Cut the Lights

by Karen Krossing

  I tap my pen against my desk and stare out into the empty hallway. My lighting is simple—the lights fade up at curtain rise, dim during the night scenes, go glittery when the Star appears and fade out at the end of the play. The set and props are in place—I have my original sink-and-counter set with a new eighties-style wooden table and chairs. The props are mostly kitchenware I found in the prop room and at thrift stores. For sound, I’m using an instrumental jazz version of “When You Wish Upon a Star” just before curtain rise, and “Billie Jean” each time the Star appears.

  It’s a weird thought, but my job is almost done, since the stage manager calls the cues during the shows. Soon I’ll be watching the performances from the tech booth, hungry for the audience’s applause and worrying about what might go wrong.

  “Briar!” Madame Bouchard shouts. “Avez-vous entendu l’annonce?”

  I jump and drop my pen. She’s halfway up the aisle, staring me down. “Pardon, Madame?” I say with a lousy French accent. Most of the class has turned to watch the showdown.

  Madame Bouchard gestures at the loudspeaker on the wall. “You have been called down to the guidance office.” She speaks with a thick French accent. “Get your books and go. I will expect your conjugation work on my desk by next class.”

  Guidance? What the hell? I can’t be late for my meeting.

  “Oui, Madame.” I pick up my pen, grab my binders and take off.

  The guidance office is on the other side of the school from the cafeteria, where Joseph and George expect to meet me. I’m calculating how long it will take to get there as I hurry into the office to find Principal Racier and Mr. Ty standing with Mica, Clayton, George and Ratna.

  “What’s going on?” I sidle up to Ratna.

  “I have no idea.” She fidgets with the sleeves of her sweater.

  Principal Racier looks official in her black pin-striped jacket and skirt. Mr. Ty’s face is more serious than I’ve ever seen it. My stomach goes fluttery. Is this about Wish Upon a Star? Did George do something crazy again? Where’s Sonata?

  Principal Racier clears her throat. “Sit down, everyone.” She gestures at the seven chairs already arranged around a low table.

  Mr. Ty shuts the door to the hall. Mrs. Maietta, one of the guidance counselors, emerges from her tiny office and leans against the doorframe.

  We single-file around the table, trading questioning looks, and take our seats. Mr. Ty sits next to me. Principal Racier crosses her legs.

  When she speaks, Principal Racier’s voice is solemn. “I’m extremely sorry to tell you that Sonata is currently in the hospital and won’t be returning to school for some time.”

  I’m floored. “What?”

  Ratna goes pale. “She can’t be.”

  “We know this is hard—” Mr. Ty begins.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Mica says.

  “How are we gonna...” Clayton trails off as Principal Racier raises a hand to silence us.

  “The family has given us permission to let you know that she had a breakdown due to stress,” she says. “Her close friends know as well, although we’re not spreading the news to the general population. So, please, no Facebook posts, no tweets.”

  “Oh my god.” My voice cracks. Sonata was that close to the edge? How did I miss it?

  “How could this happen to her?” George asks.

  “Sonata’s so good at everything.” Ratna squeezes my hand.

  “She’s perfect.” Mica has tears in his eyes.

  The bell rings for lunch. Through the door, I can hear the hall filling with people. They’ll be strolling to the cafeteria or rushing out to Bean Me Up like nothing has happened. I blink hard as my vision blurs.

  “It’s a lot to take in.” Mr. Ty pats Mica on the shoulder.

  Principal Racier’s face is grim. “That’s why Mrs. Maietta will be available to you if you need to talk.”

  “I’m here for you any time.” Mrs. Maietta’s tone is soothing.

  “Is this because of the play?” I turn to Mr. Ty, my hand clutching Ratna’s like it will keep me from drowning. Did I push Sonata too far? I should have known. I should have done something.

  “It’s no one’s fault.” Mr. Ty looks each one of us in the eyes. “But we do need to decide what to do about Wish Upon a Star.”

  A wave of despair washes over me. Sonata’s been trouble since I cast her, but as long as she played her role without challenging me too much, I left her alone. What kind of heartless director am I? Why didn’t I pay more attention?

  The answer is horrifying: Because I was too focused on myself.

  “We could withdraw your play from the festival or find a new actor who can learn the lines and blocking in two days,” Mr. Ty continues. “It’s a hard decision either way—one we don’t want to make for you. Continuing the play may be what you need to do, or it may be too difficult.”

  Mica, Clayton, George and Ratna stare at me as if I should have the answer.

  My heart thuds in my chest. I have no idea what to do.

  Thirteen

  An abandoned stage in a darkened drama room. Later that day. One lonely spotlight hits a sink. Another illuminates a wooden kitchen table and chairs.

  Clayton slouches against the stage, ignoring his phone even though it’s bleeping and blinking.

  Mica paces the room, his fleshy arms clamped across his chest.

  George lies on the floor in front of the stage, drumming on his leg with his fingers and staring up into the lighting grid.

  Ratna shivers beside me, even though she’s wearing a thick hoodie and tights.

  I sit front row center in a stackable chair, digging my fingernails into my palms. I’m a director without a female lead. Or maybe I’m not a director at all.

  Principal Racier excused us from afternoon classes, and somehow we all ended up at our set, bathed in semidarkness. We’ve each talked with Mrs. Maietta, one by one, and endured the stares and whispers in the hallways. Mrs. Maietta’s speech felt rehearsed by the time I spoke with her. “A mental breakdown can occur when a person feels overwhelmed, highly anxious or depressed,” she had said, adjusting her bra strap inside her floral dress. “It can be traumatic for everyone involved.”

  No kidding.

  My brain and body are cycling through emotions so quickly, I can’t keep up. I’m selfishly wishing this hadn’t happened right before opening, and I’m horrified that it happened at all. The show must go on, they say, but even when Sonata is in the hospital?

  “Maybe Ratna could play Sonata’s part?” George drums faster.

  I gaze at Ratna. I can’t picture her as Sylvia no matter how hard I try.

  “I wrote the lines, but I don’t have them all memorized.” Ratna rubs her arms as if she’s cold. “Besides, I’m already in a play.”

  “But it’s such a small role. You’re only the bank teller.” As George sits up, his face falls into shadow and his ears glow pink, lit from behind.

  “Small roles matter too.” Ratna frowns. “And Lorna would still have to fill it.”

  “Do you think Lorna knows?” Mica’s eyes are hollow pits.

  I wish I could comfort him somehow, but I can’t even calm myself.

  “Lorna wasn’t in school today. And she rescheduled her tech rehearsal for tomorrow. She knows.” Ratna nods.

  Lorna was right about my play being cursed, I think.

  “Everyone knows. There are a hundred posts on Sonata’s Facebook page.” Clayton takes off his sling and scratches the skin around his cast.

  “What do they say?” George asks.

  “Mostly ‘get better soon’ and ‘we miss you.’ That kind of stuff,” Clayton says.

  “Why do you think this happened?” George bangs his feet against the side of the stage.

  “I heard she was in the psych ward last summer,” Clayton begins.

  “What?” I gape at him. Why didn’t I know this?

  “I don’t want to talk about this.” Mica’s voice has a tremor in it
.

  “Yeah. Sorry.” Clayton picks up his phone and fiddles with it, looking awkward. “It’s just a rumor, anyway.”

  “Which hospital is she at?” I ask.

  “East General. At least, that’s what I heard.” Clayton glances up. “Why? Are you going to visit her?”

  “I should probably—”

  “Can we just decide what to do about the play?” Mica stops in front of me, his face haggard, his bulky shape blocking my view of Clayton.

  “Maybe Briar could play Sylvia,” Ratna suggests. “She knows the lines and the blocking.”

  My stomach twists. “I’m a director, not an actor.” I can’t turn my director frames on myself. “Besides, it’s Sonata’s role.” I sink further into guilt. Did I play a part in Sonata’s breakdown?

  “We can’t find someone else in such a short time,” George says.

  “That’s why we should withdraw from the festival.” The words are out before I can stop them.

  “What?” Ratna jumps up. “But Briar—”

  “Sonata would want us to withdraw.” Mica’s lip trembles.

  Clayton snorts. “How would you know? No one gets what’s going on with Sonata or we would have seen this coming.”

  Mica looks offended, but I have to agree with Clayton.

  “I say we do the show with Briar as Sylvia,” George says.

  “That’s two of us!” Ratna’s face brightens, but her eyebrows are still bunched. “Wouldn’t Sonata want the show to go on? She put a ton of work into it.”

  “Without her?” Mica shakes his head.

  They argue the options, over and over. I stare down at my hands, gripping the sides of the chair. Finally I say, “Shows do get cancelled sometimes. Maybe it’s best.”

  “Exactly,” Mica says.

  “Just sleep on it, Briar,” Ratna begs. “You could play Sylvia, if you—”

  “Ratna, it’s late. Let’s go home.” I stand and pick up my backpack. “George, can you cut the lights?”

  Ratna sighs. George looks like he’s going to speak, and then he walks to the lighting board at the back of the room.

  I take off my glasses and stuff them into my pocket. It’s over. My first directing job.

  The stage lights fade to black.

  Outside Briar’s bungalow. Early evening. The front door is halfway open. Loud voices can be heard coming from inside the house.

  I want to retreat to my bed. Curl up and pull the blankets over my head. But Darla and Mom are blocking the front hall, shouting.

  “How could you lose another job?” Mom’s face is red, and her freshly dyed hair is a mess. “When are you going to grow up?”

  “It’s not my fault!” Darla’s beaded hair swings back and forth as she waves her arms. “The management at Finders Keepers is prehistoric.”

  Neither has noticed me. I hesitate on the front step. Do they have to fight today?

  “What did you do, Darla?” Spit flies from Mom’s lips. “Come in late too many times? Leave for lunch and skip the rest of the afternoon?”

  “I come to my only sister when I need help, and this is what you say? I’m only asking to move back in for a couple of weeks.”

  “It’s never just a couple of weeks!”

  I step inside. “Mom! Darla!” I had planned to yell—make them shut up for once—but my voice comes out in a whimper.

  They both turn to me.

  My legs begin to shake. I grab onto the coat stand to steady myself.

  “What’s wrong?” Darla takes my backpack.

  “Sonata...” I can barely whisper. “One of my actors…is in the hospital. She had a breakdown.”

  “Oh, baby.” Mom pulls me against her, and I feel my tears well up. “How can we help?”

  Darla rubs my back. My throat clogs. I have no words.

  Fourteen

  The hospital gift shop. Tuesday morning. A florist’s fridge filled with bouquets of sweet-scented flowers. A rack of cheerful greeting cards. Shelves of cheap candies and plush toys.

  The shop is deserted, except for a twenty-something woman behind the counter, flipping through a magazine and looking bored.

  Mom and Dad dropped me off fifteen minutes ago, and I’ve circled the small shop twice, searching for some token to bring Sonata. As I stare at the shelves of stuffed rabbits, bears and monkeys, I can’t fathom which one Sonata might like. As a director, you’re supposed to understand every character in your play. It’s harder still to understand your actors.

  What pushed Sonata over the edge? Did she suffer some sort of trauma? Was she really in the psych ward last summer? What exactly is a breakdown, anyway? I have a million questions, and no right to ask them. But I’m going to see her anyhow.

  I’m more than a little nervous about visiting the fourth floor—the psych ward—even though I phoned Sonata’s mother last night to ask if it was okay to visit, and she told me what to expect. Calling Sonata’s place was Mom’s idea. Dad gave me money to buy Sonata a gift. Darla taught me a Reiki healing treatment to use on her, as if I’d really attempt it. At least Darla and my parents have stopped fighting for now, but with Darla moving back in, it won’t last long.

  I pick up a plush hedgehog that catches my eye. A white underbelly, soft fur on its back and adorable oversized eyes. Comfort Creature, the tag reads. An emotional support animal with healing warmth and aromatherapy. Apparently you can heat the hedgehog in the microwave and insert a pouch of lavender in its back.

  I check out a few other animals, but when I find myself cuddling the hedgehog, I figure it’ll do. Maybe I need an emotional support animal too.

  I buy it and head to an elevator before I can change my mind about visiting. Today, I feel bruised. I’ve hardly slept. Every muscle aches. I’d rather be anywhere else.

  I step into the elevator, hugging the hedgehog on the ride up.

  I’m surprised that the fourth floor looks so ordinary—a nurses’ station, wide hallways, open doors into patients’ rooms. The lighting is fluorescent—glaring and too white. I consider how I’d light it for the stage, and then remember my glasses are at home. It’s not like I need them anymore.

  “May I help you?” A nurse with red hair and a purple uniform greets me.

  “I’m...uh...” I fight an urge to flee—maybe this is a mistake. “I’m here to see Sonata Lopez.”

  “Sonata?” She tilts her head. “Oh, you mean Sarah. You must be Briar. Sarah’s mother told us you’d be coming.”

  “Uh, yeah.” I drop my backpack beside the desk. “I know I can’t take this in, but is the hedgehog okay?”

  She smiles. “Yes, although the hospital has a scent-free policy, so Sarah won’t be able to use the aromatherapy until she goes home.”

  My face gets hot—I should have thought of that. Why do they even sell them in the gift shop?

  “Please keep your visit to fifteen minutes.” She has me sign the visitors’ log. “Sarah’s in room four twelve. I’ll show you the way.” She takes off down the hall, rubber shoes squeaking.

  I resist peering into the open rooms as we pass, partly because I’m afraid of what I might see. When I do catch a glimpse of a patient in a doorway, it’s a middle-aged man with bed head and a cheerless expression. I can’t help wondering why he’s here.

  My pulse quickens as I near room four twelve. I don’t know what to expect, even though her mother said that Sonata would want to see me, that she was upset about abandoning our play.

  “Sarah, your visitor’s here.” The nurse raps on the open door before turning on her heel and heading back the way we came.

  I hesitate—last chance to run for it—before entering the room, expecting to hear Sonata scolding the nurse for calling her Sarah.

  But Sonata is hardly herself. Her face is gray, her hair is stringy, and she’s wearing a ratty T-shirt and sweatpants. She sits in a chair near the window, with a box of tissues on her lap.

  “Where are your glasses?” she asks.

  “I’m...uh...not here
as director.” I squeeze the hedgehog.

  “Oh.” She stares blankly at me, as if it takes effort to concentrate or even care.

  It’s profoundly disturbing—the Sonata I know has vanished.

  “I brought you this.” I hold out the hedgehog, which seems ridiculous now.

  “Thanks.” Sonata takes it, gazes at it for a moment and then drops it in her lap.

  On a nearby table there are several plants and a bouquet of yellow carnations with a florist card signed by Lorna. Sonata’s bed is unmade, and the second bed isn’t occupied. A stack of books sits on Sonata’s side table. There’s no TV in the room.

  I clear my throat, aware of the murmur of people talking in the room across the hall. Sonata’s room smells like antiseptic and questionable food from her leftover breakfast tray.

  “How’s the food?” I say, not sure how to start.

  Sonata just shrugs. “I’ve eaten better.”

  I try to remember what I wanted to say, but it’s abandoned me.

  Sonata’s hair falls across her face as her fingers creep up to probe her temples.

  I try again. “I’m sorry this happened to you.”

  “I’m sorry I ruined the play.” Tears well in Sonata’s eyes and trickle down her cheeks.

  I suck in a breath, horrified. I made her cry. Now what do I do?

  “It’s not your fault.” I stumble over my words. “I should have noticed what was happening. I should have helped—”

  “This has nothing to do with you, Briar.” Her voice wavers.

  “It doesn’t?”

  “No. I...” She takes in a deep breath as the tears well up again. “It’s been building for a while. The pressure to do well in my courses, the commercials I’ve been shooting, the performances at school, the university auditions and applications. When I got a letter on Friday saying that I didn’t get into the National Theatre School, I just...wanted to stop trying.”

  “Sonata, you didn’t...” I shiver, unable to finish my thought. I have no right to ask.

  She stares down at her hands. “No, but I had a bottle of pills.” Her voice is hollow.