Fleance flew, though, so you still have won.
Macbeth revisits the witches, and they sing a song full of prophecies, warning him to beware Macduff and that he’ll be safe until Birnam Wood comes to Dunsinane Castle. Duncan’s son Malcolm raises an army and heads toward Scotland to challenge Macbeth. Lady M goes mad and kills herself, and Macbeth’s double does such a gorgeous job with my original song that someone actually yells “Bravo!” when it’s over. Finally, Macbeth rides into battle with his army and dies at the hand of Macduff.
The show closes with the royal soldiers grouped around Malcolm and Macduff, who holds Macbeth’s severed head aloft. Malcolm delivers his final soliloquy, and then the soldiers sing a cappella, their voices ringing eerily through the auditorium:
We love you, Malcolm, oh yes we do.
We love you, Malcolm, our sovereign true.
Let’s build our kingdom anew.
Oh, Malcolm, we love you….
Our sound designer puts a creepy reverb effect on the stage mics, so their voices linger for several moments after the lights go down. And then the curtain falls, and it’s over.
The audience is perfectly silent until the last traces of sound fade away, and then they go crazy. When the curtain rises again, everyone around me leaps to their feet, and we stand with them. The cast take their bows, and I whoop and cheer and smile so hard, my face hurts. This, right here, is the feeling I’ve been chasing all summer. This is what the rest of my family feels when they perform, and I’ve finally found my own way in.
The conductor climbs out of the pit and heads up the center aisle until he reaches our row, and I barely register what’s happening until he grabs my hand and tugs me toward the stage. My feet move forward without any input from my brain, and Russell, Alex, and Rico file out of the row behind me and follow me down the aisle, up a tiny flight of stairs, and onto the stage. Then the lights are in my eyes, blindingly bright, and the cast parts to make room for the five of us in the center of the line. We bow, and we smile, and we bow again, exactly like I dreamed about in the weeks leading up to the festival.
As the wave of applause and cheers sweeps over us, I scan the audience for my family. It takes a minute to find them, but right before the curtain comes down again, I spot my mom’s orange dress. My parents and Desi and Jermaine and Christa and Marisol and Uncle Harrison are all on their feet, beaming at me from the dark as they give me my very first professional standing ovation.
Out of habit, I close my eyes as the curtain drops, and I try to call up an image to send the universe. But nothing comes. For this one perfect moment, there’s not a single thing I would change.
After I’ve hugged my family in the lobby, shaken hands with Russell’s incredibly tall parents, and promised Stage Manager Lauren I’ll come to the cast party in Dewald, I slip out the side door of Legrand and into the cool night air. The audience is pouring out of the lobby and onto the front lawn, and I kind of want to lurk around the side of the building and listen to what they’re saying about our show. But there will be more nights for that. Right now I have a job to do.
Main Street is mostly dark, but Kayla’s Cakes is still open, and I get in line with the crowd waiting for post-show pastries and coffee. The barista looks confused when I order a single doughnut hole—“You know you can get a dozen of these for five dollars, right?”—but she takes my change and hands me a tiny pink bag.
On my way back to campus, I text Zoe.
Meet me outside Dewald? Really need to talk to you.
For ten minutes, my phone is quiet, and I start to think she’s not going to respond. It’s totally within her rights to ignore me if she wants. But when I round the corner and the dorm comes into view, there she is, waiting for me under the floodlights. She’s wearing that same black dress she wore to our failed romantic picnic, and a small stab of jealousy goes through me as I wonder who she’s trying to impress tonight. The little flyaway wisps of hair around her face are still wet from the dressing room sink, and she looks so beautiful, I can barely stand it. It seems impossible that she’s so close to me and I’m not allowed to put my arms around her.
When she sees me, her face hardens. She looks right into my eyes, but it doesn’t seem like she wants to; it’s like she’s trying to prove to herself that she can.
“Hey,” I say. “You sounded great tonight.”
Zoe doesn’t smile. “Thanks. What did you want to talk to me about?” Her voice isn’t cold, exactly, but it’s businesslike, as if she wants this interaction to be over as quickly as possible. It’s the kind of voice I might use if I were trying to cover up how much I was hurting.
I hold out the little pink bag. “Here.”
“What’s that?”