Snapshots

Positively Magical

I was five and a half years old when I starred in my very first play.

It was a one-person performance. I had written the script myself in big, careful letters in my sticker-covered notebook, and I spent the whole morning memorizing my misspelled lines and stage directions. The minimalist set consisted of a blue blanket suspended over two chairs, and taped to my bedroom wall was a cloud and a flower crudely cut out of construction paper with my safety scissors. This was right before we moved from Florida to Ohio, when I still had my own bedroom with seafoam blue walls and my pet beta fish, Coral.

Mommy helped me move Coral's tank from my nightstand to the floor so she could have a front row seat. My stuffed animals – all eighteen of them – were arranged in neat rows, their beady, button, or plastic eyes watching in anticipation.

Next was my costume. Mommy helped me tie the ribbon on my sparkly blue dress. I did my best at forcing my stubborn red curls into two braids, but the second one got all tangled up and Mommy had to help again. Then she said I could use some of her makeup!

"Let me do it," I begged. "Let me put on my own make up! Please!"

Mommy sighed and handed me a brush. "Knock yourself out, kiddo."

I giggled, but hesitated when I opened her eyeshadow palette, overwhelmed by all the color choices.

Mommy knelt down beside me and pointed at the blue eyeshadow. "This one will enhance the blue in your eyes."

I didn't know what "enhance" meant, but I knew that I was about to feel extra pretty. I did my very best at applying the eyeshadow, although Mommy still had to help me wipe some of the powder off of my cheeks. My fingers and toes tingled with excitement.

"Here's your ticket, ma'am." I placed a handmade ticket into Mommy's hand and ushered her to her seat, right between my stuffed lion and my Beanie Baby blue whale. I took my place beside the door and shut off the light before turning it back on again, signaling that my play was about to begin.

A flutter of anxiety rose in my chest. What if I forgot my lines? What if I tripped? What if Mommy laughed at me?

I shook my head. I couldn't think about that now. It was time to become someone else.

My play began with the tragic story of a young orphan girl named Jenny. She didn't have any friends, so she spent her days by herself, lying in the grass of her favorite meadow and looking at interesting shapes in the clouds.

One day, when Jenny arrived at the meadow, she saw a giant tulip. It was very beautiful, and she decided to make it her friend. But the next day, when she returned to the meadow, the flower was dead. She mourned the loss of her precious tulip friend and decided to try making human friends at the orphanage to take its place.

The play ended with Jenny and a girl named Annie (played by my Raggedy Anne doll) playing in the meadow, making flower crowns and promising to be friends forever.

Raggedy Anne and I bowed. Mommy stood up and clapped. I could see Coral and my stuffed animals clapping and cheering.

"That was an inspired performance," Mommy said. "Positively magical."

I smiled at the feeling growing inside me. It felt like that one time when I put the end of my little blue flashlight in my mouth and turned it on, letting the light float around inside and glow through my cheeks, except this time it felt like the light was glowing through my whole body. It felt warm. It felt good. It felt right.

I resurface that feeling as I stand behind the heavy curtain, waiting to make my entrance as Éponine Thénardier in a local performance of Les Misérables. My first major show. I've been rehearsing for months, but my head is still swarming with worries. What if my voice cracks? What if I forget a line? What if I trip? What if theater critics laugh at me?

Five-and-a-half-year-old me taps my arm. I look down.

"You can't think about that now. It's time to become someone else."

Music. Lights. The light smell of powdered makeup and a full theater. I breathe, and I leave my worries backstage as I enter stage right.

And I, Éponine Thénardier, begin my positively magical performance.