I spot her the second I walk into the theater, stretching onstage with the other two girls playing the witch doubles. I search her face for any sign that she regrets the things she said to me last night, but when she catches my eye, all I see is cold, hard anger. My chest tightens and aches, and I look away as Stage Manager Lauren whistles for our attention.
“We’re going to start at the top of the show and work our way through with the orchestra,” she says. “If you have any problems and you need to stop, stick your hand in the air and one of us will call ‘hold’ and help you work it out, okay?”
I wish I could stick my hand in the air right now and pause the entire world until I feel ready to deal with it again.
The actors know their lines and their lyrics, and the orchestra knows their music, so the stumble-through ends up being mostly about the awkward transitions when the doubles have to switch places with the Shakespearean actors to perform their songs. Nobody needs the lyricists for that, so I sit quietly next to Russell, reviewing every moment of Zoe’s and my relationship and trying to figure out what I should’ve done differently. Every time she comes onstage, I scrutinize her words and gestures for some hidden meaning, something that might make me feel better about what happened between us. But all her movements are choreographed, and all the words she’s singing are ones I wrote for her. There’s nothing to decipher.
I’m concentrating so hard that I nearly have a heart attack when Alex, the Macbeth director, sits down behind me and puts a hand on my shoulder. “I’ve been thinking about act two, and I think we might be missing a song,” he whispers.
Russell jumps in right away. “Did we skip one?”
“No, but I feel like we need to give more weight to the moment when Macbeth learns that Lady M is dead.” I flinch at the word “Macbeth”—it’s bad luck to say it inside a theater, and the last thing I need is more bad luck. I remind myself that the rule doesn’t apply when you’re rehearsing the production.
“You mean the ‘tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow’ speech?” Russell asks.
“Exactly. The monologue is so short, it doesn’t seem like enough to really let the moment land, you know? I think maybe we should put a song there.”
“I’m not sure there’s an appropriate song from Birdie that we haven’t used,” Russell says. “Did you have one in mind that you’d like us to rewrite?”
“I could write something original,” I say. I have no idea I’m about to say it until it’s out of my mouth, but it immediately feels right. I need a place to put some of these excess emotions that are spilling over my edges like coffee from an overfull cup.
“Sure,” Alex says. “Take a crack at it. Nothing too over-the-top, okay? Just something honest and quiet that’ll get the audience right here, you know?” He thumps his fist against his chest.
“Totally,” I say.
I start to get up, and Russell touches my arm. “Do you want help?”
I don’t want to hurt him, but I also need to do this alone. “Um, I know we’ve written all the other ones together,” I start. “But do you think it would be okay if—”
“It’s totally fine,” he says. “Take all the time you need. I’ll handle stuff in here, under one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“No writing an emo song about how love is a lie and everyone disappoints you,” he says, and I surprise myself by smiling.
I find an empty rehearsal room and lock the door, and the moment I let my fake-happy facade drop, I start to feel much better and much worse at the same time. I sit down on the bench and try to focus on Macbeth. How did he feel when Lady M died? Grief-stricken, for sure. Guilty, probably, that he hadn’t wanted the same things she’d wanted and hadn’t been able to make her happy. I bet he wished she had been satisfied with what she’d had instead of reaching for bigger, more dangerous things.
Or maybe I’m projecting. I try to remind myself that this show isn’t about Zoe and me, but everything is about Zoe and me right now. Maybe I should give in and let my song be about all of us.
I work all day, and by six, I’ve got a decent first draft. I head back to the theater to catch Alex and Russell before they break for dinner, and I find them in the audience, chatting with the Birdie director about the logistics of the banquet scene. “Can I play something for you guys?” I ask.
“You’re done?” Alex says. “Dude, that’s impressive.”