The Show Must Go On...

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"The show must go on... The show must go on... The show must go..."

I quietly chant to myself, frantically trying to keep calm. I clutch a tiny, fake flower. One might even say that it was the tiniest flower that they had ever seen. But it serves a great purpose. This tiny flower helps me focus on the good, helps me calm down when in a state of panic, when I don't have this flower, I am nothing but a giant mess of tears and suffering. Without this flower, I would be dead. It's a lot to say about some fake flower crafted from metal, but it's true all the same.

"The show, must, go on..."

"Hey, you go up in five."

"Okay!"

My show director, Henry Confortola, is a middle-aged man with a chiseled jawline and a clean cut beard. He has his black hair cut just short enough to be tucked behind his ears, and his eyes are a deep blue like the ocean. Henry's also been a friend of mine since we were freshmen in high school. But in the workplace, we are simply director and actor.

'Okay... I think I'm ready... No, I am ready. I am Charlie Gordon.'

I prepared myself to take on the role of Charlie Gordon from "Flowers for Algernon". This isn't my first performance of the drama, but I still get nervous from being the main role. It's terrifying, but I head onto the stage anyway, pushing aside all of my insecurities for this show to be perfect.

End of act one... "Flowers for Algernon" so far is cake walk. But the intermission is where things tend to spiral downward for me. I never remember if I've actually gone on the stage, and once intermission ends, and act two begins, all of my fears and anxiety return. When I'm onstage, I become the character I play, and forget who I really am. Even when I'm offstage to wait for the next scene I'm in, I'm not me, I'm the character. And no one talks to me during those moments to do anything, because for one, they know I know what I'm doing, and second of all, I'd be responding as though I am the character. For example, if I am Charlie Gordon, I will respond as such. In the ways that he talks, moves, looks, everything.

"Hey, you're doing great bud. Keep it up."

Henry cheers me up with a goofy smile. I lightly smile back, clutching my tiny flower.

"Thank you Henry."

He smiles again before debriefing the other actors and crew people on what act two has in store. I listen from where I sit, but I'm only half listening. I know what's what, and Henry never deviates from the script nor the original plan, so I really have no need. And besides, I need to focus on breathing, calming down, and getting ready to be Charlie again. By now, Charlie's an intellectual, so it shouldn't be too hard. But towards the end, he reverts back to being mentally challenged, and that's a bit challenging for even me. But hey... I'm an actor, so it really isn't that hard. But I still can't help but be nervous.

After the debriefing, everyone was set loose to do whatever until intermission was over. I was still busy trying to calm down myself. But after another minute or so, my friend, and stage manager, Zacharie Bellerose, walked over to me with two bottles of water, and handed me one.

"You look like you could use a drink."

"Oh, Zacharie. Thanks."

I take the bottle of water and smile at him. He smiles back. Zacharie is pale, tall and skinny, but he's got enough muscle to carry a hundred pounds of weight on his shoulders. He has ginger hair but with some multi-colored streaks and highlights, and his eyes are a pale blue-green with speckles of brown. Him and I were friends since seventh grade, and I'm proud to call him a brother of sorts. The brother I never had.