The Brandywine Prophet

5.4 Young Love

“You like country?” she asked, her face lit by the technicolor glow of iPad screen.

“I’m from Memphis!”

“Gross.”

“I’ve got some classical and a little opera if you--”

“Anything with a beat?”

It took a moment of finger poking before Janie found a song that suited her mood, and when she pushed play, the electronic sound of a thousand Sparkle Motion associations hit Chase like a sickness as The Black Eyed Peas punctured the night. He almost asked her to change the song, but then she tilted her head and those moonlit eyes wiped away the bad associations to make room for a new memory; a memory of a cool spring night; of a little boy, a little girl, and a hill on the tip-top of the world. 

(5, 6, 7, 8!)

Janie bit her lower lip. She wrinkled her nose. She turned away. She bolted. Chase followed her at top speed as she ran the perimeter fence with one hand swinging the music and the other flickering the black bars. He felt the cold air whipping down his jacket and lifting bumps from his arms. At this height, they were chasing stars.

Chase grabbed the cramp in his side but kept moving. The theater was on his right, lit with a single mercury-vapor that glimmered blue between the bars of the quivering fence. To his left were the blinking eyes of a thousand sleeping homes with moms and dads and kids that had never experienced this dashing excitement. And in front was Janie, her legs racing along in taupe suede boots and tight cream leggings under a navy, knee-length dress. Her open cardigan flared out behind her and when she glanced back to make sure he wasn’t falling behind, Chase fell in love with her knit beanie--taupe to match the boots--with brown hair cascading straight from the back.

Janie’s hand suddenly clamped around one of the bars, jerking her body to a halt. Chase tried to stop but he was following too closely. They collided, his body fell into hers. She laughed, then wiggled a set of stolen keys from her pocket and unlocked a gate that blended seamlessly with the fence. She stepped through the opening and stopped, blocking Chase's path, then mouthed the lyrics to their song with exaggerated lips.

They ran across the picnic field. They ran through the seats littered with concession debris. Janie zigzagged between rows, then leapt over a seat with nimble dancer legs and Chase kept up. 

Up the stage. Up the stairs. Around the Sparkle Motion set and through the black backstage. Janie reached a metal ladder and asked “Are you brave?” then scampered up those rungs with the awkward grace of a squirrel. Chase followed as quickly as he could, ascending into the darkness with his heart pumping double-time.

The song faded and Chase found himself panting for air on the loading gallery beside the fly system pulleys. Janie was already crawling across the catwalk that extended horizontally across the stage. Chase followed. Cautiously.

Janie’s face didn’t show exhaustion, but her chest heaved in a slow, even rhythm. Their legs dangled forty feet above the performance area. The floor was still speckled with remnants from the awards show; soda tops, discarded ribbons, a broken trophy, bits of torn mesh... about a billion bobby pins. Behind them hung dozens of adjustable lights with colored gels, as well as the rigging for curtains, backdrops and props. In front was the proscenium arch, open curtain, and partial view of the sleeping suburb. 

“We’re supposed to wear a harness up here,” Janie said. “But we’ll be careful.” She gave him back his music player. “Better take it. I’d feel bad if I dropped it.” 

It was hard for Chase to open up in quiet, one-on-one moments like the one he was facing, and the first few minutes on the catwalk consisted of bumbling, one-word answers to Janie’s simple questions about the stage, dance competitions and school. But when his brain relaxed, Chase let go.