Chapter Five

Oh, I missed everybody terribly. Mom, and Kitty and Chrissy...

Classes had started and my teachers seemed fine, but indifferent. We had begun working on a production of The Marriage of Figaro, and the cast was totally cliche-y, which “leaves us in a very awkward position” as Pooh-Bah in Mikado says. At all the rehearsals I longed for someone to talk to, but found the cast unwilling to accept me into their hypothetically mature circle of sophomore and up-ness. They didn’t even support my work: while they praised each other for their slight efforts to know the words, et cetera, it took a miserably long time for any accolades to come my way, or even any recognition, though I had been pouring over this music for hours. When asked why they didn’t know the show they pleaded with the director that “they were busy.” As if I wasn’t. I tried to swallow my annoyance, repeatedly telling myself that it was vain to want them to compliment me; but my reasoning didn’t help, and an obdurate feeling of neglect persisted.

While all of the singers I was working with had beautiful voices, and excellent music backgrounds, their nonchalance grated against me.

My voice teacher, however, showed absolutely none of the indifference that had engulfed me from all sides. Her name was Dr. Harriet. She was an encyclopedia of knowledge, and the epitome of encouragement. While I still missed Chrissy, I found myself learning rapidly from my new instructor as well. In my free time, which was minimal, I frequented the library and re-read the complete works of Jane Austen. I rarely saw Bethany during the day as we were only occasionally in our dorm until evening, and Jack and Helen I saw at the library. And so my existence went on, my trepidation escalating as finals and opening night approached, and I often found myself quoting Anne “‘the sun will go on rising and setting, whether I fail in Geometry or not.’ That is true but not especially comforting. I think I’d rather it didn’t go on it I failed.”

My discouragement culminated on the day of the dress rehearsal for Figaro, which also happened to be my birthday, and though I had received a couple calls from my relatives and friends at home, no one at school knew, and I felt miserably lonely.

I walked despondently through the stage door that evening, when the actress who was playing the Countess electrified me but coming to talk to me.

“Are you excited?” She gasped. I nodded slightly. “I can’t believe tomorrow we open. I’ve been meaning to tell you: you do such an excellent job. People will love your Susanna. Definitely.”

“Wow. Thanks.” I stammered, shocked. “Toi, toi, toi.”

“Miriam!” Matt, the Senior who was playing Figaro shouted. “Merry, Cynthia wants to see us. I guess she has a couple changes to go over. Hopefully minor ones.” He said, rolling his eyes. Cynthia was our director, and, like most directors, she was constantly giving us changes.

“Just coming.” I replied, dropping my bag into the girls’ dressing room. I followed Matt as he swaggered to the green room. Matt always swaggers; even on stage. Most of the girls adore him, and he’s very full of himself; but he has a gorgeous voice.

Cynthia’s changes where very minimal, and I soon found myself in the make-up room, with pots of pasty make-up before me, ready to begin the arduous duty of plastering it on my face. I applied it all without to much trouble, even managing to keep my eyeliner straight. Congratulating myself for having gained a degree of proficiency in stage make-up over the years, I then moved on to hair. I had to curl all of my masses of hair into ringlets, which was no small feat, and involved gallons of hairspray and tons of gel. Then came the best part: the costume. My gown was a gorgeous powder blue brocade watteau, or sacque style dress. I had to wear panniers beneath it, but even that had its appeal– however slight it may be. I wore cream colored shoes with silver buckles, and a corsage of ribbons in my hair.

“Five ‘till warm-ups.” A disheveled stage manager popped in to inform us.

We warmed up, checked our props, fidgeted with our costumes and make-up, and then places were called.

The trick to doing Figaro is to keep it going at lightning speed, since it’s about three hours in length, and playing Susanna is a workout.

I walked back to my dorm that night in a state of blissful oblivion. The show was going to be delightful. The costumes where stunning, the sets amazing and the music: beautifully done.

I unlocked the door to my dorm and found Bethany and Jack waiting for me with, of all things, a cake. They wished me many happy returns as I stood baffled.

“How did you know today was my birthday?” I asked skeptically.

“I asked you one time and you told me. Don’t you remember?” Bethany laughed. I shook my head.

“Ooh, Thank you both. You know; I was really lonely before rehearsal today, but I’ve been discovering that people aren’t such a calloused lot as I thought they were.” I said pensively.

“I should say not.” Bethany exclaimed merrily as she cut cake. “How was rehearsal anyway? I just can’t wait to see the show! I know a couple of other people in it, and they tell me you’re great.”

“Do they?” I said, surprised, and Bethany nodded vigorously.

“I suspected you were good, but I haven’t heard you perform yet, and I’m just dying to.” Bethany chattered. “And Matt’s such a great singer. You must be having fun performing with him.”

“He’s very good.” I conceded. Having fun? Well, that was a little different.

Garrulous Bethany supplied plenty to talk about while we ate: we discussed everything from Thomas Jefferson to dish soaps.

“Well,” said Jack, who had been pretty silent, particularly about dish soap, “I better get going. Sorry I won’t be able to see the show until next week, Merry. I’m going home this weekend to see my parents.”

“That’s fine, Jack. Thanks again.” I said, and we wished him well.

“I wish I was in the orchestra for the show or something.” Bethany said after Jack left. “Or singing like you. You get to work with Matt: lucky you.”

“Do you like him?” I asked bluntly. She was silent for a moment. “I’m sorry, Beth, I didn’t mean to pry.” I apologized, uncertain whether I’d offended her, or it she was just tentative about telling me.

“No, no, it’s alright. I do like him. Who doesn’t? He’s very good looking, very friendly, all that. Name me one girl who isn’t infatuated with him.” She challenged.

“Well,” I said, “I’m not.” Bethany looked a little surprised, which annoyed me somehow.