The Curtain

Margaret’s eyes fluttered as she awoke inside an empty dressing room. Ornate gowns and pantyhose littered the floor and half styled wigs and dried tubes of lipstick were strewn about the counter. The bulbs around the mirrors flickered a hazy light through layers of dust. 

“Where am I?” Margaret rubbed her eyes, smudging her mascara as she sat up. The room was eerily quiet except for a steady clinical beep that rang like a metronome. “Hello? Is anyone there?” 

The wooden floor creaked as Margaret’s feet gently touched the dried planks and tiptoed closer to the mirror. Her gown was a faded gold satin that dripped down like a shimmering waterfall caught in the sunset. Her brown hair was neatly tucked into finger waves that brushed against her rosy cheeks. 

“…can you hear me,” a muffled voice whispered. Margaret twisted her head around the small disheveled dressing chamber. 

“Hello?” 

There was no reply. Margaret furrowed her brow as she walked towards the door and wrapped her porcelain fingers around the handle, gently pushing herself into an empty hallway. 

“Is anyone out there?” 

The dimly lit hallway leading to the stage was lifeless except for the continued droning of the high pitched chime. Margaret crept through the hallway, peering into each room along the way. All of them empty. 

“I’m right here beside you…” the whisper danced across her ears. 

“Where are you?” She yelled into the corridor, her voice echoing back at her. “Please. Is anyone there?” 

Margaret reached the end of the hallway and faced a crossroads. A sign on the wall said “stage” with an arrow pointing to the right. She traced the word with her fingertips. 

“Stage?” she wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “No, I haven’t been on a stage in years.” 

The whispers rang in her ears, but she couldn’t distinguish what was being said. She followed the path to the right, the unrecognizable voices ringing louder as she picked up her pace and ran towards the stage. 

With every step, her breathing labored as panic set in. She stopped, suddenly confronted with the backstage. A large red curtain stood as a monolith separating her from the main stage. Her knees trembled as her eyes scanned the heavy velvet fabric that slightly swayed across the floor. 

“Where are the other actors?” Margaret thought as she caught her breath. 

“She hasn’t got long…” the whisper faded into nothingness. 

“Is that my cue?” Margaret called out. “I’m not ready to go on! I don’t know what show this is!” 

The clinical bell continued to chime every few seconds. Margaret shut her eyes and shook her head, hoping it would dislodge the annoying sound. 

It was still there. 

“Why is she waiting…” 

“Please? Is there anyone there?” Margaret yelled. “I don’t know where I am! Please!” 

Tears welled in her eyes as the sounds of other people’s chatter swirled in her head. She outstretched her hand and touched the edge of the curtain. The rigid fabric felt cold in her grasp and she yanked her trembling hand away before she could peek onto the stage. Margaret stepped away from the curtain staring in awe and terror as it swayed, its frayed edges brushing against the ground. 

“I can’t breathe,” she clutched her chest and collapsed on the floor under the gaze of the curtain. Her eyes watered as she coughed into her hand. 

A tall shadow grew larger in the soft glow of the curtain as it approached the young starlet crumpled on the floor. 

“Are you alright, miss?” 

A blonde man in a brown waistcoat and trousers knelt down beside her and helped Margaret to her feet. The golden clad beauty shook her head as she gasped for air. 

“Here, why don’t you sit down over here.” The man ushered her to a small wooden stool in the wing next to the thick braided rope that opens the curtain. He sat her down gently as she continued to cough. “There you are. Let me grab you some water.” 

The man walked off into the darkness as Margaret wiped the flakes of mascara from her cheeks and focused on her breathing. The droning bell continued to ring above the sound of her heaving chest. Her throat was scratchy and dry, and she mustered her strength to sit up. 

“Ah, there you go.” The man returned with a glass of water and handed it to Margaret. She slowly sipped the elixir and felt herself revive. 

“Thank you,” she whispered in a raspy voice. 

“Must’ve gotten choked up on the dust in here. This place ain’t what it used to be.” 

“Is this… is this your theatre?” She took another sip. 

“Mine? I wish.” The man leaned against the wall and rubbed the back of his shaking head. “I can’t afford a place like this. No, I’m just the stage manager. Name’s Peter.” 

He wiped the hair gel from his hand onto his trousers and reached for a handshake. His warm smile and blue eyes glistened in the oil lamps aligned on the wall. Margaret took his hand. 

“I’m Margaret.” 

“Nice to meet you, Miss Margaret.” 

“I’m afraid that’s all I know. You see, I don’t know where I am or who I’m supposed to be playing.”

Peter cocked his head. “Oh?” 

“Where are the other actors? The costume designer? The director? A copy of the script?” Margaret looked at the barren backstage. “There is no one here.” 

Her body stiffened and her eyes scanned the ornate gold accents holding the curtain in place. The chiming drilled a hole in her brain and the incoherent voices filtered through it. 

“What can we do?” 

“It’s up to her…” 

Margaret turned back towards Peter. “Did you hear that?” 

“Hear what?” 

“The voices.” 

Margaret stood up and walked towards the center of the curtain, gazing up into the rickety rafters above. Peter watched as Margaret searched for the source of her frustration. 

“I’m afraid you and I are the only people here, Miss.” 

“But that can’t be,” she quipped. “I can hear talking.” 

Peter looked at his watch and frowned. “Miss Margaret, it’s almost showtime. Are you ready to take the stage?” 

She coughed. “Am I what?” 

“It’s almost time for you to go on.” 

Margaret glared at the curtain and shook her head. “No, I’m not. Don’t you understand? I don’t know my part… or what show this is.” 

“It’s your show.” 

“My show?” Margaret scoffed. “I don’t understand.” 

“The stage is all yours.” Peter gestured to the curtain. 

“What? Behind the curtain?” 

Peter nodded. “That’s usually how theatre works, Miss.” 

Margaret looked back at the wall of velvet in front of her and grabbed the edge of it. The mechanical beeping rang louder in her ears and her heart raced. She let go of the curtain. 

“Where is that sound coming from?” 

“I don’t hear anything, Miss.” 

Margaret rubbed her temples, tousling her hair. The whispers continued to flash in and out of her mind. 

“I feel like I’m going crazy.” She coughed as her breathing grew heavy. 

Peter walked over to Margaret and put his arm around her, steadying her as he guided her back to the stool. “You’ll be alright, Miss. You just seem to be caught with a little stage fright is all. I bet you were like this before every show.” 

Margaret sat down and nodded. “I suppose so. It’s been years since I’ve been on the stage.” 

“How many years?” 

“Goodness,” Margaret wiped the corner of her mouth with her thumb, careful not to smudge her red lipstick. “It must be at least forty five years.”

Her eyes widened as she realized what she just said. “No, that can’t be right.” 

She stood up and paced across the floor. Peter rolled up his shirt sleeves and tucked his hands into his pockets as he leaned against the wall, studying Margaret as she looked at her hands under the lamp light. 

“It can’t have been forty five years. Look at me. I’ve not a single wrinkle.” 

“Maybe it just felt like forty five years,” Peter shrugged with a smile. “All you actors can be a bit over dramatic at times.” 

“No,” Margaret whispered, her eyes fixed on the curtain. “What year is it?” 

“What year do you want it to be?” 

The whispered grew louder, drowning out the melodic bell. “I’m right here… I love you…” 

“Wait.” Margaret held her finger in front of her lips, sending a signal to silence Peter as she listened to the voices. There was something warm, soothing… familiar about the voice. “I know that voice.” 

“There is so much I want to tell you… I wish you could hear me,” a tender female voice cooed inside Margaret’s mind. 

“Amanda?” Margaret’s jaw dropped. 

“Who’s Amanda?” Peter took a stride forward. 

“She’s my granddaughter,” Margaret frowned with confusion. “Granddaughter. How is this possible?” 

Her fearful eyes turned back to Peter who pulled his hand out of his pocket and shot a look at his watch. 

“It’s almost showtime, Miss.” He took her hand and led her to the curtain, her body rigid with fright and she pulled against Peter’s gentle nudge. 

“No!” 

“What’s the matter, Miss?” Peter pointed at the crimson drapes. “It’s just a curtain.” 

“But I…” Margret’s voice trailed off. “I… I don’t know what’s on the other side.” 

“I’m not sure what you mean.” Peter gave her a polite smile. 

“Well, if you said you and I are the only ones here then what if I walk out there and there’s no audience?” Margaret’s hand glided across the velvet. “What if I get on that stage and there’s nothing? No one out there but me and that spotlight.” 

“Would it be so terrible if it was just you under those bright lights?” 

“Yes.”

“Why?” 

“Because I’d be alone… performing for no one,” Margaret sighed. “On the other hand…what if I go out on that stage and there is a full audience?” 

“That’s what you want, isn’t it? To perform before a cheering crowd?” 

“I…I don’t know. I told you, I don’t know what part I’m playing. I’m not prepared,” Margaret’s voice cracked as panic settled in the lines on her forehead. 

“You do know what part you’re playing, Miss Margaret.” Peter brushed her shoulder and smiled. “You.” 

“She hasn’t got long now. You should…” a deeper voice echoed in the rafters. 

“Please make the voices stop,” she cried as she looked at Peter. “I just want to go home.” 

“The stage is your home,” Peter assured. “You just have to walk through the curtain.” 

“But… I’m not ready.” She coughed. 

“Hardly anyone ever is,” Peter smiled. “But once you get on that stage, Miss Margaret, you’ll find what it is you’re searching for.” 

“I’m scared.” 

“What’s there to be scared of?” 

“I don’t know what’s on the other side. Will I make a fool of myself in front of hundreds of strangers? Will I find myself alone in the dark? I’m not ready to take that leap.” 

“Well, like you just said, Miss Margaret. It’s a leap. You won’t know until you push back that curtain and get on that stage.” 

Peter strolled over to the braided rope and gripped it tight, ready to pull the curtain back. 

“Nana, I’m right here. I wish we had more time together. I love you…” 

The melodic beeping continued but it grew slower and softer. Margaret took a deep breath. 

“Can she hear me?” 

“She should be able to hear you, but I couldn’t tell you where her mind is…” 

“… I’m the only family she has left…” 

Margaret looked around the barren backstage with the set pieces draped in dusty linens and colorful costumes hanging on mobile wardrobe racks. It was all coming back to her. The dazzling world beyond the stage was her first love. 

“I haven’t been here for quite some time.” She breathed, soaking in the essence of the old theatre. The scent of damp linens and burning candles. The faint sound of clicking heels and scurried feet across the floorboards as the excited actors made their way into the wings. In the moment just before the curtain opened, Margaret had never felt more alive. In the seconds before showtime, the actors hushed and listened to the mumbling crowd they could only hear beyond the curtain. The anticipation, the rush of the show that must continue was electrifying.

Margaret caressed the soft velvet curtain in her hands, stroking it softly. She smiled to hide the nervous glint in her eyes. 

“Peter, I’m scared of what awaits me on the other side.” 

Peter let go of the curtain pull and put his arm around Margaret. 

“Miss Margaret, don’t let this stage fright get to you. Look at you. You’re a star,” his smile dazzled. “You are meant to be on that stage. It’s waiting for you.” 

“It’s time, Nana. You don’t have to fight anymore…” Amanda’s voice whispered. 

The clinical beeping chimed slower and softer. A young woman with puffy red eyes sniffled as she grabbed an old woman’s hand and kissed it. 

The frail woman in the hospital bed struggled to breathe through a respirator, a steady beep measuring her heart rate. She had been there for quite some time. Her translucent, wrinkled porcelain skin clung to her body. The familiar rosy cheeks were still flushed as Amanda spoke softly to the white haired woman. 

“I’m here. Nana. I made it back from Seattle so I could say goodbye. You can let go now.” Amanda choked out the words. “You can be with Grandpa now. He’s waiting for you.” 

Margaret looked up into the rafters, Amanda’s voice ringing clear in her mind as the beeping droned on. The curtain swayed as Peter began to pull on the rope. It squeaked as the curtain slowly pulled open. 

“There is nothing to fear, Miss Margaret,” Peter reassured with a voice as soothing as honey. He looked up into the rafters, listening to Amanda’s words. “I believe that’s your cue.” 

She turned back to Peter with an uncertain smile, tears welling in her eyes. 

“Is Harold on the other side?” 

“You’ll have to take the stage and find out. I can’t give you that answer,” Peter shrugged. “It’s a leap only you can take.” 

The stage was dark and the audience silent. Margaret took a deep breath and mustered her courage. She tiptoed towards the curtain, grabbing it by its edge. Holding her head high, she smiled and stepped out into the spotlight as the melodic and steady beat of the heart monitor grew softer and longer until it was a dull, high pitch tone. 

“Margaret Warner. Time of death: 8:43 a.m.”