One Hour To Curtain…

Julie Greco shrieked in pain as her index finger grazed the hot curling iron, then burning her cheek as she dropped the iron, which was fastened to a piece of her brown hair, and slapped her across the face. This was the reason why she only dolled herself up for shows. Pain isn’t beauty. Beauty is pain.

Hastily re-painting one of her smudged, red nails, Julie hummed to the tune of “All That Jazz” thankful that this time would be that last time anyone would force her to sing it. Though its always after the show ends that the music is enjoyable.

Thirty Minutes To Curtain…

“Bye, sweetie! I’ll see you later!” Mrs. Greco kissed her daughter as the silver mustang pulled up in front of William High School.

“See you, mom!” Slamming the door as she got out of the car, Julie wiped the purple lipstick off her pale cheek with a sweaty palm. It wasn’t the show she was nervous about. She had only been doing it for a month, and here it was closing night. No, she was more nervous about running into Pierre.

Pierre played Billy Flynn in their school play, and he had to be the sweetest, not to mention cutest guy in the whole school. He was born in France, and moved to Springfield when he was four with his dad and grandfather, so he had an adorable French accent.

It wouldn’t be exaggerating in the slightest if we were to say Julie was in love with him. She always had been since fifth grade.

Fif Minutes To Curtain…

Why did flappers wear such small dresses anyway? Julie was easily embarrassed by her jiggley legs. She wasn’t fat, but she wasn’t a twig either, which she didn’t really mind because according to her mother and Aunt Samantha, “The bigger the booty, the bigger the boobies”. Her family was so weird.

Ten Minutes To Curtain…

After pouring herself into her tiny, black dress, Julie walked outside for some fresh air, where the entire cast stood around snapping photos for myspace and warming up singing warm up songs like “Peter Piper” and “Sassy Sally”.

“Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers…” Julie sang quietly to herself.

“A peck of pickled peppers Peter Piper picked…”

Julie jumped right out of her plastic high heels, startled by the familiar voice, the same voice she dreamed would sing her songs like “Johanna” from Sweeney Todd, or “All I Ask of You” from Phantom of the Opera.

“Hey Pierre.”

“You nervous?” He asked, looking down into the puddle on the ground beneath them, making sure his hair was still neatly slicked to the side.

“No… maybe a little sad…” Said Julie.

“Me too… um… Julie? There’s something I have to do, and if I don’t do it before tonight ends, I’m going to regret it for the rest of my life.” Pierre said.

“Oh yeah?” Said Julie, trying to keep coy.

“Yeah… I’m moving back to France with my dad in a month…”

Julie would have said something, but the lump in her throat was strangling her vocal chords, and the tears in her eyes were bruising her eyes.

“And so there was something I wanted to give you before I went. Two things actually.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, and handed it to Julie, who took it with shaky hands.

912 Triste Ave.

“It’s my new address. Write me some letters… and there’s this too…”

And without warning Pierre took Julie by the arms and pulled her into the warmest, and softest kiss she had ever felt.

“Je vous aime.” He said as they broke away. “That’s French for ‘I love you’.”

“Ich habe Sie immer geliebt.” Said Julie. “It’s German for ‘I’ve always loved you’.”

Fifty Years After Curtain…

An old woman sat at the Lorraine Train Station watching a young boy chase his little sister with a sticky lollipop covered in spit as she waited for the three o’clock train to come in from Boston. She was expecting a cab to take her to see an old childhood friend in France. She had hadn’t seen him since she was seven in a school play, when they first told each other they loved each other.

Finally, a stocky cab driver pulled up to her bench, and she slowly got in, hardly able to breathe with anticipation. She put an old, bony hand that had been overcome with arthritis to her coat pocket, where she kept forty-nine years of letters.

It seemed days before the cab pulled up to her friend’s new gated home, and seemed like weeks before she reached him.

Pierre Pontmercy

April 16th, 1991 – December 30th, 2057

Yes, Pierre died on New Years Eve of a heart attack. Julie looked down at his stone, reminiscing to the last time she saw him. They were so young then. As she remembered, these words came to her lips:

“Ich habe Sie immer geliebt.”