Page 60 of Everything's Coming Up Rosie

“Nah,” I say. “I don’t think I can eat. Too nervous.”

“You have no reason to be nervous.” She pulls a granola bar from a box in the cupboard and tosses it to me. “At least take this. Just in case.”

I take it, knowing I’ll most likely need it later. “Wish me luck,” I say, as she picks up her huge bowl of cereal.

“Avoid the mud, you’ll be fine.” Daisy grins at me and shovels a bite of Froot Loops into her mouth. “Crush it, Riveter!” She poses again like the wartime hero and sends me on my way, wondering how, in just a short time, Daisy has managed to become someone I think I’d like to have in my life forever.

I arrive at the theatre an hour before the meeting is scheduledto begin and find Connie standing on the sidewalk in front of the theatre. She bustles over as I park my new golf cart.

“Good morning, Rosie!” she says. “I see you got your new golf cart. Stay onthe path from here on out. Sound good?” She claps her hands together. “It’s a beautiful day, don’t you think?”

It is a stunning day. Sunny and temperate with a stunning landscape in the distance behind the building. A few lazy clouds, a gentle breeze, and shockingly few insects.

I spent most of yesterday watching, reading, and listening to all thingsCinderella, figuring out what I’m ideally looking for in each role.

Difficult, considering the ideal cast will not actually be auditioning today.

I get out of the cart. “Connie, you didn’t mention this show is a last-ditch effort to save the Sunset Players.”

Her face falls, then tries to make the best of it by picking up its corners, then settles on a pained smile.

I pull my bag out and prop my sunglasses up on my head so Connie can see my serious expression.

“I’m sorry, Rosie. I didn’t want to scare you off.” A wince. “Are you okay with this?”

“There’s just a lot more riding on this show’s success than I thought.” I sigh.And I don’t need yet another failure on my record.

A thought hits me, and before I can think about whether it’s the right thing to say, I ask, “Although, with all the other programs here, do you reallyneedtheatre for the senior citizens?”

I trynotto imply that it’s a tiny bit ridiculous—this whole idea that we’re about to cast a young and beautiful Cinderella and her stepsisters from the residents here.

I can tell by Connie’s reaction that my question hit her the wrong way.

She frowns and looks down, like she wants to say something but she’s not sure she should. Finally, she straightens her shoulders and meets my eyes. “Do you know how much joy people have gotten from these shows, Rosie?” Her voice is laced with meaning. “These shows are good for the seniors who participate in them, but also for the community and their families. No, we don’t get large crowds, but people do come out and show their support.”

She looks off at the theatre building. “Do you know what some of them come in here with?”

She looks back at me. “Nothing.”

It dawns on me that I haven’t stopped and thought once about the people here as... people. With lives and challenges and stories.

She goes on. “Most aren’t happy or hopeful. Their lives are...” She pauses, appearing to search for the right words. “Not always easy. Some of them don’t have visitors. At all. Ever. Some of them feel they don’t have anything else to live for. They’re just hanging around, waiting to die. And for some of them, the community they build while doing one of these shows literally keeps them alive. And I know that sounds dramatic, but it’s the truth.”

I nod. “I understand.” I instantly feel like a jerk.

Elite theatre people are a dime a dozen—I just never thought I was one of them.

Do better, Rosie.

“This program has been so good for so many people, Rosie,” she says. “It’s important. And if we can’t save it, well”—she looks away—“The impact will be noticeable, that’s all.”

I’m ashamed and embarrassed that I’ve made this job all about me. I could argue that I didn’t know anyone felt this way, but the truth is, I never even stopped to wonder.

“You’re absolutely right. You’ll have my best, Connie, I promise.”

The weight of Connie’s words settle.

Like Louie said, no pressure.

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