In The Audience

Word Bank: Bourgeoisie and Christian you lively done poor hat curtain lower

The bourgeoisie trundle offstage, hats clutched to their chests, as the bells begin to chime. Their Christian duty is done but, none of them look at the three once-lively bodies dangling from three still swaying ropes – three poor faces gaunt and pinched and dirty, six eyes once completely innocent of crime, then indignant with accusations of theft, then blank of any life at all and left to be judged by God, three stomachs robbed of bread for long enough to drive a man to desperation. You blink and sigh as they lower the curtain and the lights come back on.

***

Backstage

Word Bank: Embarrassed Mr. lips people no note tear band poet himself

"Nervous?"

He glances at me. "No."

"Not scared you'll forget something important?"

He squirms, but says confidently, "Not at all."

"Not the least bit apprehensive you'll mess up and be brutally embarrassed in front of all those admiring people?"

He manages a smile. "It's Mr. Rodriguez I'm worried about – he'll lose his notes and mess up."

Mr. Rodriguez strides through our small circle, stumbling over the people seated on the floor, and stands in the middle of it. "Evening, poets." He grins vampirically. "Band's almost done."

He looks around at our bored faces until the last long note begins to peter out. "Oops, better go," he exclaims, and nearly trips again on his way to the stage.

"See?" He takes out his program and pages through it. "You're first."

I brush a dust of shredded looseleaf paper off my lap and unfold my 14-liner, then refold it again and press it to my lips. "I know. And you're next," I say.

He tears the program in half, and drops each piece to the floor. Then he whispers something that I just manage to make out, but pretend not to.

"Come again?"

He says it again.

"Speak up now, I can't read lips," I tease.

Someone grabs my arm and tugs me toward the edge of the stage, and a hand gestures at the mic Mr. Rodriguez left open.

"Do you maybe want to go out with me tonight?" he says quietly to the air as I disappear onto the stage.

***

Onstage

Word Bank: Without decorations important in my resemble beautiful eye hotel nineteen.

I'd be nothing without a costume. Without the eye-catching sequins on my important-looking blouse, I wouldn't be the beautiful nineteen-year-old chambermaid at the Hilton hotel. Without the decorations, I wouldn't remotely resemble the heroine in the depths of a mystery. Without the synthetic ostrich plume sticking ostentatiously from my hat, I could never be the show's star.

But it all comes back to me in the end, this glamour: when they applaud and the music swells and the cast parts for me to take an extra bow, the glowing smile on my face is all because of me, me, me.

***