And Then There Was You [h.s]

Chapter Forty-Seven

"Why, then, tomorrow night; or Tuesday morn, or night, on Wednesday morn, I prithee, name the time, but let it not exceed three days. In faith, he's penitent;" Kristen gallantly chimed as her body and talent took center stage. She was the very embodiment of Desdemona: Her soft, golden curls tumbled over her merlot renaissance dress and white cinching bodice as she stood dauntlessly under the spotlight. A poised Venetian princess in deed. She inhaled a steady breath as she continued, "And yet his trespass, in our common reason, save that, they say, the wars must make examples out of their best--is not almost a fault to incur a private cheque. When shall he come? Tell me, Othello: I wonder in my soul, What you would ask me, that I should deny..." Her cheek gently turned to face her on-stage Othello, to finally sigh, "Or stand so mammering on. What! Michael Cassio, that came a-wooing with you, and so many a time, when I have spoke of you dispraisingly, hath ta'en your part; to have so much to do to bring him in! Trust me, I could do much —"

"Prithee, no more: let him come when he will;I will deny thee nothing," the on-stage Othello stridently interjected. Even with Othello being the protagonist of the act, Kristen's presence would always be much more pronounced. Even without a bright beam of light and an audience, Kristen had a charisma that always came so naturally to her. It only took a simple look, or a smile, or even a lively one-liner for Kristen to captivate others. She was just as enigmatic on the stage as she was off.

As I watched my sister from the wings of Reed College's black box theatre, I began to envy her organic charm. Out of the two of us, Kristen was always the better-liked sibling. Granted, she was much kinder and more sociable than I was, and I spent majority of my life purposely pushing people away. But tonight, I needed every person in the audience to like me. To love me. To adore me. I had to convince them all, and the university boosters especially, that I deserved to win.

Ballet was a skill that I took up at a very young age, somewhat against my will. Josephine thrusted me into all kinds of extracurriculars as a kid because, as my child psychologist once told her, art would help me 'find my voice'. I'm sure it comes as no surprise that I was a rather moody child who gave Josephine and Kristen the cold shoulder for majority of my youth. So I was forced to find a voice. I took up piano, I took up painting, I even begrudgingly sat in at one of Kristen's musical theater practices. I was terrible at all of it; it just simply wasn't for me. I was certain everyone assumed I was a lost cause until the day I stepped into a dance studio.

I remember the initial fear I felt when I entered the studio, being bombarded with mirrors on almost every wall. I was forced to look at myself. I was forced to see me, for everything that I was... and it scared me. Even being so young and not being able to comprehend much, I knew that I hated what I saw.

So I created a version of me that I was willing to at least look at, even if I still despised my reflection deep down. I created someone who I could tolerate, who others could tolerate, but never fully love. And I found a voice, a voice that I still was not sure was my own.

The only time I ever felt some sort of proximity to my true self was when I danced. I felt scared. Vulnerable. Ugly. And that's why I was so afraid of tonight: everyone would get to see the real me, whether I wanted them to or not.

I had spent a quantifiable duration of my existence creating quite an irony: I was performing when I was supposed to be authentic, and authentic when I was supposed to be performing. I now faced the struggle of who I liked better: the girl I was on stage or the girl I was off of it.

I was torn from my internal conflict as soon as I heard an explosive clamor of cheers and claps from the audience. The stage light dimmed and Kristen pranced off into the wings, squealing as soon as she saw me. I was sucked into her warm embrace, and I felt my stiff shoulders loosen at her touch. "You did amazing, Kris," I complimented, equal parts pleased and envious. "Oh, stop," she flicked her palm, feigning humility. "I'm not so sure about that,"