Sing Me a Song

Mic check had never felt funereal before. She had run dozens of them, mostly because no one else could. People spend their entire lives seeking to shape their identities, but in small town community theatre, defining oneself requires only a raised hand in a meeting. “I ran sound for Jesus Christ Superstar in college,” she had said six years ago, so Rachel was forever the sound girl. Two weeks in town and one meeting and she was a blunt, beloved group pillar.

Katelyn, next and last in line, was new. She’d missed auditions and the first two weeks of rehearsals, but the Goffstown Players turn away no one, so the director carved out a bit part for her with a couple lines. She was a quiet thing from a county over, always smiling politely while waiting for her cue to go on. Spectating from the sound booth each night, Rachel had noted her stage presence: Katelyn reacted subtly to each moment in her two scenes, whether center stage or blocked in shadow. She might be unassuming and young – seventeen? – but this was not her first rodeo. Rachel had wondered what other acting she had done, and whether Goffstown would see her for the upcoming summer show.

If it happens, she thought, marking the previous actor’s sound level with tape. If any of this happens before quarantine. The penultimate dress rehearsal usually seemed two blinks and a group hug from opening night. Now, with Covid cases spreading throughout the state, opening seemed distant. Everyone awaited the unmentionable cancellation. If by some miracle we do open, Rachel realized, that hug’s out the window. Jesus…

She shook her head and called through the darkness. “Katelyn, you’re up. Let’s hear it.”

The girl hesitated under the lights. “What do I say?”

“Give me a few of your character’s lines, any—” Oh. Rachel laughed. “I guess your lines are a little short for a mic check, huh?”

Katelyn smiled gratefully. “Yeah.”

“Your choice then—sing me a song or recite the Gettysburg Address.” Katelyn bit her lip. “Oh, come on…” Rachel encouraged. “Everybody else is in the green room already. It’s just you and me, kid. Sing me a song. The stage is yours.”

She sang. Her tone was pure, delicate. “Try not to get worried, try not to turn on to problems that upset you, oh...” Rachel set down her tape and pencil. “Don’t you know everything’s alright, yes, everything’s fine…” The lullaby emanated through the empty auditorium, each note smooth and soft and full. The nightingale under the lights sang, “And we want you to sleep well tonight,” and the melody gently rose and fell through the verses. Everything was balanced.

Then Katelyn stood waiting and the room was quiet. Rachel realized she had made no notes or adjustments.

“That was great, Katelyn. You’re all set,” Rachel said. As the girl walked toward the door, she added, “Thank you.”