Center Stage

one

5:12 pm

      I had been scrolling through my Twitter feed to pass the time as I sat alone on my front steps. It was unlike Josh to be late for anything, especially performances. It was also out of character for him to make last minute plans, but there I was, waiting. I continued liking and retweeting cringeworthy memes when the nasal car horn abruptly pulled my attention from the phone. Josh's beat-up white sedan sat directly in front of my house.

      "It's about time," I mumbled. It had taken him practically thirty minutes to get here and I lived just over a half mile away. Sliding my phone into my pocket, I jogged towards the vehicle. I was barely strapped in when Josh sped off down the street. "Geez, what's the rush?" I inquired.

He sighed, obviously frustrated. "It starts in ten minutes, Matthew."

"I'm aware, but you're also the one who's late." I laughed.

"Shut up! They'll be ticked if I'm not there; this is the closing night!"

"Dude, the theater isn't that far. We have plenty of time."

"Nine minutes is not 'plenty' by anyone's standards except yours and your standards aren't anything to aspire toward. Also, how many times do I have to ask for you not to call me that? It sounds idiotic."

"Okay, okay. Chill, Josh."

"Sorry, I'm just kind of stressed."

"Really? Huh, didn't notice."

"Oh, piss off." He muttered.

     After seven minutes of near-reckless driving, Josh sloppily parked the car in the small lot on the side of the theater. We both clambered out of the car attempt to not be tardy. I heard Josh grumble about his lousy parking job, but I was too busy running to the entrance to car. To any passerby, we must've looked like absolute morons. Josh was starting line on the lacrosse team, so he obviously possessed greater speed than I did. He zoomed past me, despite my forty-five-second head start.

     As he sprinted into the towering, brick building, I tried to follow as closely behind as I could, taking long, shaky breaths. He showed the tall, blonde woman with our tickets. Her bun was so tight that if she raised her eyebrows so much as one inch, it would plausibly sail across the room. If someone were to be hit in the head with that much hair gel at that high of a speed, it could be lethal. Death by blonde hair and aloe gel.

     A thick yet orderly stack of playbills sat upon her immaculate desk. In an attempt to seem knowledgeable, I plucked on off of the top and quickly trailed Josh through a set of red double doors marked 'Balcony, Rows 1-24.' Holding the playbill sparked the sudden realization that I had no clue who was in this play, much less what it was even about. I figured it'd be wise to sneak a peek at that playbill, so I ignored the short and round manager onstage and flipped open the paper. Hey, cut me some slack! I knew what he was going to say anyway, so there was no real need to listen to the guy babble on about the theater's restrictions.

     'Wolves of Moonlit Shadow, starring Taryn Parker and Brendon McPhee' was printed on the front page of the playbill in a blood red, bold font. Sure, it may have sounded cheesy and predictable, but I was sure that it would be, at most, decent. Josh wouldn't dare waste his precious time on a crappy play. That's for sure. The massive blue curtains were heaved open and a dismal, melancholy orchestra theme softly began to play. I refocused my attention on the stage, which was lined with a thick synthetic fog.