i carry your heart with me

This verse echoed in Kevin’s mind as he climbed through the darkness, redolent of paint and hair spray and freshly-sawn wood. It was a scent recognizable to anyone who’d ever worked backstage during a high school production—this one had been Guys and Dolls, a wild success if the audience’s cheers were any indication—but all that paled in comparison to Kevin’s shattered dreams, crafted over years of watching those beautiful actors onstage, bathed in a divine glow he’d never know.

For the past six weeks, he watched from the wings as Zack tripped over his blocking and stumbled through his lines at rehearsals. Poor Zack had never been onstage before, the victim of a beloved English teacher telling him he needed to give it a try, there was a part just perfect for him, and it’d be a great end to his senior year. Kevin never really gave the star quarterback a second look—that is, until Zack’s tongue and lines finally embraced three days before opening night, and boy, did that union create magic.

That beloved teacher and director had ulterior motives, of course: Zack’s popularity and success on the football field guaranteed a sellout each night, bringing in funds necessary for his program’s survival. However, he also knew this would be good for the boy who’d been handed everything, who never faced a real struggle before, and it would help him develop another useful skill once he graduated and discovered he wasn’t quite good enough to keep throwing that football much longer. Even if it was Zack’s dream to go pro, it was one destined for failure.

But Zack’s popularity and athletic prowess mattered little to Kevin as he scaled that ladder leading to the storage area backstage. He was thinking only of the lines now, how poorly Zack delivered them six weeks ago—hell, just one week ago—convincing Kevin his last show as a techie was going to be an utter failure. But, remarkably, it had been perfect.

That was, until ten minutes ago.

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)

Another line now—not spoken by Zack in the show, but from a poem they both read in class the past week—followed him the final few rungs into the storage loft, where all the props and set pieces used in productions over the decades resided, waiting to be dusted off and used again, and Kevin wondered if he could just stay there, collect dust, and wait for the world to become a better place. Where someone like him could feel the lights onstage and receive the audience’s applause, too. He laughed humorlessly at his foolishness, and then cried again. “Stupid. You’re so goddamn stupid.” And still, even above this raspy self-hatred intermixed with guttural sobs, Kevin could still hear those words from class, echoing in the dark: i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)i am never without it(anywhere i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done by only me is your doing,my darling).

********************

This year’s Meadow Creek High School theater season began in their new theater. Five years ago, the district managed to pass a fifty-four million-dollar referendum for a new middle school to be built directly across the street from the high school. Amongst the bells and whistles promised, a brand new theater, capable of seating five hundred people and perhaps the grandest plan offered, was what many administrators foresaw as the first feature to go should the referendum fail and necessitate a scaled-back second go. However, it didn’t deter voters, with many expressing how nice it would be for the high schoolers finally to have a good theater for their shows, with their own having fallen into a state of disrepair over the decades. By an overwhelming margin of five points, the referendum passed, and the theater was built.

The new season started strong with the fall musical, Guys and Dolls, last performed at Meadow Creek High School nearly three decades ago, followed by Neil Simon’s Rumors in the winter. Both allowed for larger casts and ensured families and friends would fill that massive space; and fill it they did, nearly selling the theater out on more than one occasion. The season had been a roaring success, and the spring’s Little Women all but guaranteed it would end on a high note.

But then, in late February, just four weeks before opening night, tragedy struck: one of the senior leads, Melody Cramer, died in a car accident.

The old director and English teacher, who would be retiring at the end of this year, saw his fair share of tragedies and student deaths, but he never lost an actor during a production. Unsure of how to proceed, he met with the cast and crew, addressed them onstage, all of them seated mournfully around him, and asked if they should go on. “I’ll support whatever you decide,” he said.

A prolonged silence followed his question, leading the old director to believe it would be best to close the curtain on this season prematurely, until Melody’s best friend, Lindsay Pliner, firmly said, “As you always say, the show must go on.” And then, her voice firmer still: “It’s what Melody would’ve wanted.” No one argued this, for no one knew Melody the way Lindsay had, their friendship dating back to kindergarten when they acted in their first plays together, performing for no one but themselves. If Lindsay said it was what Melody would’ve wanted, then that’s what she would’ve wanted. Everyone echoed their agreement, vowing to put on the best show Meadow Creek ever saw.

The first step after this meeting was a difficult one: replacing Melody. In a tragic bit of irony, Melody had been cast as Beth March, the altruist who contracts scarlet fever and dies after spending time with a poor family. It was the perfect part for Melody, and Lindsay was elated to play opposite her best friend as her sister Jo, star of what would have been their final show together.

“It’s so weird we’re playing sisters,” Lindsay said two weeks before Melody’s car accident.

Melody laughed in return, saying, “I know,” before they returned to reciting lines.

The exchange offered Lindsay no insights into how her friend received her message, if she took it as how perfect it was that the two of them—nearly inseparable these past thirteen years—were now going to be playing siblings, or the way Lindsay actually meant it, considering the feelings she had for Melody and how inappropriate they were for one sister to have for another.

Now, Lindsay would never know.

The feelings had always been there. Even if Lindsay couldn’t articulate them or see them through the fog of self-denial and social conditioning, they were the heartbeat behind their friendship. Even when Lindsay could have articulated them, she never did, always worried how Melody would react and what it would do to their friendship. However, with the end of senior year quickly approaching, and with the two committing to schools on separate sides of the country, it was now or never. She was going to tell Melody, and she was going to use the words her character sang to her younger sister—some things are meant to be—to introduce it. It wouldn’t be spoken—Lindsay was sure of that much, terrified of the words stumbling so stupidly off her tongue—but rather written as a note slipped into Melody’s purse before their final show together.

Now, instead of singing that song to Melody, she was singing it to her replacement, Virginia Klein, a sophomore who’d looked up to Melody as if she were Sutton Foster, herself. Through tears and encouragement, Lindsay tried to do right by Virginia, offering advice at rehearsals and working with her outside of school to ensure this show, this tribute to Melody Cramer, was the absolute best it could be.

And a success it was, ending each night in teary applause. Every show sold out, prompting the old director to add a fifth show Sunday night, after which Lindsay walked back to him, held out her arms, and gave him a hug. “Thank you, Mr. Richards. Thank you for everything.”

He returned her hug with even greater force, letting loose tears he’d held back the last month. “She would have been so proud of you. And so am I.”

Normally, following a show, the cast and crew congregate in the lobby, as family and friends fawn over their loved ones’ roles, but this didn’t seem right for Lindsay Pliner. Not this time. Without saying a word, once everyone left, she simply slipped out the backstage exit, walked calmly across the street to her high school, and made her way through the back door with the faulty lock, which everyone in the theater troupe knew about because it was the easiest route to that beloved old space, redolent of paint and hair spray and freshly-sawn wood.

********************

It was Sunday night, and it had been a rather long day. Mr. Richards, seeing how quickly the show with the star quarterback had sold out, added a fifth performance after the Sunday matinee to capitalize on the success. Actually, that entire weekend had been long, starting with Mr. Richards’ English 12 class Friday afternoon, when he read that E.E. Cummings poem aloud and partnered up his students to dissect it. Kevin was partnered with Zack, and after having seen his performance from the wings, Kevin, though he loathed to admit it, was star-struck. Many students felt that way around Zack, who could throw a ball from one end of the field to the other, but Kevin didn’t care about such things. He cared about beautiful words and how they now dripped like honey from Zack’s tongue.

It also turned out that, in addition to his athletic prowess and newly-discovered talent onstage, Zack was a pretty good English student. Not great by any means, but he understood the beauty of Cummings’ words, giving them the care and respect they deserved. Within that forty-five-minute period, Kevin’s feelings shifted from mere schoolboy crush to full-blown love. This is so stupid, he thought as they filed out of class, but love is like Novocain to our more cynical inclinations. However, when that love turns sour, or worse, when it’s not reciprocated, it can be downright fatal, as Kevin could attest to now, sobbing in the dark while replaying that poem in his head.

“Stupid, stupid.”

He dared to dream, and though he hadn’t sipped his first cocktail yet, the feeling would be familiar when he did. The dreams of those in love can overtake our better judgment, compelling us into behaviors we’d otherwise avoid at all costs. And that’s exactly how it was when cast and crew gathered in the lobby after the show, when Kevin tentatively approached that massive star of the stage and football field to congratulate him, to say…oh, he had so many things he wanted to say, but as he neared Zack, Zack stepped toward his ex-girlfriend, the other star of tonight’s show, embracing and locking lips with her in one fluid movement, prompting the night’s final (and perhaps loudest) round of applause. After separating two months prior, and after working with each other nightly despite their breakup, the two most popular people at Meadow Creek High School finally reunited, and the light was theirs alone to enjoy, with everyone gathered around and happy to be watching their story. Everyone except for Kevin, who made his way back to the darkness behind the scrim, where people like him belonged.

Although it was a hard lesson, it was indisputable: there were stars onstage, and there were those permanently relegated to the shadows backstage, acknowledged only by the lead’s extended hand during the curtain call, so quick and meaningless and ultimately forgotten. Yet Kevin vowed he would not be forgotten. He would leave something behind, some words for those who came after. Maybe they would be bitter, a healthy dose of realism reminding those in the wings who dare to dream that it’s best to keep those dreams out of the stage light, for such incandescence was not meant for them. And here, above backstage, where the old props were gathered under a blanket of dust, was the best place for such words.

Yet, he wouldn’t allow that old cynicism to take hold.

In a move he couldn’t understand, when he looked at the cinderblock wall of that storage area, where actors and techies alike had penned their words, entwined into a tapestry that stretched generations, sharing in-jokes and quotes and favorite lines from their productions, a speck of light shone in the dark. Yes, theater was a metaphor for society, for life, with those receiving adulation always out front, while the dregs making it all possible were forgotten behind the curtain, but it was still one family collected in this old theater, already starting to show its age and in need of repair. It was why Kevin joined theater his freshman year, too terrified to ever try out but more than willing to find friends in the dark. They brought out props and set pieces together for people like Zack to use, who could only be a star because of people like Kevin.

No, he wouldn’t end his four years crying in the dark. He’d keep crying now, sure—he made a habit of that long before high school, so it seemed fitting—but the mark he left behind wouldn’t be so cynical. It’d be…it’d be….

He struggled to find the words, trying to crystallize exactly what he felt. Then, he realized it wasn’t his words he needed to share but those who pushed him to dream this weekend of going up to that star onstage and telling him how wonderful he was.

There were several permanent markers up here, left over from previous classes, so Kevin grabbed one, wiped his eyes, and wrote his own goodbye on that old cinderblock wall, finding a space between someone named Peter Townley (1978-1982) and someone named Elizabeth Cruz (1986-1990).

********************

Lindsay Pliner had suffered severe depression in middle school, worn long sleeves in seventh grade to hide the evidence of that depression, but it was Melody who guided her through it, like a speck of light in the dark for her to follow.

She was ascending now to that loft above the stage, where generations of other theater nerds had hung out and left their words. Lindsay and Melody had similar plans of stealing away during class to climb that ladder and leave their mark in that ancient theater. However, those plans would never come to fruition, life’s cruelty once more ending the show before the final curtain, and Lindsay fell back into the familiar darkness without a light to guide her. Why she sought this place out now, she didn’t know. She only knew that too many things had changed too quickly and she needed something familiar. Thoughts formerly put to bed by Melody’s love had awoken and were threatening to consume her.

Her back against an old teacher’s desk, for it wasn’t props stored here now but the district’s clutter, Lindsay stared at the cinderblock wall, stained by decades of past students, penning their words for people like her and Melody, so they could continue their tradition. With the new theater, her classmates already started that tradition anew, penning lyrics and lines from Guys and Dolls and Company and Little Women, but for Lindsay, that didn’t feel right. It was a new tradition born from the old, but it was the old where Melody and Lindsay would forever be, trapped by time’s merciless hands. It was here she’d leave her mark—not to speak to future generations, but to commune with the past. Even before escaping the adulation filling that new lobby, Lindsay planned to come back here, so she had a marker ready, but what was first conceived as a letter admitting her feelings to her best friend now tragically turned into a suicide note.

The silence of that old theater, a shell of its former self, was broken by her sobs. For a moment, they were all that existed. Lindsay thought this may, in fact, be her parting words for a world too cruel to allow the love between her and her inseparable friend, and maybe that would’ve been it had Lindsay not settled on the space below a particularly long passage, set between the words of someone named Peter Townley and another called Elizabeth Cruz. A high schooler named Kevin Fitz (1994-1998) had written a poem she knew well—one Mr. Richards taught just last week. But now, those words carried something new, something familiar, something that pushed Lindsay past that inescapable darkness.

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)i am never without it(anywhere i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done by only me is your doing,my darling)

The marker nearly slipped from her trembling hands, but she held firm, ready to add her own words to those from almost three decades ago. Beneath Kevin’s verses, she wrote:

Some things are meant to be. You and I were meant to be, Melody, and I’ll carry your heart with me(forever).

I love you.

-Lindsay Pliner (2022-2026)

Only the dark could hear Lindsay’s sobs—and generations of former theater kids, too, who scaled that same ladder to leave their mark on this world.

This one is for my mother, who taught me to love the stage and all that lies behind it.