* nothing happens backstage ;;

[elizabethalexander]

Elizabeth Alexander woke from a perfectly good sleep after her husband began caressing the side of her face and talking to her in a sweet sounding voice. She shook her head slowly back and forth and turned onto her side; she was not a morning person by any means and wanted to sleep in until later. He quickly reminded her that she had a lunch meeting with one of her colleagues, Theresa Coleman, the other vocal instructor at Shifter Academy. A groan escaped the woman’s cracked lips as she pulled the blanket over her head to shield her eyes from the sun and refused to get out of bed for the next fifteen minutes. It was not until her husband tickled her sides gently that she rolled across the bed and onto the floor in an attempt to get away; the impact she made with the floor woke her. At least she was awake. When she finally managed to stand to her feet, she tossed a playful glare at her husband and sat on the edge of the bed. As she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, she could think of nothing better than to lay on their therapeutic king-sized mattress and fall back to sleep. She was actually about to when she caught a glimpse of the digital clock on her bedside table. It was already after eleven, which meant that she had a little over an hour to get ready.

The vocal instructor went about her getting-ready-to-see-someone routine, which consisted of smoking a cigarette, taking a quick shower, drinking a cup of milk with coffee (not coffee with milk), and making sure that whatever she was cooking for dinner was taken out of the freezer so it had time to thaw. Fried chicken was on the menu, as it turned out. Michael went outside to start her silver Prius so it had time to cool before she left. Of course, he probably could have waited an extra fifteen minutes. Elizabeth never left the house until the absolute last minute, which was the reason why she was late half the time. She was late to a friend’s baby shower once because their neighbor’s dog spend ten minutes chasing his own tail.

After giving her husband a quick kiss on the mouth, she got in her car and drove to the café where she and Theresa had planned to meet. Just as she had expected, the younger woman was already sitting at their table near the window and was looking over the lessons she had planned. Of course, Elizabeth had forgotten the bright yellow folder with all her plans at home; it was a good thing she had been doing this for almost forty years and knew exactly what the lessons said. The two made a quick discuss of their lesson plans and spent the remainder of their lunchtime talking about how their summers were going and how excited they were to start teaching again. A little over an hour passed, and they both went their separate ways. Theresa made a left and went back home to her husband and two young children, and Elizabeth made a right and went in the direction of her home. But her destination was not home; her destination was the school’s campus.

For once, Elizabeth drove the speed limit. The mess left by the hurricane was strewn across the highways and in people’s yards. Palm treats, which were made to bend and not break, were permanently bent in awkward positions. As Elizabeth saw the damage done to people’s homes and the random piles of sand lined on the beaches, she began to wonder how her own home was still standing. She lived in her husband’s family’s home, which had been passed down through several generations. Elizabeth knew it had to be well over a hundred years old, yet it was still standing on its solid foundation. She was not complaining—actually, quite the opposite—but she felt bad for all those who had lost their homes to the hurricane.

Elizabeth pulled into the faculty and staff parking lot at the school and dug through the glove compartment for her parking pass. Even though school was not in session, persons were still required to have their parking pass displayed. It took her all of five minutes to find it; somehow it had managed to drop on the floor and hide under the passenger seat. The parking pass was nearly five years old, which meant that it was almost time for her to have it replaced. She made sure her headlights were off (as she had spent too many hours in the parking lot waiting for her husband to come and jumpstart her car) and then began walking up the sidewalk towards one of her favorite buildings on campus: the concert hall.

The concert hall had undergone mild renovation during the summer holiday, and Elizabeth was anxious to see some of the changes. She knew nothing drastic had happened or else the renovation would have started months ago and not after the students were dismissed for the summer season. The woman’s long legs carried her across the campus and towards the concert hall, which, she realized, was further away from the faculty parking lot than the building in which all of her classes were held. She began to pant about midway through her walk and had to sit on a courtesy bench after taking a sip of water from a nearby water fountain. Once her breaths slowed and her heart began beating normally, she stood and began walking again. She reached the concert hall moments later and, after swiping her faculty/staff identification card, stepped inside the massive building.

As soon as she stepped inside, Elizabeth realized the smell of fresh paint. There were no signs stating that the wall should remain untouched, but she knew that the walls had recently been painted. She also noticed that the carpeting had been replaced, which was a good thing, since her allergies acted up every time she came into the massive hall because of the mold and mildew that collected in the carpets after people tracked in rain from outside. Sometimes she wished they would put tiling in instead of replacing the carpet every few years, but that would require more custodial staff to clean and the school just did not have the funds to pay additional housekeeping employees.

The instructor admired the new ivory coloring of the walls and the beige color of the carpeting. It brightened the concert hall drastically and gave it a more welcoming feel. The aged woman walked down the center aisle as if she was called on stage to accept an award. She thought about jumping from the floor onto the stage but realize that the stage was too high off the ground and that she did not have the strength to pull herself up. She instead took the small flight of stairs and went onstage that way. Of course, she did not appear on the stage, but instead, behind it. She felt around in the dark for the operating panel, which would allow her to turn the lights on above the stage, and behind it. Once the area was illuminated, she wandered in search of the Grand piano the school kept backstage for yearly performances.

Elizabeth found the piano and removed the cover. Its exterior was shiny, and she was almost ashamed to look at it. Nonetheless, she propped the top of the piano open so the sound could travel and then found an almost dangerous-looking chair nearby. She tested it to make sure it would not impose on her safety and then situated herself, in the chair, in front of the piano. She lifted the cover from over the keys and touched a carefully chosen selection of keys with the tips of her fingers. She pressed down, and the sound of a perfectly tuned piano filled the concert hall. A pleased smile passed across her face as she began playing an upbeat, but very random, series of tunes. She finally stopped and looked around. There was not much behind the stage, which made her glad that she was not in charge of technical things. Whenever she came to the concert hall for performances, she was usually on stage with the students, conducting them. As she sat there, she began to realize how bored she was. Moments like these made her wish summer would end and fall would begin—and quickly.

TAG: Open
WORDS: 1419
LISTENING TO: Just the sound of my brother playing Mario on the Wii in the living room and the whirring of fans in my bedroom.
NOTES: I chose a random name for the other vocal instructor simply for role-playing purposes and not because she has already been claimed or created. Also, sorry if it kinda lags in quality. It’s 6am, and I’ve been working on the post since last night… Oh, and sorry for the...weird title.
MADE BY: Amber