Behind the Curtain

“Ladies and Gentlemen, without further ado, allow me to present your setting.” Claps were heard from the theater.
We were all in costume, somewhere back stage as we listened to the show go on a few feet away. I was pacing, snapping my wig cap every now and again so it didn’t squeeze my head quite so much, and lowering myself into the show, little by little, as lines were recited and blocking executed. With every syllable, I became Kitty Duval. With every syllable, I gained a past, a present, a future. With every syllable, I lost Roxxie and became someone entirely different.
“Rox! Roxxie, you’ve got a phone call on the red phone in the dressing room. You have fifteen minutes. Hurry.” Sophia, the stage manager, whispered in my heavily weighed down ear. “No.” I couldn’t leave now. I was on in fifteen minutes. I needed that time. I needed those last precious minutes to complete my transformation from Roxxie to Kitty and if I had to be Roxxie for any longer, I wouldn’t be able to fully sink into Kitty.
“No.” I repeated, shaking my head and muttering obscenities. “Please tell them I’ll call them back after the show. I can’t talk to anyone right now.” I smiled angelically, hoping to be obliged and frowning when Sophia shook her head.
“You gotta talk to her, Rox. It’s important. Your mom never calls during shows. She knows your routine. This has gotta be major, baby. You need to take the call.” Sophia was one of my best friends, my ally in the theater world. She knew all my routines and techniques. She guarded me when I needed to prepare and let me vent to her when someone wasn’t learning their part even when it was far simpler then my own. Sophia was my rock and if she told me to do something, I knew I needed to do it.
Hurriedly, I ran down the carpeted stairs, stumbling over my own feet as I tried to get to the phone as soon as I could. I burst through the dressing room door and grabbed the phone from the table. “What!” I asked rudely, breathless and in a hurry. “What, mother?” My demand was short staccato, as if I had no time for languid sentences.
“I know you’re in the middle of a show and I know you shouldn’t even be downstairs and I know tha-“ My mother tried her hardest to apologize for her call but wasn’t getting to the point.
“Mother. Just tell me. Now. I’m hanging up in exactly thirty seconds.” Hard as she tried, my mom never really understood my world. She hated the black clothing and skinny jeans. She abhorred the skaters I hung out with. But she always loved my theater work even if she didn’t get it.
“You have cancer.” As promised, I hung up the phone after she made her declaration, slamming it down and tripping my way back up the stairs and to the back stage entrance. I recomposed my face into a plastic smile and brushed away the few tears that had escaped. I blotted my slightly smudged makeup with the handkerchief conveniently located in my pocket and rooshed my wig with quick fingers.
“You’re on in ten. Go, baby. Go.” Sophia adjusted my dress and handed me my four-inch heels, gently pushing me towards the escape stairs that served as the entrance to the stage. “Go baby.”