Page 63 of Hope and Other Lost Things

“You make me smile too,” she whispered, “all the time.”

Julia had to fight down the spreading lightness, the feeling of floating on clouds. Her stomach twirled and she tried her hardest not to smile too big, not to allow it to crack her face in two because she didn’t have words for the happiness that spread through her.

The rest of the drive was quiet as students played on their phones. Julia caught them taking selfies, perched over seats to photobomb the other with tongues and bunny ears out. Other than the occasional reprimand from random objects flying through the air, caught only in the reflection of the bus driver’s mirror, it was a smooth ride.

As they approached the parking location, the bustle of the city erupted around them. The mumbling of voices reverberated off windows as the sound of honking horns and loud exhausts filled their ears.

Students hesitantly stepped out of the buses and formed groups surrounding their chaperones. Adults took a final headcount, reminding everyone of the buddy policy as New Yorkers hustled around them with phones to their ears and open coats flowing in the winter wind.

They walked down Broadway, Julia occasionally checking back to make sure everyone was still there. She always looked for Erin first, taking up the rear and talking enthusiastically with a group of 9th grade boys.

They rounded into the theater, passing dozens of brightly designed stores, and Julia met with the manager waiting for them at the door. His dark brown hair was slicked back, accentuating his round face and prominent forehead. He wore an antiquated suit, a red bow tie pulling attention to the front. It was completely theatrical, and it roused the butterflies in her stomach.

They exchanged information and tickets were handed to each chaperone to disperse within their groups. Julia reiterated the expectations for their behavior, emphasizing the need to stick with a partner no matter where they went. Erin led the way for their cohort, students excitedly pushing towards the front to get the first pick of the seat in their row.

Julia nodded as she visually checked for each group, counting heads as they walked through. When she stepped into the theater, she felt paralyzed from the waist down.

The overhead lights were dimmed, highlighting the seats just enough to find the numbers bolted on the arms. The stage lights pointed to the empty raised platform, surrounded by a crescent outlining hundreds of empty seats. Gold fixtures hung from the ceilings and walls, only drowned out by the extravagant red fabric clinging over the stage and on the very chairs they’d be sitting on. It was glorious and exactly as she remembered.

A student apologetically scooted beside her, pulling her back from the memory of sitting in those very chairs as her legs swung beneath her–too young to truly understand the impact the very same production would have on her then.

She got her bearings, scanning the orchestra seating. She was about to sit right there towards the back, her hand grasping the cold arm, when Erin stood from mid-row. She was at the perfect location to view the stage while also keeping a close eye on all the students around her. She gave a subtle wave and Julia walked further down, students standing aside as she scooted down towards the middle of row B. Erin sat down the same time she did.

Julia looked back and took in the atmosphere, the smell of freshly popped popcorn and overly warm lights in the air. In front of her sat one entire row of students–behind her, dozens of students and faculty–all antsy to see what awaited them.

She accomplished so many things in her life. She gave up so many things in her life. Somehow, through it all, it felt worth it as long as she ended up in that very same chair. It felt as if everything had fallen into place and that was where she belonged, surrounded by all the people and children she worked so hard for. And then there was Erin.

The lights in the theater lowered and hovered over the stage, pulling eyes in different directions before softly stopping in the center. The entire room went silent with expectation, hushed voices dissipating behind her.

Julia found herself holding her breath, not knowing whether this would affirm her childhood memories or tear them apart. But isn’t that what life does to everyone? It could be everything you wished for, or it could be nothing like you hoped.

As the love story entangled the misunderstanding nature of the plot, as chandeliers crashed before them and students gasped in awe, Julia found that it was everything she remembered and more. It was so, so much more.

She sat with her hands gripped into a tight ball in her lap. She didn’t know she was even doing it until Erin reached out and, with one touch, loosened every tense muscle in her body. She pulled her one hand to her side, but she didn’t let go. For the rest of the first half, they sat with one hand over the other, fully aware of the veil of darkness that covered them, but wishing it was in the light.

The halftime intermission began and lights disgracefully shone from the stage to the seats that were once empty but now contained hundreds of restless students. The theater erupted with voices, moments ago everyone captivated by swinging actors and heavenly voices echoing to the rooftops of the highest skyscraper.

“I’m going to get some water,” Erin said with a smile as she squeezed Julia’s hand just once before letting go. She didn’t even realize that she still touched that softness until Erin released her.

Julia sat there, taking it all in. She couldn’t remember the last time something made her so excited. She knew it would be the last year the longest running production in Broadway history would bless that stage, and yet she waited until a field trip fell in her lap to take the leap.

Why had it taken her so long to come back? She didn’t need a school field trip to drive to the city. She’d gone to Bali, Ireland, England, and so many other far away places for less of a reason. This would’ve been a brisk walk. Yet, she made the conscious decision not to. Unless it was work related, she needed the kick of a bronco to actually do anything remotely good for herself.

She stood–the vibration from the symphony of chaos surrounding her in an oddly comforting embrace–contemplating all the time she lost, wishing desperately that she had a machine to go back and change her own mind. If she did have a time machine, that wouldn’t be all she’d change. She’d go back and do so much differently.

She’d go to those stupid late-night Thursday concerts at the Proctors Theater–the ones that she always talked herself out of with the excuse of work the next day on the tip of her tongue. She’d take that art class, the one all about painting, at the local community college instead of saying she didn’t have enough time to fit it into her schedule. She’d say yes when asked to go to coffee by the beautiful woman with the golden-brown eyes that used to race her on the treadmill at the gym. She’d go back to see a Broadway show before decades of time passed.

Her gaze scrolled over the empty seats before her, students still standing and waiting for their turn to exit the room. She looked to her left where an elderly couple leaned towards each other, his mouth near her ear as he said something that made her laugh. He held a purple handkerchief to his mouth, ogling at her smile. Is that what growing old together should have looked like? Is that the same twinkle in his eye what disappeared from their lives?

A regal duo sat in the seat directly in front of them. The man wore a tuxedo, the type only seen in James Bond movies. His trophy wife with platinum blonde hair framing her square face stood as she fanned her chest. She wore a dark purple fitted gown that reached out to her feet in a peacock fan. It was far too elegant for the crowd they were surrounded by–exhausted teenagers with ripped jeans and baggy sweatshirts–but somehow, Julia found herself thinking that it was just who they were.

Just as she began to stand–her seat flipping up behind her with an obnoxious thud–she caught sight of a woman sitting in the seat closest to the aisle in the first row. Her hair laid in straight warm tones over the back. She wore what looked like a tan pantsuit, the neckline folded down at her sharp collar bone. Her lipstick was a stark red, pulling the attention of anyone in eyesight. She was elegant, completely unbothered by the ruckus surrounding her.

Next to her was a woman of tall stature, towering a few inches above her, even in their seated position. Her black hair was shoulder length and pin straight. They leaned towards each other and laughed as if no one else in the world told jokes like the other, as if no one else existed.

It wasn’t until that woman looked back, piercing blue eyes cutting through the crowdless theater, that Julia realized just how bright those red tones were. The laugh she released still reverberated through the muffled child-like chatter of the audience seated. That laugh, that raspy song, sent visions of winter nights watching Christmas movies with marshmallow topped hot chocolates fluttering through her mind.

Marin.

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