The stage is almost finished being built at the front of the church. Someone has painted some fantastic backgrounds of dusty landscapes with farmhouses in the distance and what looks like dead grass on the ground.
Now that I’ve read the New Testament a few times, I can see how the dryness in the first part of the play is symbolic. It is what the world was like before Jesus was born. All of those dusty images could make a person thirsty. No wonder Mary goes on about tomatoes when she gets closer to their destination.
“They want to make you long for Christmas,” I whisper to Lizabett. “All that dust in the beginning and then the gradual greening as the big night arrives.”
Lizabett is looking at the side of the stage where some of the other props are stacked.
“Is that Motel 6 sign supposed to be for the inn?” she asks.
I nod. “And the manger is a gas station.”
“I can’t imagine Jesus being born in a gas station,” Lizabett says.
“Actually, he’s born in the restroom of the gas station. The station is closed for the night.”
“Wow.”
“Mary and Joseph were poor,” I say.
Joseph’s understudy comes down the aisle and sits in front of us. He turns around and nods. He and I don’t actually know each other, but we nod at each other just to show that we both know it could be the two of us up there on the stage if disaster suddenly struck.
It kind of bothers me that Joseph’s understudy looks a lot more like the actor playing Joseph than I look like the butterfly woman playing Mary. It just makes it so plain to me that the director chose me as the understudy because he wanted to use my uncle’s house and the understudy role was the least he could give me. And I mean the absolute least.
I know this is the way Hollywood works even on small productions like this one. It’s all about who you know or, more accurately, who the people you are meeting know and whether they are willing to introduce you to them later.
I brought the journal with us this afternoon. Not because I think either Lizabett or I will do much writing. But because it feels good to have it with us. I never thought I’d feel this way about the journal. But it’s a part of me like my cell phone and my bus pass.
I wonder if it’s because I am starting to like being responsible for the journal. It’s like carrying the heart of the Sisterhood around.
“They missed that one,” the Joseph understudy turns around and whispers at me. “If they can’t learn the lines, they shouldn’t be up there.”
“They’re probably just nervous,” I whisper back.
He grunts in disgust. “I could do better.”
I just shrug at him. I might have said the same kind of a thing a week or so ago. Its easy to put people down instead of lifting them up. “The important thing is the play.”
Well, that made the understudy turn back around and face the stage.
“Did I sound stuffy?” I turn to Lizabett and whisper softly. “I didn’t mean to. It’s just that—”
Lizabett nods. “You’re right to take it seriously. It’s Mary’s story. Well, and Joseph’s, too—and the baby’s at the end.”
The lights are starting to dim as the old pickup truck onstage bounces along to the motel that is flashing a No Vacancy sign. This is one of my favorite parts, because I see how worried Joseph is about Mary. Not that I wouldn’t be worried, too, since a baby is going to be born any minute now and he’s the one who has to make the arrangements and there’s no 911 to call.
Joseph talks with the man inside the motel and the desk clerk keeps shaking his head. Finally, the desk clerk reaches under the counter and brings up a short stack of neatly folded towels.
“Here. It’s the best I can do,” he says to Joseph. “And the restroom is always open at the station across the street. At least it has heat and it has a big hallway in front.”
“Thanks.” Joseph takes the towels and goes back to the pickup truck.
I sit here and think about Christmas. I’ve always thought how terrible the innkeeper was to not go upstairs and kick some of his guests out of their room so there’d be a place for Jesus to be born. But I see we treat lots of people as though they’re not as important as we think we are. I guess I shouldn’t say we. The truth is I haven’t even passed out towels to people in need very often.
It’s easy to enjoy the Christmas nativity scene when it’s a few plastic figures nestled into a manger. It all looks kind of cozy. And anyone who has pets knows a few animals around only adds to the charm. But when I think about the manger as being a cement-floored restroom at the back of a gas station with only a few towels for comfort, I start to realize that Mary must have been scared.
She had to trust God a lot. Or she would have unraveled completely. Not only was she having a baby, she was part of the greatest miracle of all time. I still haven’t quite wrapped my mind around that virgin birth part.
I have the Sisterhood journal sitting in my lap and I grab it a little tighter.
I’m almost surprised when the shepherds show up. They are farm laborers and they have a wire cage filled with chickens. I know the director used chickens for animals instead of sheep because they’re smaller and fit on the stage better, but I think he might be on to something. Chickens are humble creatures and I like that.
I see the farm laborers all taking off their caps as they look at the baby.
Lizabett sighs when the play is over. For the first time since she’s started watching the play, she doesn’t comment that I should be in the lead Mary role. I know that means she’s looked past her ambitions for me and is seeing the story.
“The baby would have been cold if the desk clerk hadn’t given them those towels,” Lizabett finally said.
I nod.
Lizabett makes a stop once we get to Pasadena. She pulls right up into the parking lot on Lake and Walnut and puts five dollars in the red bucket that the Salvation Army person has there. I put in another five dollars.
“God bless you,” the Salvation Army man says.
“Thank you,” we answer right back.
We drive on to one of the parking lots just off of Colorado. Lizabett parks her car there and we walk over to The Pews. The stores on Colorado are all decorated for Christmas with red swags from the streetlights and lots of twinkle lights in the windows.
I picked up my complimentary play tickets before I left the rehearsal and I will give Marilee and Randy their tickets. I already gave Lizabett her ticket. I will have to leave Becca’s ticket at The Pews.
“You know, the best thing we did in a long time was to find a place for Joy to stay,” I say to Lizabett as I open the door to The Pews.
“Randy’s the one who did that,” Lizabett says as she steps over the threshold.
“Well, and Becca brought her to our attention,” I say as I follow her into the diner.
Now that I think about it, my contribution was more audience participation than anything. It’s not an easy thing to realize you might not like to be treated like a princess anymore, but that it’s still the way you know how to live.
I’m a little subdued as I give Marilee her ticket to the play.
“Can I do anything to help?” I ask Marilee as we stand by the main counter inside the diner.
“Mushrooms,” she says as she leads me to the kitchen. “We’re making crab-stuffed mushrooms for the party tomorrow and we have lots of de-capping to do.”
The kitchen counters are full of boxes and trays.
“Hi,” Randy says to me with a quick smile. He’s standing at the grill putting a sauce on some tiger shrimp. “Welcome to toothpick town.”
Randy reaches over to a nearby tray and gets one of the strawberries on a toothpick. He holds it out to me. “Sweets for the sweet.”
Marilee groans.
Randy chuckles. “Hey, I’m grilling here. I don’t have time to think of new poetry.”
“It’s lovely,” I say as I walk over and take the strawberry. “My favorite.”
“You?” I ask Randy as I point at the tomatoes.
Randy nods. “I did it for Mary.”
I can’t help but think that that’s just the kind of thing Joseph would do. I hope so. I’ve never heard much said about romance in the nativity story, but I hope that Mary looked at Joseph and felt her heart pound a little faster.
I doubt he was handsome, of course. There’s no indication of that. I glance up at Randy. I think he’s the kind of guy that starts out looking real handsome, but as you get to know him better and better you don’t think of him as being handsome so much because there are so many other things that crowd into your mind when you think about him.
Randy is a good man.
I think about that as I’m lying in my bed later that night and it’s not a dreamy sort of thing. I care about Randy. I want him to have everything in life he’s ever wanted. The problem is that I think what he might want is a San Marino kind of a girlfriend.
I could be that. I have been that. All I need to do is to stop any changing I’m inclined to do. The thought of it doesn’t make me happy. I lie there for a while and then I finally go to sleep.
Chapter Thirteen
“We know what we are, but know not what we may be.”
—William Shakespeare
Lizabett wrote this quote out on index cards for each of us one evening. She wanted us to tack it to our bulletin boards. This was when her hair was beginning to grow back and she was blossoming. Her mind was filled with possibilities. We were not as positive as she was about the future, but we were all happy that she was flitting around us like she was. It was good to see her happy.
I wake up and feel excited. Even before I open my eyes I know this is going to be a special day. This is the day of the opening performance of the play and then the party afterward. The play will go on smoothly without me, but I have a feeling I’m going to be needed for the party. Who else is going to finish stuffing the mushrooms? Or make sure that we find those fancy cocktail napkins and the toothpicks with the silver ribbons on the end? And the music? I wonder if anyone has thought of background music; I’ll need to check.
I put that old flannel robe on and go sit for a few minutes on the balcony with a cup of coffee in my hands. It’s extra cold this morning. I can’t see the sun rise from this side of the house, but I watch the leaves in the trees start to take shape as the sun gradually rises on the other side. The morning always smells damp and earthy because of all of the plants and shrubs around my uncle’s house. I never appreciate the leaves as much as I do just before Christmas; I know most places only have barren trees at that time of year, but here we have a bountiful mix of leaves and bare branches. It’s beautiful.
I sip some of my coffee and search the sky as it lightens. This looking at the sky thing has become a habit when I sit on the balcony these days. Not that I expect to see a sign from God written across the heavens exactly. I just wonder if He’s looking at me.
There were many times in my life when I would have hid if I thought God was looking my way, but I don’t feel that way anymore. I drink the rest of my coffee slowly. I feel almost companionable sitting here letting God look at me if He wants. Learning about Mary has done this for me.
I see a light go on in the hallway so I know my mother is up. I go back inside. Today’s a big day. I better get started. I’ll take the bus to The Pews and get to work.
I put the Sisterhood journal in my bag and kiss my mom goodbye. I wonder if I should be carrying the journal around so much. Maybe if I left it at The Pews, Becca would sneak in when no one’s there and write a note or something. At least then we’d know she was still a part of us. I’ve begun to wonder if the others blame me for making Becca mad.
There are more customers than usual at The Pews. It’s because it’s so close to Christmas. Everybody wants to go out and have a good time. And, of course, they think of The Pews first when they want to do that because it’s the best place to meet friends.
I put my jacket and my bag in the Sisterhood room. I carefully take the journal out of my bag and set it on the shelf by the table so everyone can see it. Then I go to the kitchen.
There is a lot to do. Randy gives me a thumbs-up signal when I walk through the door. He’s flipping pancakes on the grill for the breakfast crowd. He hasn’t even had a chance to start on the stuff for the party. It’s easy to see the small tomatoes need to be washed and cored so I get to it.
After an hour or so, Lizabett comes in to help as well. She’s wearing a jacket. “Have you been outside lately? It’s cold out there.”
“Well, it’s hot in here with all the cooking.”
“Don’t forget you have the dress rehearsal this afternoon,” Randy says to us. “Leave extra time in case it rains and the freeways are backed up.”
Lizabett had already offered to drive me to the dress rehearsal and we plan to leave after lunch.
“I don’t know.” I look up from the radishes I’m cutting into the shape of roses. “Maybe I should call in. There’s so much to do to get ready for tonight. And I’m not really needed at the dress rehearsal.”
“You don’t know that,” Lizabett says. “Maybe Mary will break her leg or something.”
Lizabett sounds a little too cheerful at the thought of someone’s broken bones.
“She’ll be there no matter what,” I tell Lizabett. “She’s not going to miss her chance to impress the producer for that reality show. Believe me. She’d do the play if the church was on fire.”
“Still, we should be there just in case. You can’t lose hope. People have panic attacks or fall into comas all the time.”
“Comas! I wouldn’t want that to happen.”
Lizabett just grins up at me. “I’ll be back.”
Hi, this is Lizabett writing in the journal. I saw it on the shelf and I thought I should record this momentous event. I just know something’s going to happen so Carly gets on that stage. We’ve come too far to stop short now. Of course, I hope no one dies or anything. And a coma? Well, maybe not. But a little nudge couldn’t hurt. Maybe some temporary amnesia or a pressing need to see a psychiatrist.
I don’t want to freak Carly out by telling her my thoughts, but I figure it’s okay to write them down here. I’ve prayed she’ll get onstage and I think it’s going to happen.
I also saw what Carly wrote about Becca and I want to say that I don’t blame anyone for Becca being mad. We all know Becca well enough to know that she has her own opinions. No one makes her feel any way she doesn’t want to feel. I’ve been thinking about it, though, and I have to wonder why Becca is so upset. I don’t think she would be that upset with me if I was hiding the fact that I’m really some kind of big-time heiress with a trust fund waiting for me. Which I’m not, of course. But if I was, Becca would be able to adapt.
I think Becca just always envied Carly a little bit and that’s why she’s so angry. I used to watch Becca when we were talking sometimes and I noticed she always looked to Carly to see what she thought first. Maybe if she had not cared so much to begin with it wouldn’t hurt so much now.
Well, I’ve gotta go. Carly has her hands full helping with the food for this party tonight. I know we’re all helping, but Carly is doing the work of ten people. She deserves that part in the play.
Bye from Lizabett.
“There’s no need to thank me,” Lizabett announces when she comes back into the kitchen. “I did it for you.”
“What?”
“Started the record of your big day in the Sisterhood journal. Somebody needs to write it down.”
I wince. “I hope you didn’t pray for some catastrophe to stop the actress from playing Mary.”
Lizabett stood still. “I prayed, but I didn’t say there needed to be a catastrophe.”
“Good.” I wrap the last chestnut in bacon and set it on the cookie sheet with the
others, ready to go into the oven at the last minute. I’d already frosted the grapes with a sugared meringue and stuck them on toothpicks to put them in the freezer. I’m going to use them to decorate the platters. We’re going with an icy winter look.
Lizabett makes encouraging remarks all during the time that she’s driving me to the church where the play will be performed.
I am glad we made the trip when I see Joseph’s understudy huddled in his usual place in the second row. He looks like a refugee who was turned back at the border for being too pathetic to let in. He could use some comfort and cheer and he’s the closest thing to a partner I have in this business. We understudy people need to stick together. Acting can be a cruel business.
“Maybe there’ll be another role next time,” I say softly to him as Lizabett and I slip into our usual seats behind him.
I hear a rumble of some sort from the understudy.
Lizabett leans forward and puts her hand on his shoulder. “Don’t feel bad.”
He turns around and glares at us. He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something and nothing comes out but a croak. He swallows and tries again. “Can’t talk.”
His voice sounds like it’s coming from a distant cavern. His eyes look like he has a fever and his nose is red.
“He’s got laryngitis,” Lizabett says as she looks at me. “He should be home in bed.”
The understudy shakes his head.
“Big day,” he manages to say.
“But it’s not like they need us here,” I say. “Surely, no one would mind if you were home taking care of yourself. They could call you if they needed you to come down here.”
“I want the reality show,” the understudy croaks before his voice gives out completely and he turns around to face the stage. His shoulders hunch up like he’s getting ready to cough.
A Dropped Stitches Christmas Page 12