The Glow of the Spotlight: My Journey with Rebecca

Rebecca doesn’t wait for me to change my mind. She grabs my arm and pulls me toward the wings before I can think twice. The stagehand tries to stop her, but Rebecca brushes past him like he isn’t even there. There’s nothing he can do once we’re already stepping into the light.

The spotlight freezes me instantly. My knees lock and the audience stomps its feet with impatience. For a moment I can’t remember why I ever agreed to this.

Rebecca has no such trouble. She strides forward and announces that we’re the Ruby Sisters, Daisy and Beckie, or the Daisy Belles if the crowd prefers. She teases that her sister thinks she can dance, and the audience laughs at her nerve. Then she extends her arm toward me as if inviting me to begin. Under her breath, she begs me to teach her a step, fast.

Turning to face Rebecca instead of the crowd loosens something in my chest. I dare her to keep up and run through lunge, back, shuffle-ball change, finishing with a flourish that makes me think I might actually manage this. Rebecca stomps her foot down with a loud thunk and forgets the step halfway through. She mangles the words into “lounge back” while dragging her feet sideways. The audience roars every time she gets it wrong. I sneak a glance out at them, paste on my best stage smile, and run through a few trickier combinations with a little more nerve than before.

Rebecca throws up her hands and cries uncle. Dancing isn’t her talent, she admits, but singing is. She leans over the footlights and asks the bandleader for some Broadway. The voice that comes out of her sounds nothing like her ordinary speaking voice. It carries all the way to the balcony. I’m stunned at how she can really belt out a song.

I dance slowly at first, careful not to trip over my own feet. Then I gain confidence and add in every step I know, smiling over at Rebecca between combinations. She sings louder and faster each time, repeating the final chorus twice while the band scrambles to keep pace with her. By the time we finish and bow, something hard hits my shoe, then another, then a whole shower of them. Pennies. The audience loves us.

Backstage, a stagehand hands over the fistful of coins collected during our number. Rebecca and I split them evenly, hers disappearing into her dress pocket while mine go into my purse. I turn one over and notice it looks different from the pennies back home. A ring of wheat stalks circles the back instead of a building. I guess even coins change over the years.

I can’t stop wondering whether the audience liked us enough to win. Rebecca admits she thinks we have a real shot. Then her eyes catch a large clock on the wall, and her expression clouds over. Her parents will worry if she’s late, and it’s her job to set the table. Part of me wants to stay long enough to hear the results. Another part knows how much I owe her already, and how little I want to be the reason she gets in trouble at home.