M. Suzanne Terry

The stage is ready.

The wobbly chair has been replaced.
The burned-out bulb has been changed.
Everything is set.

The audience is humming with social niceties and anticipation.
The announcer quiets them –
“And now – what you’ve all been waiting for – introducing….Brave!”

The curtains roll back, and the stage is empty.

The audience laughs.
“That’s clever,” they say.
“Brave wants us to think she has stage fright.”

They think it is all part of the act.

The laughter turns nervous as minutes pass and nothing changes.

Where is she?
The one who was up for anything
Who would try on any hat

Who was the first to step up to the mic
To step into the spotlight
To step out on the dance floor

Whose costume was see-through
In the right light
Who found that thrilling instead of terrifying

Who would have left the stage bare
So that she could choose her own entrance
And not leave it up to the curtain.

The joke of the faux-shy star would have been merely an afterthought.

Where is she?

She’s in her dressing room, throwing up.

She’s not sure if she’s sick from worrying whether she toned it down enough,
Or sick from what it says about the person she’s become that she toned it down at all.

This was my response to the prompt “Show me your brave” during tonight’s Story Sessions write-in. Show us your brave.  Join us.