“Lub-DUB, Lub-DUB, Lub-DUB, Lub-DUB, Lub-DUB.”

The lights dim and the smoky spotlight creeps up on my anxiety-filled body. Every chair is occupied with teachers and friends who each have two judgemental eyes fixed on me. My vibrant pink eyelashes block the supposedly imaginary world in front. I hear a note, the start of the song, but feel my soft palate, dry and coarse. The potent smell of the hairspray that is keeping my hair from looking like bedhead combined with the sticky feeling of the humid air only makes me want to clench on to my rough cotton polkadotted skirt even more. My tan character shoes clunk as I take one step forward to the overwhelming center stage position. One measure before I start signing, I taste the sweet honey water I had been sipping and remind myself of the long months of auditions and rehearsals that have led up to this grandiose moment of me being Gertrude in the well-known musical Seussical.
Being the lead actor in a musical had been a goal of mine ever since I was six, when I watched my sister play Cinderella in Into the Woods. I never believed that I would have the chance to do so as I noticed the immense talent that I was surrounded by. The opportunity arose five months before: when I was asked to sing “For Good” in front of the entire show choir. A shiver triggered by the familiar adrenaline made my body move in a rapid wave motion starting from my head to my feet as I started to act like Elphaba, but it was soon ended by a standing ovation from the choir directors and friendly peers. Doing something I loved and receiving recognition for it was a feeling that I hoped would be everlasting, and I wanted the lead role in the musical more than ever now.

From being the first person to jot down my name in an audition slot on those dusty, white sheets of paper posted outside of the theater room, to being the last person to leave the room after every feedback session, I was determined to give my all into this process.

Continuously refreshing web pages while sitting in my cozy, durable, pitch black chair, in attempts to see that sacred PDF of students who had made call backs, resulted in my routinely droopy eyes. After spotting my name on the sheet I had been trying to load for the eternal half an hour, I scurried on to find the songs we would be asked to sing. I rehearsed them while solving trigonometric functions and scrubbing shampoo in my hair. It seemed as if hundreds of these audition and callback rounds had passed by without any tangible output regarding the final cast list for the musical.

On stage, I had transformed into the needy, dependent Gertrude character, and off stage, my upright posture illustrated my confidence, but it was now time for the final moment: the release of the cast list. My computer had crashed from the repetition of “command+r”s on the page where the cast list would be posted. The clock ticked “5:59:02” as my laptop finally made that habitual chime sound it makes when it turns on.

The glowing Schoology page opened and — my tiresome mouth dropped in awe, my eyes opened as wide as tennis balls, then froze, and a small shriek existed my red, swollen throat. Making sure I was not dreaming, at first, I smiled slightly, the left half of my mouth lifted upwards, then as I started receiving congratulatory buzzing and pinging sounds from friends who had auditioned as well, I yelled at the top of my lungs. My parents’ rapid footsteps thudded on the staircase as they came into my room in great concern as if I had broken my leg, but once they saw:they hugged squeezed me so tight that the color of my cheeks transitioned from pink to purple. Filled with excitement and relief, I felt like the process of the musical was finally over, but actually, it had just now started.

The memorization of thousands of lines for rehearsals that would further lead to a successful production needed to be accomplished. As it was the director’s last year at Harker, she wanted to make her exit a “bang,” and I was overjoyed that I would be able to help her do so. While it was exciting, there was responsibility and pressure of not letting the team down. I kept my commitment by attending rehearsals during lunches, extra helps, after schools, and even on weekends as the show started to quickly approach. Although my red face and trembling hands would occasionally appear at rehearsals due to my anxiety, the fun and excitement of creating a new world outweighed the uneasiness I had. In some parts, when I felt like I did not deserve the role, my throat became tight, but the constant reminder from friends and teachers that I was given this part for a reason, kept me going and eager about upcoming practices. My motivating mentor, a fellow teacher, the acting director, with determination in her eyes, ingrained this phrase in my head: “do not think beyond the world you are acting in.”
Additional tips and tricks ranging from gazing at a lower level to using large, defined gestures facilitated my struggles of imitating the desperate, insecure Gertrude character.

Dress rehearsals with the entire cast were my favorite part as each puzzle piece, each character, was coming together in perfect harmony with one another. The pressure of the rest of the Harker community watching the production was absent at that moment, thus helping all of the performers maintain sangfroid. The opening night was in only a day, and the cast, as a whole, felt fully prepared.

Each hour flew by in what seemed like a second, and I was now getting dressed for the first real show. The smooth brown foundation that covered up any imperfections was dabbed on my skin as well as hot pink gossamer eyelashes that were glued to my worry-some eyes. Backstage helpers, covered in black from head to toe, assisted me in attaching the black bulky battery to my skirt and taping the microphone to my artificially clear face. This was the big moment, not the reveal of the cast list; it had come down to our first show.

“One two three four five six seven eight, one two three four five six seven, one” chanted the cast as we tried to loosen up our arms and legs that felt like they had just been placed in a bucket with ice. A group huddle was the last action we performed together before we went on that intimidating, yet familiar stage.

After I delivered the first word of my first solo, my sleazy pink eyelashes suddenly started acting as a filter, beneficial to my performance. Not only was I able to view the imaginative world in front of me that had come to life, but I was also able to ignore thoughts about the audience. While enthusiastically singing “oh the thinks you can think...in the blink of an eye, there’s another think there” and firmly pointing to my eye, my thought process and perspective changed. Rather than blaming the neon amorphous cloth hanging from my eyes, I was able to appreciate its existence. Through the sheer gap in between each fine streak of pink came praises from the real world that affirmed my goal of being recognized for my talent:

“Gertrude, Gertrude! You were my favorite character! You were so funny like in the Dr. Seuss book!” exclaimed a little four-year-old girl whose two golden braids swung around her little neck as she skipped after me. Feeling satisfied as I was able to connect with one of those pairs of initially intimidating eyes in the audience, I contentedly walked back to the dressing room after the last show.