Love's Curtain Call

It didn't take me long to agree to doing the play. I already knew when I first walked into that theatre that this was an offer not many things in the world could make me turn down. I flicked through a couple pages, totally enticed by everything I saw. I wasn't really seeing the words when I was flicking through it, though - more like images of myself, standing on the grand stage just beside me, performing to a crowd of hundreds, as the young heroine named Mina.

It more than pleased Andrew when I accepted the role. My audition happened days later, after I'd read through the whole play properly. The play had a good plot to it, which pleased me. It was centred around a young couple who meet in New York (one from England, and the other living in New York) and venture into a short-lasted, yet passionate romance. The play ends in heartbreak.

It took me longer than it should have to realise what it seemed to remind me of. When I finally pin-pointed my discomfort for it, I couldn't think of anything else for about a week. I knew it wasn't good for me to dwell on the past, but I couldn't seem to help myself. Several times I even considered destroying this great opportunity by calling Andrew and telling him I was out.

But I didn't.

I resisted the urge to take the easy route out. I promised myself I would practice my lines more; learn them by heart, and get myself into the mindset of Mina. I knew the heartbreaking scenes wouldn't be too hard to reenact, although I wished that they would be. They should have been for a 22 year old.

I was beginning to put the past behind me all over again, until one night, I had a dream that rippled my silent and almost-content mind.

"No-one's around. . ." Ville whispered to me, beginning to close the gap between us. We were standing next to the door which lead out of the theatre at the university.

He leaned towards me, showing off the smile that I could have stared at for hours on end. His lips crushed against mine for a moment. We both knew we could have been caught, but neither of us stopped. I wanted his lips against mine forever in that moment. I could feel the need rushing through my veins - the need to be with him, and near to him.

And yet for some reason I stopped. I pushed against his chest, until our lips parted.

"Bye, Ville," I whispered, reaching for the handle of the door.

"Bye, Kristen," he whispered back, stroking my cheek once, before he watched me leave the theatre.

When I awoke from this dream, I finally realised how much I really did remember of him. I thought I'd forgotten it all; I thought I'd pushed it out of my mind. But the dream had been so vivid - I had felt his lips moving against mine; I had felt the clothing on his chest against my hand. He had felt so real.

I couldn't sleep again that night.

I could feel the saddness and mourning rise in my chest - begging to be set free. And I didn't try to stop it. I cried well into that night.

The only consolation that came to me was the fact that rehearsing for the play would start shortly. The rest of the cast was chosen. The costumes were being made. The sets were being painted. And I would take what was left of my broken heart, and put it into that play.