I’m pretty sure I hear some sighs of delight by my fellow castmates, who clearly have been watching and witnessing this whole exchange.
Let’s never mind that they have no idea what the fuck I was saying with my hands. That’s between me and this gorgeous man that I love.
When Clayton finally lets me go, he whispers to me, “Show time.”
“Light me up, love,” I return to him with a wink.
He departs through the wing. I face the curtains once again, but with a renewed sense of purpose. I can’t wipe the smile off my face as I grip my wrist, my fingers touching the new charm that rests there.
I don’t know what waits for us in our future. All I know is, Clayton Watts will be with me every step of the way, and I can’t fucking wait to experience every little exciting, precious moment of it. I can certainly tell our summer’s going to be a whirlwind of pursuing our passions.
I wonder what new songs will find me in those quaint, New York City piano bars.
I wonder what brilliant strokes of light Clayton will bring to those stages.
I see the crowds. I hear the murmur of an eager audience at the edge of their seats, tittering with anticipation, whispering amongst themselves as they wait excitedly for the curtains to rise.
And I stand here in the darkness backstage, all the music bursting within me and ready to be freed.
The curtains rise. Cue the music.
Lights up.
The end.