Meet Us at the Barre: A Series of SAB Oneshots

thank you, forty five: a speed poem

You sit in your dressing room.
The stagehand's muffled voice comes over the PA
You can't understand her, but you know it's your time call. 
After checking your phone for the time,
You mumble a "Thank you, forty five" 
But it wasn't like she would hear you

What do you do in these next forty five minutes? Maybe you'll warm up in your dressing room, or straighten our your eyeliner because the left wing is at a slightly different angle. 

Or maybe you'll visit the cast, tell your pas partner "merde" or pop some painkillers to dull out that twinge in your back. 

You could go find the artistic director to tell him that he looks dashing in his suit. However, if you do that you know he'll take it as an invitation to kiss you.

You won't necessarily love it, but you won't necessarily hate it. In fact, a kiss would be child's play considering what you did for this role 

After the kiss, you'll convince yourself that it's the adrenaline, or your back, or the new york times critic in the audience making your heart race.

He'll walk away after examining your figure with a knowing glance. You'd been working on that.

As he leaves, you wonder if you go tell your pas partner about the last six months. About how you know your director has Gelsey Kirkland's autobiography and an outdated time magazine on his bedside table. 

The Time is from August 2nd and the biography has a bookmark in the chapter telling about Gelsey's introduction to cocaine.

Do you tell your partner that you know this because you've paged through them with tears streaming down your face all while your director slept soundly beside you. 

But if you tell your partner, who will he tell?? Your role could be revoked and that's why you're doing all this anyways. You couldn't risk that.

But would he help you? Would he deck your director, would he understand why you've been flinching under his hold at rehearsal? 

Will he comfort you after another panic attack? Will you let him know you've been having panic attacks?

Would he convince you to take your director to court? You couldn't testify! You're the one who got yourself into this mess! 

Whatever you were going to do with those forty five minutes doesn't matter. They're gone. The curtain is up. You're still in your dressing room. The woman's voice returns. "Thank you, places!" You call and hurry to the wings.