Misfit Theater Company (Wattys Winner 2018)

34. That Villain Janie

The lights go out in the theater, as Patti and I stand in the stage right exit that leads directly under the audience's seats and into the green room, where she has just finished squeezing me into her red Snowball dress.

Mrs. Permala's voice sounds over the theater from her booth. "Please welcome the Misfit Theater Company to the stage as they perform the Bard's classic love story, Romeo and Juliet."

The students and teachers in the audience applaud as Thatcher makes his way to center stage from the green room exit on the other side of the stage. It's the first time I've seen him since I snuck in, and even in the dark, just seeing his shadow makes my heart skip a beat. And then the spotlight shines directly on him.

He smiles a coyly before beginning the prologue, and delivers the entire speech as smoothly and calmly as one of the pros. I don't know how Grant O'Reilly could possibly pick any other guy but Thatcher.

The audience applauds as he exits toward the green room again, heading straight for me and Patti. Then Moth enters from the other green room exit and begins talking to himself about how he hates the dogs of the house of Montague. It's the best the group could do without me there to play the Gregory to Moth's Sampson. Patti will enter soon as Tybalt/Abram, so she steps forward to prepare for her entrance as Thatcher clears the line of sight from the audience into the exit. As soon as he does, his entire body transforms into something a little more familiar: my Gumby boyfriend with worry painted on his face the same way it was the day I came to theater to say goodbye to my company.

We can't talk here or the audience will hear, so Thatcher takes my hand and hurries me back into the green room. As soon as the door closes behind us, he reveals what's worrying him: "Your sewing class is here. I saw the teacher in the audience."

All the hope I was holding onto after my run in with Grant O'Reilly disappears, deflating my body like a balloon losing life-saving air.

"Crap," I say.

"Yeah. What do you want to do? We could go back to the way we rehearsed it before you said you could come back."

"What? No way."

"I don't want you to get in trouble," he insists.

I don't want to get in trouble either, and opposite possible outcomes fight for space to form as thoughts in my head. She probably won't even recognize you, the more carefree thought says. She's going to drag you off that stage herself before marching you straight to the office, the paranoid thought says. Luckily, my heart is there to end the argument.

"It doesn't matter if I get in trouble. I have to at least try, and if it doesn't work out, if I get caught, then I'm caught, whatever. But if it does work, this will be one of those moments in my life that I'll always be proud of."

Thatcher peeks his head out of the door, then quickly leans toward me to plant a kiss on my cheek. "I'm already proud of you. Break a leg, my Juliet."

"You too, Romeo."

He smiles at me, a wide, whole face smile that even seems to make his eyes smile, and then races out of the door and onto the stage to sentence the next person who fights to death as the Prince of Verona.

The next few scenes pass quickly and without a hitch, every cue met, every punchline hit. The anxiety builds within me with every perfectly executed line. What if I don't help them at all, and only hold them back? I've never performed in front of this many people, so what if I get out there, see all their faces, including the shocked expression on my sewing teacher, and completely blank, sending all the words of my lines into jumbles. What if they laugh at me? I could never face anyone again.