leaked (l.h.)

42

The theatre was filled with a million pairs of eyes. As much as I tried, I could not make out my family, my Luke. The spotlight was just too blinding.

I think it's funny, how fluid my movements are as I move around the stage. As if it's as natural as the breathing that I have to force out of my body. But my heart races in my chest. And as I twirl around, as I am pushed and dragged about stage, I blink and it's halfway over. I blink... and I'm back at the couch. The couch I was sat at when Luke was sitting above me. And I glance up, but he is not there. I'm not sure why I thought he would be. 

The spotlight is warm. And as I back up to slide my bottom up on the armrest, I see that the stage is me and me only. The orchestra below the stage, the conductor stares as he waits for me to open my mouth. My breaths are shaky, and I feel sweat forming on my forehead. I take a hard gulp, reaching up to wipe the sweat off of my upper lip. I can't believe I used to do this all the time. I can't believe Luke does this almost every night. 

I wonder if the audience can tell that they're witnessing a terrible panic attack. Play it off, Grace. Don't let them see how much of a mess you are. 

I close my eyes as I wrap my arms around myself, taking a deep breath between clenched teeth as I listen to my cue to begin singing the first few words. It's too late to back out now. And whether or not Luke is out there, whether or not I please the critics that came all the way from the city to see me, I have to give them one hell of a show. 

And as I loosen my jaw, I sit up straight yet relax my shoulders. I bring my feet up onto the cushion below me, looking up at the spotlight that pours over me like the sun. I lick my lips softly, and when I open my mouth I can tell that the audience is captivated:

"It's not easy to say that most days... I don't recognize me."

I truly believe that, if I had auditioned for this role a few months earlier, I wouldn't have gotten it. And to be honest, I wouldn't have performed this song as well as I do now. I relate to the girl I am playing so closely, and it's really sort of heartbreaking. I already know that I'll have a meeting sometime next week to discuss this. Oh well. 

"It's not easy to know I'm not anything like I used to be. Although, it's true I was never attention's sweet center. I still remember that girl."

I sing these words, staring off into the blackness above the audience. As if they're not there. The same way I've done so many times in my bedroom. Or in my kitchen as I mindlessly bake some sort of pie for my family. When I was healing, putting every single inch of my mending heart into the sugar, butter, flour that I had used to make it. I baked my secrets, things I never told them about Tyler into the batter. Things Luke knew that no one else did. 

"She imperfect, but she tries. She is good, but she lies. She is hard on herself. She is broken but won't ask for help."

I can't help but taste the salt from my tears that pour down my face. This has happened once or twice before, when I was feeling the words more so than I usually would. When the mornings in my empty room were colder than usual, or when conversations with Luke just didn't compare to what they were before. And as I sing this, I realize that the lyrics are hitting worse than they usually would. The last time I performed in front of an audience this big, Tyler was front row. He was trying to win me over, and I was not quite convinced yet. God, the shit I'd do to fix what he had broken. But therapy only fixes so much, mood stabilizers keep me from falling victim to the weight of him on my shoulders. I can be distracted, but I can never be fully healed. And Tyler might be far, far away from me but his chokehold still effects me more than I wanted it to.

"If I'm honest, I know I would give it all back for a chance to start over and rewrite an ending or two for that girl that I knew."

And Luke. Sweet, sweet Luke. I wasn't lying when I said that he was the love of my life. I think, if things were different, me and him would have a chance of making it. You hear about that one high school couple that sticks it out, lives to be 90 and dies and each other's arms. That's what I imagined for Luke and I. Old and smelly, With four kids and twelve, thirteen grandchildren. But as I stand here, pouring my heart and soul out in front of an unsuspecting audience, I realize how incredibly intoxicating the spotlight is. And wanting to tear him away from it is unfair. Because if I was in his position, if I was living my dreams somewhere millions of miles away and I had some clingy girlfriend who kept making me feel guilty for my fame, then I'd want to get rid of her too. Not that he'd ever say it out loud. 

"Who gets hurt and she learns how to toughen up when she's bruised."

I can see the glittery tears in the couple in the front row. As I stand before them, reaching out to the spotlight that I want more from. And as I finish the song, I realize that I've brought tears to everyone's eyes. My hand up in the air as I finish the song, and as I begin the end I feel something go south. 

I feel a sob escape my lips. My hands are shaking as I realize that my tears wouldn't let me get through the performance unscathed. My eyes widen as I realize that I've choked up. And as I lower my head I hear the conductor's quiet gasp. 

The air in the theatre has changed. It's thick now, and now I feel every single eye on me. I felt it before, but not to this extent. I feel how my heart stops, how small I feel. I've not felt this small in a while. I feel like I'm a deer in headlights. The music has stopped. I'm trapped. 

I take a clumsy step backwards, my hand over my mouth as I close my eyes tightly. I am out of character now, despite how badly I had wished that I was a good enough performer to actually make it out of a moment like this gracefully. 

And as the music starts up again slowly, as I find myself wiping my tears away on my sleeve and as I figure out how to breath again - I look back up at the spotlight my eyes were hooked on before. I take a deep breath, and as I sputter out the last few words of the song I realize how incredibly quiet the theatre is. 

"She is gone, but she used to be mine."

And as the lights dim and I am left in the absence of the warmth of the spotlight, I could hear nothing but the heartbeat in my ear. The room is silent. 

I push my way through backstage, and as I wait for the curtain call I try to hold myself together. No one says anything to me, not a word. They all just stare. But this isn't any different than what I'm used to. 

I walk out on stage with my bravest face, ignoring the smeared mascara on my face or the tear-stains in my foundation and blush-covered cheeks. I feel the room cheer for me regardless, rising to their feet as if I didn't just ruin the entire show for everyone. On a perfect night, there's no surprise that it'd be me who would fuck it all up. 

And as the curtain falls, as I am once again alone in a crowd full of strangers who turn to each other with wide smiles and giggly voices. But I can't help but turn and run off. And before I know where I am headed, I find myself halfway there. I can't be down there, I can't be anywhere right now. I can't believe I just ruined the one thing that I had wanted to go right.