The crowd lies in wait, buzzing with anticipation for the last show of the night. The theater is cold and dark, a stark contrast to the last remnants of July just outside of these rough, black walls. In the audience I sit squeezed between my fellow playwrights, all packed into a line of chairs right in front of the blackbox stage. It’s terrifying, getting lost in the crowd. Alone in a sea of people who are about to see a part of me I have fought to keep close to my chest. Sitting here is such a big departure from my usual place in the booth, yet I am here because they chose me. They chose my story to be told in this Festival of New Works.

Behind me is a sea of people, plenty of faces I don’t know, but even more that I do recognize. I turn towards the stage again, my heart pounding in my chest as the lights begin to change. The warm amber of the pre-show look fades to black, then in a moment the stage is bathed in a soft purple glow. As the music begins, flowing and filling every corner of the space, everything else fades away. I’m brought to the train I created, the place where my characters come to life to tell their story, my story. It’s almost as if I can feel the rumbling of the tracks beneath my feet as they begin. Dani, a ghost of a girl, meets a young boy named Garrett. Dani can’t remember anything about what her life was like, who she was, who she knew. They help each other, and they help themselves, together. It takes time, but Dani starts to remember who she was, and in a single striking moment, we are introduced to Birdie. Dani’s first friend, her first love, and seeing her was the final spark for Dani’s memories to fall into place. Dani can see Birdie; they’re so close, she can almost touch her. Yet, Birdie can’t see Dani, only Garrett can. It hurts them both, Dani being so close to what she wants, Birdie not knowing that what she’s been searching for is right next to her. But Garrett knows, and he knows what he needs to say.

“Aunt Elizabeth?” he starts.

“Yes?”

“Do you still believe what I used to say about seeing things that others couldn’t?”

“Yes. I really do.”

“Then I want you to listen to one thing. She loves you, Birdie, and she is so, so sorry."

The realization, the hurt, the joy, everything—the emotion is palpable. Birdie doesn’t know for sure, but at this moment she feels something. A familiar presence, something comforting.

The show comes to an end not long after, just as it had started, with a girl and a song. The others have left, and Dani is alone in the train car once again. She gathers her things and turns to go, but she looks back one last time.

“I’ll remember this time. I’m sure of it.”

And with one final swell of music, she’s gone. It’s done. The show is over, and I find myself back in that dark theater. All of the actors come back onstage for their final bow, and at the very end, they point to me. They’re smiling and laughing, the light bright on their faces. I turn to the crowd again and see tears, I see joy. Applause rings out, and with a push from the other playwrights, I step onto the stage, into the light.

© Cayden. All rights reserved. If you are interested in quoting this story, contact the national team and we can put you in touch with the author’s teacher.