The Glow of the Spotlight: My Journey with Rebecca

I can’t let my worries about freezing on stage, spoil this opportunity. I tell myself I’ll do it to show Rebecca I can, but deep down, I know I’m doing it to prove it to myself.

That night, I snuggle in bed with Rebecca under a puffy quilt. She’s lent me a nightgown that is warm and soft. She says that she has a lot of clothes because of all the hand-me-downs from Sadie and Sophie. They always dress alike, so most of her clothes are twins, too.

I smile at that idea. Megan and I always wear different outfits. She likes jeans, and I like everything sparkly.

Listening to the twins whisper on their side of the room, I tried to tune out their voices and finally share my decision with Rebecca. I tell her that if she comes with me to the theater tomorrow, I will audition. That way, she won’t be alone, and her parents will be okay with her going to the theater.

Rebecca squeezes my hand, which is all the encouragement I need. I’m terrified at the idea of dancing on stage, and having a friend along might make it easier. Rebecca asks if my parents are rooting for me to be a performer.

I find myself repeating something I’ve heard my father say many times. “Show business is a tough life.” I tell Rebecca my parents would rather have me studying like my sister. They would rather I dance for fun than try to make a living in the theater.

But as for me, I’m not ready to give up on my plan just yet.

The next morning, I pull on my own clothes while Rebecca readies herself for school. Before she shuts the wardrobe door, she hands me a plain white apron. Her mother and grandmother will likely keep me busy with chores while she’s away, she explains, and I’d better wear one of her pinafores so my fancy skirt doesn’t get ruined. I slip my arms through the openings, and Rebecca ties the bow at my back. With the ruffled edges hiding my modern clothes underneath, I feel like an actress slipping into her costume before the curtain rises.

Downstairs, we settle at the table for breakfast with the rest of the family. Rebecca tells her mother she’s going to help a friend after school, twisting her napkin in her lap the whole time. She won’t quite meet Mrs. Rubin’s eyes, though I know she isn’t really fibbing. I truly do need her help getting ready for the vaudeville audition, and there’s no way to explain that without giving everything away.

Mrs. Rubin sets out a spread of warm rolls, butter, jam, and milk, reminding Rebecca not to be late and not to forget that it’s Friday. Rebecca grabs her lunch box, and I trail her toward the stairs. The twins have already slipped out the front door ahead of us, and Victor still lingers at the table, scarfing down one last roll.

Outside, the morning air is cool as we pause together on the front stoop. Rebecca points down the street toward Tompkins Square, just a couple of blocks from her building, and says I should meet her at 2:30 PM. We’ll have to hurry if we want to reach Times Square in time. Rebecca turns to head toward school, and at the last minute turns and reminds me to remember my tap shoes.

My stomach clenches as I watch Rebecca disappear around the corner, off toward a normal Friday of arithmetic and spelling while mine fills up with dust rags and dish towels. The whole morning has felt like a countdown, one chore and one glance at the clock leading toward that stage. I square my shoulders and wonder, for the hundredth time since I agreed, whether I can really pull this off.