Somewhere behind a curtain painted to look like sky, a girl waits for her cue. Popcorn drifts past like snow. Sweet, ordinary, utterly indifferent to the fact that her heart is somewhere near her throat. She has dressed for the part: pearls in layers thick enough to disappear inside.
Stage Fright. This is the held breath before the curtain lifts. Before the girl decides whether to stay folded into the wings, or to step, finally, into the light she was always meant to grow toward. A circus ticket sits crooked in her hair. Admit one, it says, though she still isn’t certain it means her.
