A/N: Wow, 2 uploads in one night - I'm on a roll! I'm on my way to becoming a real life writer. This was also written for English (I'm starting to love this class!), and unlike my first story, actually has some dialogue. Also unlike the other one, this one may or may not be continued. The topic for was A Moment I Regret. Once again, R & R!

I Am the Wall

“So you’ll definitely be here?”

“Yes, I’ll be there,” my mom says, exasperated. “My answer hasn’t changed since the last 28 times you’ve called.”

“Okay,” I say with a hint of doubt in my voice. “It’s just that the play is starting in 20 minutes, and I don’t want you to miss my part.

“Relax, Leah,” she says. “You’re in Act II, right? I should be at your school by then.”

“Okay,” I repeat. “But hurry!” We hang up and I begin marveling at the bustle backstage. All the actors running back and forth preparing the next scenes sends a tingle down my spine, a sensation that cannot be duplicated. Changes to the script are being memorized; last minute rips and tears in the costumes are being fixed. This is where I belong. This is where I shine. I snap out of my stupor as quickly as I snapped into it and make my way to my “dressing room” – aka the wheelchair stall in the girls’ bathroom. There I put on the soft blue outfit that acts as my costume for our 9th grade version of Aladdin. The satin slacks and off-the-shoulder halter top along with the headband with sapphire don’t just make me look like Princess Jasmine; they make me feel like Princess Jasmine. This is my first major part in a play, and Mom just can’t miss a second of it. I know it’s hard for her to get time off work, but it’ll be worth it when she sees me up there on stage, doing what I was meant to do.

I return backstage, glancing nervously at the clock on the wall and bouncing on my old-fashioned pointy blue shoes. She’d better be here, I say to myself. To make the time pass faster, I try to concentrate on the play, but my gaze keeps wandering into the captive audience. I am only looking for one face – all the countless others are meaningless blank features to me.

The words in the play strike a chord of anxiety in me. Act I is almost finished! Just then, Ms. Miller, our drama teacher, pulls me aside. Her eyes are filled with tears and sorrow. My heart drops into my stomach and I think, This cannot be good news. She tells me that my mother was in a three-way car accident, caused by a drunk driver. Through the deafening roar in my ears I hear Ms. Miller tell me that she didn’t survive the accident. She tells me that I don’t have to go on if I don’t want to, and it’s then that the buzzing in my head dies down. I hear the applause coming from the behind the curtain. Act I has finished, and it’s Princess Jasmine’s turn to go on stage. I have worked too hard towards this moment, and I’m going to do the best performance anyone has ever seen. Minutes later I am on stage arguing with the Sultan about marrying a prince, taking a magic carpet ride, and finally being rescued by Aladdin. Afterwards people come up to me and tell me what a great job I did, but their words bounce off me like a rubber ball, and I am the wall, refusing to let anyone in. I sit down in a corner away from everyone, trying not to let the sadness in my heart consume me completely.

It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have pressured her into coming. She’d still be here.

It’s all my fault.