Chapter 125: Semi-Superstitious

Friday, May 13, 1983

Of course, everyone made Friday the 13th jokes all day. None of us were particularly superstitious, but actors have their own superstitions (which we mostly followed), and opening a show on Friday the 13th seemed ... questionable.

That said, we were experts at adapting and overcoming. If we could make it through last night, we’d be fine. Hadn’t that pretty much been an opening? It might as well have been!

We’d be fine. My wife and I had been great fans of Halloween, for the most part, and Friday the 13th was included in ‘things we approved of.’ That was a longer list than one might think. For all of her (and our; I was certainly to blame for some things) trials and tribulations, we’d had many things we both greatly enjoyed. You don’t make it for as long as we did if everything was bleak and awful.

It might have been better if it was. We might have split up and found partners who made us truly happy. But, again, as before: given that I got a second chance, I’m glad I’d had my first life to learn from. Those lessons were hard and painful, but they were part of who I was, and I couldn’t imagine who I might be without them.

After class let out, all of us in the cast, plus Steffie and Meg, headed over to Pop’s Hamburgers, where we took up most of the restaurant. Pop’s was a pretty good choice: solid, nutritious food that wouldn’t be so heavy that we’d die on stage.

We laughed and joked and carried on. The slightest mishap (a dropped utensil, a spilled drink, even a squeaky chair) got a cry of ‘Friday the 13th!’ I suppose it was our way of looking fate in the eye and showing our disdain.

For Caitlyn, Charles, Debra, John, and Mikayla, this weekend was the end. Three of them had given four years of their lives to Memorial Drama. Debra had been there three years. John was the only newcomer, and certainly hadn’t meshed nearly as well as the rest, but for all of that, he was one of us.

For the rest of us (I hoped, at least), it was simply another milestone. Eleven of us were graduating next year, and of that group, I thought everyone would be back except maybe Glenn. We would be a hard group to replace, but Steffie was ever busy advertising for Drama and, hopefully, next year’s incoming class would be great. As with Debate, Drama’s profile was on the rise, which helped with recruiting.

We headed back to Memorial and changed into our costumes about an hour before the show. This one had a fair number of costume changes, and we’d already established that, most likely, some people might not bother sprinting over to the makeshift changing areas and back. Having been through it, I can personally guarantee that lustful thoughts about mostly-naked girls, however cute they might be, were not likely to be what filled my mind at times like that.

We all peeked out a few times. Mom and Dad were coming tomorrow, as were Camille and Francis, Candice and Sherry along with Erwin and Sandy, Paige’s parents Tony and Jean, and quite a few others. Jane was planning to be here tonight, as were most of the members of Study Group (the ones who weren’t performing, anyway). Through the grapevine, I’d heard that many of the cheerleaders would be here tonight, too.

Some people I wasn’t sure of, but I expected them to be here one night or the other. We’d see. I might well miss them anyway. I’d certainly miss them during the show. The audience would be the last thing on my mind.

About five minutes before showtime, we all gathered in a circle, hands in the middle, and yelled “Break a leg!” A bit in-your-face for Friday the 13th, but it got us in the spirit.

Right on time the orchestra started into the overture, the curtains opened, and Jasmine launched into ‘The Sound of Music’. I didn’t envy her in the slightest. As much as I’d stood in front of an audience with nowhere to hide, there’s something different about singing such a well-known song all by yourself. She carried it extremely well. Hopefully, no one would be upset that she didn’t look like the iconic Julie Andrews. If they were ... well ... being polite ... fuck ‘em.

I hung back with the others, safely out of sight in the wings, watching. Jas had told us she’d much rather we were watching than hanging back. She said that she felt our support more when we were right there.

Everything went off without a hitch, and shortly the nuns launched into solving their Maria problem. The more I’d heard the song in rehearsal, the more I’d found it to fit Jasmine. Of course, it could fit Angie, or Paige, or ... plenty of girls that I knew. But it certainly worked for Jas.

Friday the 13th raised its mischievous head shortly thereafter. Jas somehow slightly tripped in the Mother Abbess’ door and stumbled right into Debra. Debra took the impact and didn’t go over, and the two were able to play it into a moment consistent with the song.

For a second, I was worried, but then the audience applauded and laughed. I think all of us backstage breathed a deep sigh of relief.

From that point on ... we weren’t error-free, no. I counted at least four stumbles, all of them from people that hadn’t stumbled in rehearsal in months, if ever. Charles, of all people, forgot a line. That was easy for me to notice, since he was playing Max, the role I’d understudied.

None of this was bad. The show was, objectively, very good. Three of the stumbles were backstage, and the other one on-stage (Bob, as Frederick, missing a step during ‘Do-Re-Mi’) was barely noticeable. The worst was Angie’s; she tripped on her habit and landed flat-out. Fortunately, nothing seemed damaged other than her pride, and she was joking right away about her fall at Indiana.

Perhaps it all was Friday the 13th. We’d made enough of it that it’d come back to haunt us. Or, perhaps, it was opening-night jitters. Who knows?

In any case, in the end we were treated to thunderous applause and a prolonged standing ovation. That felt really, really good.

So did Steffie’s much quieter, “Well done, everyone! I am so proud of you!” backstage, five minutes later, just before we scampered off to get out of our sweaty costumes and into street clothes for the lobby.

Two shows to go.

Oh, and pursuing Lexi (and kissing her) on-stage? Quite a lot of fun, really. We didn’t make it a big kiss, but it was very much a real kiss.

I was one of the quicker ones out into the lobby. Rolf doesn’t do that much later in the show, so I was rested and ready and didn’t have to worry about sweaty underwear or hair or whatever.

I made a beeline for Jane, who was on the near side of the lobby. We just shook hands; hugs might be hard to explain.

“I’m glad you came,” I said, smiling.

“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” she said, grinning. “As you very well know.”

“I hope it played as well for you as it seemed like it did from backstage.”

She nodded. “I’d have believed you were professionals, and that’s being honest. I did catch that early stumble...”

“Friday the 13th,” I said, shaking my head.

“Indeed. The two of them covered it so well, it felt like Maria simply being Maria.”

“That’s what I thought.”

I spotted Jasmine coming out. “Jas!” I called.

She headed right over.

“Jasmine Nguyen, Doctor Jane Stanton. Jane, Jas.”

They both chuckled. “A pleasure,” Jane said, offering her hand.

“Likewise!” Jas said, shaking. “Steve has told me so much about you!”

“Lies! All lies!” Jane said. Within a minute they were chatting away like old friends, Jane full of praise for Jasmine’s performance, Jas full of thanks for her help with me, Angie, and especially Candice.

Angie was out shortly thereafter, and she gave Jane a hug. Paige was next and, of course, had to be introduced. By then, we all needed to move on. As much as it’s fun to catch up with special people, everyone wants a few moments of your time in a situation like this.

I said hello to Mr. Brandt and congratulated him again. He was standing with Cam Michaels, so (of course) I got to say hello to Cam as well. He seemed amused.

After a moment, he said, “I suppose it’s no surprise you know Carl.”

I nodded. “I called on Mr. Brandt...”

“Carl!” he said, smiling.

“Carl,” I said, nodding, “while soliciting donations for Drama and Debate. The subject of school board came up, and I knew he was interested in running. Having run for elective office myself, and having it turn out better than I’d feared, I could both sympathize and offer some hope.”

They both chuckled at that. Cam said, “That protest last year was a bunch of nonsense. I mean, the one against you. The other one was ... well, I think we saw what came of that two weeks ago.” He still looked amused, which seemed like a very good sign.

“A night I’ll remember much more clearly than tonight,” I said. “When performing, I tend to find that, when I can remember what I did, it’s usually because I did something wrong.”

That got another laugh. Cam nodded. “Definitely! The most memorable parts of board meetings are when I mess up Robert’s Rules or something like that. Or mispronounce a guest’s name.”

“For me,” Mr. Brandt said, “it’s dropping a heavy stack of books and making everyone jump.”

“Aiming for valedictorian, Steve?” Cam said. “I know your grades are stellar.”

As he asked me that, I spotted Michael Dell, along with two people who must be his parents, and a girl who might’ve been his Prom date, off across the lobby. I could hardly head over there now, though.

“Nah,” I said, actually feeling a bit confused. Could he honestly not know? I went on, “No one who’s heavily involved in Drama or Debate has any shot at valedictorian. I’ve doubled down on that, so I’ll be in the twenties or thirties at best.”

He nodded. “I should have thought of that, of course. I can see both sides of it.”

“That issue is on my to-do list for next year,” I said. “It’s obviously a long shot, but I’m going to at least float the idea of considering Debate and performance Drama to be like Band or Orchestra, something that can replace at least some P.E. hours. Believe me, I’ve gotten far more exercise from rehearsals than from P.E. this year, and major tournaments can be quite a workout, too.”

“That,” he said, “or perhaps we need to give honors credit for those who excel.”

I shook my head. “I’d considered that, but it’s about the effort, not the outcome. Oh, to some extent it’s the outcome. Someone who goes to a tournament and just mumbles through every round or the like isn’t putting in the effort, and you can see it in the outcome. But a freshman who’s holding a minor role in the play is putting in a lot of effort, and so are people who work hard and go to Debate tournaments, even if they don’t win anything. In any case, I won’t want to tell a class ‘You on this list get honors credit, but the rest of you don’t.’ It doesn’t sound good for morale.”

“Interesting perspective. You’ll be working with Principal Riggs?”

“Of course,” I said. “We get along pretty well, as you’re likely already aware.”

He chuckled. “I am. Keep me in the loop. Us, I suppose,” he added, looking at Mr. Brandt, who nodded.

“I will.”

“One other idea. Perhaps we should cap honors credit at ... five? Six? I don’t want to give Band and Orchestra preferential treatment, so it might be complicated, but saying one elective class a year will get regular-level points regardless of whether it’s actually an honors class might change the balance.”