by Jeff Moberg
***
During the last two weeks before the performance, we spent our afternoons at school rehearsing--and our weekends building and painting the set.
Luke still tried to talk to me.
I still refused.
I would happily talk to Luke when we were on stage and he was Peter and I was Anne. But when we were Luke and Norma L in real life, I wanted nothing to do with him.
But in the back of my mind, I couldn’t stop thinking about and wondering about our kiss the night of the performance.
My BFK.
39
Frozen in Time
Friday, December the 19th finally came. I had rehearsed and practiced and memorized until I thought I would go completely insane. But the transformation was now complete. I was Anne. I thought like Anne, acted like Anne, talked like Anne, and even reacted like Anne. Now I wanted to look like Anne. And that meant having hair like Anne. So I had begged and begged and begged my mom to let me dye my hair dark brown. At first she was adamant. “No way,” she said, shaking her head back and forth like a rag doll. “No way are we going to change your beautiful red hair anymore.” She was still a little upset that I had been using the straightener ever since the ‘Positive Party’. Curly was cute when I was a kid, but now I liked myself better with straight hair. And I had been literally dying to dye my hair for the last year or so. This was my big chance and I knew it.
After I reminded her of all the reading and researching and practicing and memorizing I had done during the last six weeks, she couldn’t possibly hold back the last and final piece of the Anne Frank puzzle. She looked at me and I gave her my best, ‘Please Mom, can I , can I, can I, can I, pleeeeeeeeeeeeeease?’ look. She finally relented and said the two letters I was waiting desperately to hear: “OK.”
When we left for the performance at 5:30 (the play started at 7:00), it had already begun to snow. Well, I thought, this is Colorado, and it’s almost Christmas, so I guess bad weather is always possible. I hoped and prayed that it wouldn’t get too bad at least until the performance was over. My mom had invited everyone she knew within a 100 mile radius. My grandma and grandpa were coming (from my mom’s side), and my other grandma and grandpa (from my dad’s side) were coming, and all of my aunts and uncles, and a few cousins--and even Kletch. The one person who wasn’t able to come was my dad. Unfortunately, he had already made plans a long time ago, and he was in Maui on a vacation with his newer, younger girlfriend, Andrea. My mom was furious. “I’m sorry, honey,” she said with a sad and mad look on her face. “It’s his loss.”
“It’s OK, Mom. I’m used to it. No big deal.”
But I was lying. It was a big deal.
When we got to the school, I was so nervous I thought I was going to drop dead—or at the very least, throw up. Fortunately for me, and the rest of the cast and crew, I didn’t do either. How could I possibly remember all those lines and all that blocking and everything else? Mom noticed. “Honey,” she said calmly. You are going to be wonderful tonight. You’ve worked hard and your hard work will pay off. And you are talented and you look beautiful. Anne would be proud.” I smiled and looked in the vanity mirror on the passenger side of the beige minivan. It was true. I did look sort of beautiful. And I did sort of look like Anne now. And I had worked hard--and I was prepared.
I stepped out and looked up into the quietly beautiful, snowy, night sky. I knew that Anne would be watching me.
