Somehow, through the crowd of people, I'm able to find Thomas, wearing jean shorts and that white t-shirt he wears every other day. He's carrying what appears to be a lily in his hands. He sees me and smiles.
“Hello.”
“Hi.” I smile and nearly fall into his arms.
“You were wonderful,” he tells me.
I've gotten about five million you-were-wonderfuls over this weekened and last. It's a great feeling to know that people think you did a good job, but when you're praised that much, you don't know what to say. Especially when it's from your boyfriend, who is kind of obligated, along with your parents, to tell you you're good at everything you do. “You've said that every performance so far,” I manage.
“It's true, Annie. Everyone thinks so.”
I manage a sigh. There's a lot of people out here in the lobby, and I don't want to look like a fool. I'm about to say something to him when a woman who I don't know taps my shoulder. She has her son beside her, who can't be more than seven.
“Hi.”
The woman turns to her son. “Tell her you what you want to say.”
It takes a minute, but the boy finally musters out, “you were great. I like you better than the movie Maria.”
In response, I manage a laugh and smile at her. The boy manages a smile back, and the woman takes her son away.
When I turn back, Thomas is smirking. “What?”
“You have a secret admirer.”
“Oh, shut up.” I don't know why, but this both sends us into hysterical laughter. I think we get a few stares from the people around us, but I don't care. And despite our attempts to become serious, we can't stop. I can't be like this. I don't want to ruin everyone's images of the play now that they see their Maria is actually a lunatic. Maybe I just don't want to think too much. That this the last time I'll ever do a play here. That it two weeks I'll be graduating, and in less than three months after that, I'll be in New York, attending Julliard. It takes us a minute for us to realize that we've both stopped laughing, and as soon as we do, I hug him tightly.
“It's so weird,” I say.
“I know. But I can't think of a better performance to go out on. And I'm not just saying that because I'm your boyfriend. I really, really mean it.”
“I know you do.” I don't know why, but when I kiss Thomas, the rush I feel is greater than any time we've ever kissed before, probably since our first. After, I bury my face in his chest and keep my arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders. It is moment like these, when we communicate non-verbally, and just show the other tender affection, that I treasure the most. They're simple, and they're worth a thousand words.
“I can't believe we graduate two weeks from now,” I say.
“It's a scary thought, to be sure.”
“I'm glad we won't be too far away though,” I say, “and that we'll get to see each other on weekends.”
“Me too,” he says. “I can't wait to see what you bring to Julliard.”
It is then, in his arms, that I become aware of how tired I am. It has to be at least ten-thirty. I know I won't be home for a while, since I still have to get out of my costume, help with clean-up, give hugs, and then we're all going to Bob's Diner to get shakes, as is tradition for our cast parties. I tell him this information, then asks if he wants to get together tomorrow to study for our exams, which begin a week from Monday.
“Alright,” he says. “Call me whenever you're free.”
“Will do.”
I say one last goodbye to Thomas before I go back inside, carrying the lily that he gave me. Some have questioned his choice, saying that roses are more romantic, and maybe they are, but I prefer lilies, personally. As I enter the dressing room, I am greeted with cries of my name and at least five different people wanting to hug me. I oblige to them all. I am all too familiar with this scene; everyone hugging and crying, sluggishly cleaning things up, reluctantly getting out of their costumes and wigs, taking as much time as possible. The seniors, especially in the spring play (the last play of the year) barely keeping it together. In previous years, I had always looked upon them wearily, anxious about the day that I would be in their position. Now, I was, and it was fully beginning to sink in. I would be continuing theater at Julliard in the fall, but I would never do another high school play.
I hear a familiar voice call my name, and upon turning, I see that it is Claire, the red-headed sophmore who came at the beginning of this year, who played Liesl opposite my Maria, and has proven herself to be a very talented actress. I notice that she is crying, and she hugs me.
“Annie...I'm going to miss you, a lot,” she said. “It won't be the same, doing shows without you.”
“I know,” I tell her. “I know. I'm going to feel the same way. You'll have to come up to New York and see my shows. And I will definitely do the same.”
“But it just won't be the same.”
“I doubt that,” I say. “There will be wonderful actors like you to uphold the reputation of this school's drama program.”
It is silent for a while, and then she asks me, “Are you coming to Bob's Diner for shakes?”
“I think so.”
“You definitely should.”
“I will, seeing as how this is my last high school play,” I say. “Besides, who can deny a shake? Especially mint brownie ones.”
“I've never tried that flavor. Maybe I will this time.”
“You should. It's definitely the best flavor.” We both stand there for a moment or two, silent. I begin to notice that there's barely anyone left, and that I am the only one still in full costume.
“I'll meet you there, Annie?”
“Sounds good,” I tell her, taking the bun out of my hair and letting it hang loose at my shoulders. I know that I should probably hurry up since everyone else is probably either at Bob's Diner or on their way there, but I don't want to. I look around, thinking about how this is the last time I'll probably ever be back here. The room is plain, with simple gray walls and white tile flooring. This late is empty, silent, and there are still costumes and things that lie scattered across the floor, that which will be cleaned up on Monday, after school. As I slip out of my dress for the last time, I take a moment to admire the beauty of it before I hang it up. It's green, slightly lacy at the edges. As Maria, this is my last dress of the play, that I wear when I'm with the VonTrapps as the reprise of “Climb Every Mountain” is sung by the nun chorus, documenting the journey of our characters into a new beginning. Somehow it feels oddly appropriate for my situation at this point in time. I change back into my clothes; a black sweatshirt, navy skirt, and white tank top, then I pull my hair back into a ponytail. I slip on my converse, take my bag, putting Thomas's lily into it, and head out. It's only about two blocks to Bob's Diner, and it's a nice night. For a second, I think about calling my mom, but I decide against it. It's late and she's probably sleeping, and I don't want her to worry about me being out so late.
I see they alley way a head of me that is a short cut into the diner, and decide to take advantage of it since I'm tired and really just want ice cream. As I walk, I notice how pretty it is. The breeze blows slightly against my body, and the sky is pitch-black, scattered with an array of stars. Dad show me some constellations once, when I was younger and I only wished I could remember what they were, because I was sure there was a few out tonight. I'm hungry, I realize, and my thoughts turn to the mint brownie milkshake I'll order. That's when I feel cold, rough, unfamiliar hands against my mouth and the next though I'm lying on the ground. From the way it stings, I know my knee has been scrapped. It doesn't hurt, but the shock of it makes me wonder what the hell just happened.
Then the voice. “Hey beautiful.”
I don't know how to respond. I don't see the person trying to talk to me, but I know it's the same one that brought me to the ground. I get up, noticing Thomas's lily has been squished. Whatever. A minor annoyance. I'm about to keep walking when I feel the cold hands again, this time against my shoulders.
“Where do you think you're going?”
“It's none of your business, can you leave me alone?” I try to get away, but he grabs me again.
“Is that any way you talk to me?”
“I don't know you.” It is around this time that I get a full glimpse of him. He's probably in his twenties but looks much older. His bread is scraggly and unshaven. His clothes are full of tears and stains and smell like garbage and smoke. From his breath, I know that he has been drinking. I feel bad for being so mean to him. He is starting to scare me, though, even though he probably is just a harmless creep that will make for a couple of stories later on.
“Don't you get it,” he says, and I notice him slur his words. He tightens his grip on my shoulders and makes me turn around to face him. “You're mine, girl.”
“Sorry, I'm already taken,” I say, jamming him in the elbow and attempting to make a run for it. But it's a mistake. He's too fast. He pulls me to the ground again, and I feel my already torn knee scrape itself again. Lying on the ground, I become faintly aware that my cell phone is ringing. Help! But I can't answer it, not now. He would stop me. That's when I see the glint of silver, unmistakable in the moonlight. I start to scream as loud as I can, but he makes a cut in my stomach before it lasts very long, and almost instantly I feel faint.
“Your little boyfriend aint gonna come to ya rescue, girlie,” he says. “Just face it. Ya know I got some money for you if ya just take of your clothes.”
“You're out of your mind,” I say, between a cough. I turn my head and see the end of the alley way. It's not very far. Freedom. Safety. If only I could make it there. He stabs me again, this time in my leg. I try to kick him, but at this point I'm too weak and it barely scratches the side of his face. He stabs me again, and now my surroundings begin to blur. I can't think straight, and I knew if I stood up I would fall right back to the ground. I manage to look down and see my clothes completely stained with blood. It makes me want to vomit. If he left me alone...if only I could get to that cell phone in my bag...maybe I could call 911 and they could save me. Or maybe it won't work out. Maybe this is the end of me. But it can't be. It can't. Not now. Not at this point in my life. I'm eighteen years old. I'm not ready to die.
“Please,” I mutter, “please.” But I don't think he hears me. He stabs me twice more, but now doesn't feel as painful. I just want it to be over with. It is. I hear him drop his knife, because I can barely see straight any more. He picks me up, and I wonder what he's going to do. Has he come out of his drunken stupor and is trying to find me help. No. He's not. The next thing I know I'm out of his hands, and surrounded by the rancid smell of garbage. It's dark. I'm in a dumpster I'm in a dumpster. He's left me here to die. It's surreal. I'm like one of those nameless people they find on crime tv shows.
That is when I notice he didn't take off my bag, and I feel a sliver of hope. My phone. My phone....I try to open it, but even that proves to be a challenge. My hands are shaking and I almost drop the phone, trying to dial 911. Finally I'm able to manage it, but by this point I've nearly lost all the feeling in my body. Everything around me is so painful, so harsh, and I can't move an inch.
I make out a noise. “911, what is your emergency?”
“I'm dying. Help. I'm dying...” I can't see anymore. I can barely feel, though I clutch onto that by grabbing a piece of garbage. I'm still alive. For a few minutes I'll still be alive....if I can only hang on to that.
I hear a noise coming from the phone, but I can't make out what it is. Then I can't feel the piece of garbage anymore.
“Help...”
In a flash, I see Thomas as the new kid coming in our science class in seventh grade. Then I'm kissing him for the first time. I'm laughing with Lisa as we ride roller coasters together. I'm performing on stage and getting a standing ovation. All of these little memories, coming together at once. Sorry, Thomas. Sorry, Lisa. Sorry, mom, dad. Sorry I wasn't smarter. Sorry for everything I've ever done wrong. I Love you all.
