Midsummer

By Bethany Sullivan

The lights are blinding. My legs dangle off the edge of the stage. I have to suppress a smile as I recite Helena’s lament because I know my boyfriend is upstairs in the tech booth, watching me. I can almost feel him smiling at me up there, with his cool stage manager headset and professional notebook. Shakespeare’s words are muscle memory now, and my mind finds itself wandering as I speak. Sometimes it’s strange, knowing my boyfriend watches me recite the same lines night after night, but I’ve gotten used to it. Months of rehearsals trained me to not be embarrassed by my character’s overdramatic disposition—it helps when he tells me it’s cute.

I continue my soliloquy, not knowing that tonight will be the night he first says, “I love you,” in the Dairy Queen parking lot, as we sit there savoring our precious few moments alone. I’ll be so flustered I’ll say it back, there in the car, while our friends are inside ordering ice cream—even though I’m not so sure I do. It’ll almost be like that muscle memory again. Like I’m reciting the pre-written lines in the script of my life.

I lie down on the stage, lamenting Demetrius’ disdain for me, not knowing that I’m going to go home tonight and make a list of all the things I love about my stage manager, trying to convince myself that I really do love him back. I’ll assure myself, Yes, I have feelings for him. There’s no doubt about that. But love? How will I know? What if I’m just playing another part?

“Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind—and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind!” I say, sitting up, trying not to squint as the lights shine in my face. It gets easier the longer you’re on stage. The worst part is coming out for your first scene in a while. I stand up. “I will go tell him of fair Hermia’s flight,” I say, feigning regret at betraying my character’s dear friend. I keep speaking, laying out my nefarious plans to woo Demetrius. The monologue ends and I chase my Demetrius offstage, all the while thinking about how I’m going to get to spend the evening with my friends and boyfriend like we always do after Friday night performances. I’m excited because I have no idea that I’m in for three more months of I love you and I love you too. Three months of wondering whether I’m still on stage, pretending to love a Demetrius that’s played by another actor.  

The show goes on, and I have the time of my life. There’s someone in the audience tonight with the most boisterous laugh. I’ve made sure to tell everybody about him so they give their best performance. It always feels so good when the audience laughs. The fight scene is the most fun, and I hear that man chortling the whole time. We spend intermission with the curtains open, while we four lovers—Hermia, Lysander, Demetrius, and me, Helena—lie onstage, pretending to sleep. It is A Midsummer Night’s Dream, after all. It’s hard to lie there, trying not to giggle, while audience members approach the stage and talk to us. A few friends are crouched behind the edge of the curtain, telling us “bedtime stories.” I can’t help but wonder—does the stage manager come out during intermission? Could he be standing there, just a few feet away, watching me? I’m glad I chose to lie down facing away from the audience, because I can’t keep that grin from spreading across my face. Maybe he’s there, maybe he’s not. But the thought of his presence warms my fingertips. 

The lights flash, and the audience makes their way back to their seats. I’m glad intermission is over—my hip is digging into the hard surface of the stage and I can’t wait to stand up. The house lights dim, and I feel the warmth of the stage lights upon my back once again.

We carry on with the show and get a standing ovation. We all dance off the stage to our director’s strange music choice—it’s the Backstreet Boys—and the curtain closes. Another night finished. We say our hellos and goodbyes to the faithful audience members and one by one get in our cars to head to Dairy Queen for our regular ice cream run. I ride in the car with my boyfriend and his little sister. We park. He tells her go on in, we’ll meet her inside.

It’s dark in the car. He’s holding my hand, and my head’s on his shoulder. I feel the weight of his jaw on my hair.

“I love you,” he says.

And suddenly, I’m not sure if it’s me or the Helena inside of me that says it back.