The frenzy of the backstage was something I would never get used to. I hoarded myself in my dressing room, listening to the stampede of feet as dancers and the chorus and set props were dashing left and right. I enjoyed relaxation before my performances. A lone room, some dim lighting, and one last cup of hot green tea with honey and lemon. It helped me to prepare myself for the vocal warm ups I would do, and I would take exactly fifteen minutes to warm up before taking my place. It was a routine I had set over the first four shows of the tour, and it was a routine I had consistently stuck with to place myself in the right mindset for the show. Turandot was a beloved opera with so many beautiful pieces, and I wanted to make sure I was doing my character justice.

But before I could finish my tea, a knock came at my door.

“Joanna? It’s me.”

I opened the door for Lacey and she came walking in, a glass of wine in hand.

“I still don’t know how you can drink that stuff right before a performance,” I said.

“Rest those chords. You know why I’m here,” Lacey said. “So, if something happens within the next hour and you can’t go on, I’ve got my costume fitted and ready. I’ll be in the wing to feed you lines if something happens to your memory on stage, and if you need help of any sort all you have to do is look at me.”

“You know I-”

“Ah, ah, ah. Rest those chords. There’s been one change to how things are working on stage, but it has nothing to do with you. But I want to update you on it anyway so it doesn’t take you by surprise,” she said.

I nodded to let her know I understood.

“This stage is much deeper than the ones we’ve performed on. So the stage crew is stacking the stage props rather than sliding them as necessary. That means less commotion during the acting portions, but during two of your arias there will be movement behind you. Don’t let it startle you, but it is different and I wanted you to be aware of it.”

I nodded as I took another sip of my tea, then I watched Lacey recline back into the couch.

“I’m going to use talking to warm up,” I said.

“You’re nervous, aren’t you?” Lacey asked.

“Of course I’m nervous. This is the Metropolitan Opera for crying out loud! New York’s elite will be out there. People who could make or break our careers.”

“You mean your career. And come on, The Met called us for this show. They beckoned for you, not the other way around.”

“It’s one of the largest stages in the nation,” I said. “Possibly in the world.”

“Maybe not the world, but it is certainly one of the most popular and well-known. Look, Joanna. You can’t get your head wrapped up in those kinds of things. If you’re going to make a career out of this like you want to, then you have to start getting used to that kind of thing. Especially if you wanna travel Europe.”

“We don’t know who’s going to get offered that position,” I said.

“You can play dumb all you want, but I know they’re gonna offer that position to you.”

“How are you so confident in all this?”

“How are you not?” she asked. “I’ve watched you walk out onto stages night after night with your head held high. I’ve listened to you toss your high notes to the rafters and blow the damn toupees off the old men in the front fucking row. How can you be this insecure but be so confident on stage?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “The stage, it… fuels me. Breaths a fresh sort of life into me, I guess.”

“Your performances up until this point have been spot-on, and I haven’t had to go on as your understudy once. The maestro has praised you, the critic’s reviews in every city have been nothing short of ‘galliant’.”

“‘Galliant’?” I asked. “I don’t think that word means what you think it means. Actually, I don’t think that’s a word at all.”

“What’s the word for ‘totally awesome but you’re being a dick about it’?” she asked.

“I don’t think there’s a word for that,” I said.

“Whatever. The point is, you’re going to do just fine. But if you psych yourself out about it, you’re going to fall flat on your face.”

“Thanks for the pep talk.”

“Hey, you were the one that wanted to use talking as your warm up. I tried to get you to rest,” she said.

I watched the clock tick down as Lacey and I sat in silence. She was finishing off her wine and I was finishing up my tea, but my mind was wandering elsewhere. I allowed myself the ability to dream about Europe. When the two of us auditioned for the traveling show, we didn’t understand what would be sitting at the other end for us. We figured we would travel and perform for a few months, then use the performance footage as a catapult into our own careers. We didn’t know a European touring company would be offering a few select of us the chance to tour with a professional opera act.

My mind wandered about, dreaming of the life I could create for myself. I could perform in all of the wonderful opera houses around the world and settle down in a place where I could leave my entire life behind. I could start fresh. Possibly in Germany. Or even London. I could get away from all the heartache of my childhood and plant my roots in a place I could be proud of. A place I could call home that didn’t automatically bring tears to my eyes.

“Joanna? You okay?”

I felt a tear sliding down my cheek and I wiped at it quickly.

“Just thinking,” I said.

“About what?” Lacey asked.

“About how I’m going to demand the company take you to Europe if they offer me the position. I won’t be able to do something like that without you.”

“One, that’s awesome and very kind. And two, you’re much stronger than you think. Even if they do offer you the position and they don’t me, it’s not going to shock me. I haven’t once stepped into your shoes for a performance, so no one knows what I can do. And that’s fine with me. I like the chorus line for this show. Well, the parts I’m in, anyway. But this is your time to shine, Joanna. It’s your time to step out of the shadows and claim the spotlight that’s so rightfully yours.”

“I want you to come to Europe with me. I want us to find a place where we can be happy,” I said.

“So that’s what you’re thinking about.”

“What?”

“Home. You're thinking about home.”

“I’m thinking about how I could make a home somewhere that makes me happy, yes,” I said.

“Why don’t we get through this performance tonight, then we can go get some food, celebrate a job well done, and daydream all we want?”

“What time is it?” I asked.

“It’s ten minutes until showtime,” she said.

I set my tea cup down onto the edge of my vanity before I stood up from my seat. I opened the door and Lacey threaded her arm with mine, then the two of us started for the side of the stage. It was time for both of us to take our rightful places for what was going to be the biggest performance of our musical careers thus far. Lacey left me in the wing before she trotted off to go join the opening chorus.

But then, the backstage manager approached my side.

“Hey there, Joanna. You need any water?” he asked.

“No thanks, Barry. I’m good.”

“Okay, listen. I don’t wanna trip you out or anything-”

“If you’re going to tell me something that’s going to make me nervous, please don’t,” I said.

“But you wanna know about the critics in the audience, right?” he asked.

“Oh, yes. Them. Are there critics tonight?”

“Many of them, but there’s only one you need to pay attention to. Martie Blackstone is here, and he’s sitting in an aisle seat about halfway back on the left-hand side.”

“Wait a second. Martie Blackstone? Isn’t he the critic that has his own television show?” I asked.

“That’s the one.”

“He’s one of New York’s greatest critics,” I said.

“That he is. I figured you would want to know.”

“No. No, Barry. I really didn’t want to know that.”

“Why not?” he asked.

“Because now I feel like I’m going to puke!”

“Well… don’t do that. It would probably make it into his review of the show.”

“I hate you.”

“I know you’re going to go out there and use that fear to fuel your performance, just meddle through the nausea for four minutes and you’ll be good to go.”

“Four minutes! I thought I had ten?” I asked.

“Yep. You had ten minutes six minutes ago. And now it’s three. Gotta go! You know what to do when the lights go down.”

I felt my hands trembling as I placed them against my stomach. This was one of those moments where I wished Lacey was with me. This was one of those moments where I wished she wasn’t in the chorus, despite how much she enjoyed it. I needed her strength. I needed her resolve. I was a bundle of nerves and the seconds were ticking down and I could feel the bile rising up the back of my throat.

Then, I watched a hand poke through the curtain at my side.

“Give me your hand,” Lacey said with a whisper.

Tears sprang to my eyes as I slid my hand within hers.

“Screw that damn critic,” she said. “You’re going to nail this shit to the wall. And I’ll punch Barry in the throat later for making you so nervous.”

“You say the sweetest things,” I said breathlessly.

“I’m right here. I’ll be right here all night.”

I released Lacey’s hand and smoothed my dress down my body. I swallowed the fear clenching my throat as I drew in a few deep breaths. I started stretching my jaw and flexing my lips, trying to loosen myself up as the lights slowly dimmed on stage. This was it. The biggest performance of my career thus far, and the chorus was moving out onto the stage.

I put one foot in front of the other, allowing my insecurities to drop at the side of the stage. I felt the strength of the floor underneath me permeate up my calves. I felt my shoulders roll back as my muscles twitched with a resounding fervor. The adrenaline of my nerves was quickly evolving into an anxious adrenaline to hear the strike of that first chord. The dissonant chord that signaled the curtain to come up and the hefty bass-baritone to start his chant that opened the beautiful opera I was so lucky to be a part of.

I stopped in the shadows. Exactly where I was supposed to be as the orchestra opened up the performance. I watched Lacey come out of the wing, a grin piercing her cheeks. I envied her confidence off the stage. The way she could take the commanding dominance of our craft and mold it into the rest of her life. I watched as the stage came alive. I watched as everyone moved around the stage as if they were in a small little village. I listened to the resounding notes of the bass-baritone as he filled the entire opera house with his beastly voice.

Then I stepped out onto the stage, inhabiting the body of the woman I was supposed to be portraying as I led myself out onto the stage. And in that moment, I was no longer Joanna Leone, quiet soprano who preferred tea to wine. I was Liu. A powerful, outspoken slave girl who held the only secret she could in a hope to find love requited.

And as my first high note hit the rafters of the opening number, I heard the crowd gasp.