, I don’t know. I ran out of ideas?”

  “Lame,” Stella said.

  “I know. So what should I sing about?”

  “Why are you asking me?” Stella said. “You have to pick something you can emotionally connect to.”

  “Okay, now you sound exactly like Langdon!” Jess said. “I don’t know. Maybe I should pick a song about being afraid or overcoming fear or something.”

  “Yes, that’s perfect! How about ‘I Have Confidence’ from The Sound of Music?” Stella asked.

  “Now who’s lame?
”

  They laughed.

  “‘I Whistle a Happy Tune’?”

  Jess picked up a pink eraser from the music stand and chucked it at her.

  “Hey!”

  “What’s going on in here?” Dylan poked his head in the door, little white towel slung around his neck. He wiped his damp forehead and tousled his hair, wet with sweat. He was wearing dark gray hip-hop pants and black plaid high-tops. The whole look screamed “I just finished a kick-ass dance routine.”

  “We’re trying to pick a new song for when the admissions rep comes. Something about not being afraid or taking risks,” Jess said.

  Dylan jumped on a pretend broomstick. “‘Defying Gravity’?”

  “OVERDONE!” both girls yelled.

  “Hmm, how about ‘Make Them Hear You,’ from Ragtime?” Stella said, twisting her hair up and weaving a pencil through it to keep it out of her way.

  “Too civil rightsy, and it’s a guy’s song,” Jess said.

  “My mom used to calm me down at night with ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone,’” Dylan said.

  “From Carousel? Aside from the dead husband factor, that could work,” Stella said.

  “Nah,” Jess shook her head, “Feels too old.”

  “‘Seize the Day’!” Dylan raised his fist high above his head in a move from Newsies.

  “Yeah, cuz it makes perfect sense for Jess to sing a song performed by a bunch of dancing boys!”

  They were quiet again, thinking.

  “Would it be weird if I was sort of singing to myself, that ‘Nothing’s gonna harm you’ song?” Jess asked. “I mean, I know Tobias sings it to Mrs. Lovett in the show, but I think I could make it work.”

  “Oh my god did you guys see Neil Patrick Harris do that scene?” Dylan said.

  The girls just looked at each other.

  “If you haven’t, there’s a clip on YouTube of him singing ‘Not While I’m Around,’ and he was so incredibly believable as Tobias, you have to watch it. I mean, I know he was playing someone much younger but he really nailed it and . . .”

  “Dylan!” Stella interrupted him. “Focus.”

  “Oh, sorry, yes, sure, Jess, absolutely, that could definitely work.”

  Stella pulled out the Sweeney Todd songbook from the stack and played the song through while Jess sang, letting go in the safety of the tiny room. Singing in workshop class where everyone basically had to be vulnerable, or practicing with close friends wasn’t so scary. It was being in the spotlight, all eyes only on her, that freaked her out. Her voice was haunting, sad, hopeful.

  When it was over, Dylan let out a heavy sigh.

  Stella took her hands off the keys and dabbed the corner of her eye. “Works for me.”

  . . . . .

  Friday came around again, fast. As the City Arts student body shuffled into the theater, Jess checked on her stash of bags. Still there. The janitor must have figured out her little secret and taken pity on her. She reached for one and her stomach flopped, maybe just a knee-jerk response to the bag itself.

  Blue light in, black light out.

  She focused her breath. She slowly put the bag back, unused. At the signal, she walked onstage, took her mark, and began to sing. When she got to the line about demons prowling, Jess clutched her own arms, hugging herself.

  She continued with the lyrics about sending them howling, her voice shaky, but a bit braver; more into the character with every passing note.

  Jess was extremely aware of every sound coming from her, every move, and she wasn’t sure what to do with her arms. She couldn’t keep rubbing them, so she put them down by her sides. She sang well enough but never fully allowed herself to get lost in the music like she had in the practice room. She was overthinking it. She just had to get over this by next week. The weekly performances were one thing, but she only had one shot to prove to that admissions rep U Michigan should take a chance on her.

  Fine described her performance. No mistakes. The song ended. The audience clapped. Dylan cupped his hands around his mouth yelling her name once or twice; she wasn’t really sure in her haze of wanting to get through and get off the stage.

  But Mia, she did notice, as she gave a few limp claps and half a satisfied smile from the front row.

  . . . . .

  Professor Langdon stood between the piano and the circle of chairs occupied by his musical theater singing students. Although they all wanted to impress him, his stance—in jeans and a faded blue Oxford shirt—was casual and calming.

  “Who’s next?”

  Jess pushed her chair back, handed her sheet music to the accompanist, and walked to the front of the room. After the last line, “‘Not while I’m around,’” the music stopped. There was some scattered clapping. Langdon waited.

  “Okay, so how was your work? How did you feel?”

  “Okay.”

  “Just okay?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you want to run it again?” he asked.

  “Sure.”

  She sang, trying to forget about remembering the words, the breath breaks, everything she had practiced. Just letting go. Like a gypsy with a crystal ball, each time she felt herself drift back into uncertainty and lose the thread of her focus, Langdon was there, an improv partner injecting phrases related to the song, timed not to interrupt the flow:

  “Trust me, I won’t let anything hurt you,” or “there are no demons here, kid,” when she got to the prowling lyric.

  She was used to his methods; she’d been in his class twice before. This was how he created a trusting environment—a space performers could experiment in and try different ways to connect to a song. It wasn’t his fault his techniques hadn’t fully worked on her yet.

  The song ended.

  Langdon put his hands in his jean pockets and offered a small smile. “How did it feel this time?”

  “Better.”

  “Better than what?”

  Jess raised her shoulders. “Better than last time?”

  Langdon shook his head, just a little. “But I’m asking you how you feel.”

  Jess didn’t say anything for a couple of seconds.

  “I don’t know,” Jess said.

  He smiled, slow, and nodded. It was a sympathetic smile. Her classmates quietly watched this process take place, all having stood before where she stood now. She wondered what they were really thinking as some smiled in encouragement and others kept an eye on Langdon, waiting to see what he would do next. Sometimes he would invite one of them to join the process as an acting partner, giving the singer someone to sing to; so they all knew to stay attentive and ready.

  Langdon took his hands out of his pockets and used them to talk, as if their movements helped him find the right words. “Look, I get it, the nerves thing is hard. But you have to know what you’re feeling, where you are, who you’re singing to—or we’re just not going to take the ride with you. And Jess?”

  He took a few steps closer, put his hand gently on her shoulder, looked her straight in the eyes, lowered his voice, and said, “You gotta find a way to knock this thing, once and for all, if this is what you really want.”

  It didn’t matter that he said it in front of the whole room. At one point or another he had said something to each of them that hit home. The other kids might not all suffer from stage fright but they were all working on something—every one of them had felt exposed in that room, been pushed out of their comfort zone, nudged, challenged to express something real, and not hide in the character. They all knew exactly how hard it was to be standing where she was standing.

  If can’t do this here, I can’t do it anywhere, she thought.

  Jess’s forehead wrinkled deep, she smashed her lips together, drew in a breath. Langdon smiled the kindest smile, like a father, or really, an uncle: all support; no judgment.

  “So . . . how do you feel?” he repeated his initial question.

  “I feel afraid,” Jess blurted. Do not cry, do not cry, do not cry, her mind ran the ma
ntra.

  “Okay, fine, use that. Don’t fight it, embrace it.”

  Jess’s head bobbed up and down in the tiniest increments, as if the muscles in her neck were convincing her to leap.

  “Okay, again please,” he said to the accompanist.

  Jess sang.

  There were some rough spots, but by the end of the song, she felt better. And that did mean something to her.

  . . . . .

  On Wednesday, Jess stopped by Langdon’s classroom.

  He looked up from whatever he was reading and motioned her in to sit down.

  “I think I want to change my song.”

  “Why?”

  “I think I got what I needed from it, but this one will work better for me.”

  “It’s only two days before the U Michigan guy comes. Are you sure?”

  She handed him the sheet music. His mouth cracked in a tiny grin.

  “Okay, if you think you can pull it off, go for it. I’m around after school for about an hour if you want feedback.”

  Jess worked through the song with Langdon after school, and then Stella met her in the practice rooms.

  “How did it go?” Stella asked.

  “You won’t believe it. He actually said, ‘I’m proud of you, kiddo. You really showed up.’”

  “A compliment from Langdon, whoa. Okay, so let’s hear it.”

  Jess handed Stella her Jason Robert Brown book, Songs for a New World, opened to the right page.

  “Oh, this really is perfect,” Stella said, and began to play for her. Jess flew through the first half, loving every second, feeling sure for the first time in forever.

  As the next section began, Mia flung the practice room door open, looking like she was going to scream at them. But the noise of the door banging against the cinder block wall seemed to snap her out of her fury. Mia brushed off the sleeves of her sweater. She drew a sharp breath in through her nose and laughed a little.

  “Sorry, don’t know my own strength. You sound great, Jess,” she said, spilling sarcasm. “I’m sure everything will be perfect now that you’ve chosen the perfect song.”

  Stella stood up too fast from the bench, and the fall board crashed and closed on the keys. “What is your problem?” she yelled at Mia.