The Stairs

By Kira Rodriguez, Creative Corner Editor

“Hey, do you know where Amira is?” a girl asked, her voice just barely louder than the crowd.

Stage right was filled with meaningless conversation, but all I heard was the girl’s voice. The lights shone down on the actors, creating a white blanket over them. All I could see was Mrs. Rivers standing amongst the nonexistent audience, shouting instructions I could barely hear. Kids played around with props that they were often told not to touch by the crew and by me. My plastic gems and one–dollar necklaces drew them in, the display encouraging their grabby hands. I already noticed a few gems had gone missing today. I reported them stolen. The stage crew and the director made an announcement, an empty threat. The sixth graders stood at my cart, looking at my props. It was their first show, I kept telling myself. They don’t understand… not yet.

“Hey, have you seen Amira?”

I heard it again, but I ignored it. I was trying to listen to the directions in the wing, staying out of sight of the nonexistent audience. If you can see them, they can see you. I listened to the warning the director, Mrs. Rivers, gave. Many of the other eighth graders did too. It wasn’t our first musical… unlike the sixth graders.

“Amira, I was looking for you. Someone–.”

“Stairs?”

“Yeah, the stairs.”

I left my spot in the wing, my blood starting to simmer. I was missing cues, important information that allowed cast and crew to follow the show, so we didn’t get lost in the chaos of a middle school production of “Aladdin Jr”. Opening night was a week away, and last–minute changes were being made. I followed the sixth grader into the hallway, waiting to see who was waiting for me. She sat on the stairs with her fogged–up glasses resting on her freckled face and her pigtails a mess. Her eyes were full of tears as she sat balled up in the corner, managing to fit her entire body on one step. I couldn’t tell whether or not her tears were real. The sixth grader was always here, waiting for someone to come and get me. I was the only one who could help her and refocus her attention on the musical. I don’t mind helping… but it was always an unnecessary inconvenience. 

“What’s going on today?” I asked in my usual cheery voice. “You were just fine earlier.”

She didn’t answer. She rarely answered the first time I asked. Her friend and the girl who guided me to the stairs gathered around us. I looked to them for an explanation.

“I was telling her that my parents were thinking about moving, and then she just started crying,” her friend explained.

“Alright, thank you. Would you two give us some space?” With a nod, the girls left. “Would you like to tell me what is going on?”

“My best friend is leaving me!” Tears rushed down her tomato–red cheeks.

“Skyler, she said she doesn’t know if she is moving or not. Until the time comes, don’t worry about it. Right now, your focus should be on the musical. Opening night is just two weeks away.”

She didn’t say a word and remained balled up in the corner of the stairs, playing with her snot–crusted sleeves. 

“We go on in a few minutes. Let’s go get ready.”

Reason managed to stop the crocodile tears, but it wouldn’t get her to move. I grabbed her hands and encouraged her to stand. I told her to take a deep breath in and out, doing it along with her. I waved my hands in the air, rolled my head back and forth, shook out my legs, and made goofy faces. She laughed. It worked every time.

“Do you have any more fruit snacks? I finished the ones you gave me earlier.”

“I have some money for the vending machine. You can have it if you do this number to ‘Friend Like Me’.”

She joined everyone in the wings with a smile, and I followed. The sound of my mother’s voice echoed in my head as I prepared myself for the interrogation. She’d just given me ten dollars three days ago. After this number, it would be gone.

Panting, we exited the stage and regained our ability to see. The darkness was welcomed after the blinding lights consumed our vision. I watched a few of the sixth graders migrate to my cart of props, their sneaky hands ready. One of the girls picked up a gem, a pink one… the last pink one. Her friend picked up another and hid it in her fist before skimming over the beaded necklaces. I waited for them to put the stolen goods back. I hoped they would. The two girls grinned as they started walking away. 

“Please don’t take my props,” I said, cutting them off.

“We weren’t.” The girl crossed her arms, a necklace sticking out just enough to be seen.

“I watched you, so please put back what you took.”

“But–”

Her friend placed the items back onto the cart, and she followed suit as she rolled her eyes. They walked away, and I finally had a moment of peace. I joined Grace as she stood in the 

corner, talking to a few other eighth graders. A few of the leads were engulfed in the white stage lights as they went on stage with their plastic swords. Grace and I stood in the wings, watching and listening as we were told to do. The sixth graders continued their loud conversations. At the very least, the seventh graders had the decency to bring their chatter to a whisper.

“Have you seen Amira?” I heard in the distance.

Grace shook her head. “You really gotta stop babying these kids. You’re turning into their mother.”

“I’m just trying to help.”

To be continued...