Sarah had been anxiously counting down the days to Amateur Night.
A week back, Sarah couldn't even decide which poem she wanted to read. So she poured through every piece of poetry she had ever written since the age of eight. Those early poems, they brought back old memories of her parents' tragic deaths. Of her time at the orphanage. Guarded memories she still wasn't ready to fully release from the prison of her heart. After she'd settled on a poem about the racial tensions in Hester, there was that awful attack by the Vigilantes of the White on the black homeless, and Sarah decided to pick another poem, one that wouldn't invite so much judgment.
Then there had been the problem of what to wear. One day, after mass at First Baptist, Sarah mentioned her predicament to her girlfriend, Nella, who proudly carried her full-figured body around like she was on a mission of God.
"Don't you fret," Nella said. "I got the perfect dress for you."
So Sarah followed Nella to her apartment which could only be described as modest, a total opposite to her friend's big personality. With an even bigger heart, Nella offered Sarah the best dress she had, a soft yellow satin piece given to her by her mama. And for that reason, it was special.
While the dress was nothing close to the silk gowns of the women at the Diamond Club tonight, Sarah wasn't going to complain. It was a finer dress than any she owned. It fell to the floor, ending in a hem of faded white lace. Sarah told herself no one would be able to see the way the lace had muted to gray in several spots, not under the low lighting above the stage. She also told herself the audience would be much too giddy with drink to notice the outdated Edwardian style of her gown. Sarah told herself these things, but she hardly believed them. She felt an uncomfortable sweat, breaking out along her forehead and on her back as the satin stuck with cold dampness against her spine.
Sarah smoothed the front of her dress one more time before nervously fussing with the square of paper in her hand. Tapping a scuffed black shoe against the floor, she stood waiting at the edge of the stage. Under the onstage lights, a local musician – skin as dark as burnt molasses and beard as white as snow – was playing an odd jingle on his homemade banjo.
Sarah let out a sigh. It was her turn next. She looked around at the splendor of the club and its patrons. The whole place was bedecked in sparkling extravagance – sparkling lights, sparkling dresses, and sparkling wine. Against the back wall, red velour curtains hung from the ceiling. The floor was made of white marble so sleek and shiny, Sarah thought she might be able to see her reflection in its surface.
Edward arrived at her side, sending her a sly smile and an exaggerated wink.
"You're gonna do just fine, kid," he told her. "Everybody here is gonna love you."
Sarah took a deep breath and attempted to steady the trembling of her hands.
"I don't know how you can say that," she mumbled. "You've only heard one of my poems."
"Well, I'm about to hear my second," Edward replied. "And let me tell you, I couldn't be more excited. Don't worry a scrap about any of these other people. You just read that poem to me. Pretend like I'm the only person in the audience."
Sarah looked up into his eyes and nodded grimly. She felt slightly nauseous. Why had she ever agreed to do this? She just knew that she was going to make an absolute fool of herself.
The banjo player concluded his song to a smattering of polite applause. He gave a deep bow before making his way off the stage.
Sarah's throat tightened.
"It's your turn now," Edward said to her. "Good luck! You'll be fine!"
Onstage, a slim black announcer in a black tuxedo stepped up to the microphone, flashing an enthusiastic smile as silky-smooth as his voice. "Our next performer, you may know her as the girl mechanic at Albert's Automobile Repair Shop. By day, she transforms broken cars into golden chariots. By night, she weaves poetry with magical delights. Please give a warm welcome to the lovely Sarah Stewart!"
The audience gave a light round of applause.
Edward offered Sarah one last reassuring smile before she ascended the three short steps up to the stage.
Sarah could feel the eyes of the audience on her. She could feel the heat from their stares on her skin, boring into her soul. Sarah supposed some of them had seen her around town delivering car parts. Or maybe they'd seen her at Uncle Albert's shop, fixing or tuning up their glamorous cars. She wondered what they must think of her. Ugly. Mannish. Poor. Strange. Her ears caught no hint of whispered insults, and still her mind produced these thoughts.
Sarah stepped up to the microphone, unfolded the piece of paper in her hand and began to read.
"Fly, Robin, Fl-Fly ..."
Sarah stammered as her heart drummed in her ears. She closed her eyes and tried to slow her breathing. The crowd was silent. She knew that they were all staring directly at her. She should have picked a different poem, one that wasn't so childish. But here she was now, standing on the stage with poem in hand and nearly two hundred sets of eyes on her. She could see Linda Bell. She was sitting in the front row, almost directly in front of Sarah, smiling and waiting expectantly. There wasn't any getting out of this now. She was going to have to find a way to push through.
"Excuse me," Sarah said.
She stepped back from the microphone and took a moment to bolster herself. This wasn't nearly as bad as she was making it. All she had to do was read the poem, and then she could get off the stage. That wasn't so difficult. She just had to focus on reading and forget all about the people watching her.
Sarah stepped forward, placing her mouth in front of the microphone once more. She began to read, not giving herself a chance to think about the people in front of her.
"Outside my frozen window, I heard a faint sound,
I looked onto the b-balcony, I looked all around,
There stood a little red robin, no desire to sing,
The poor creature was hurt, a crooked right wing."
Sarah paused here, looking up from the piece of paper she held. The crowd appeared interested. There was no one glaring or rolling their eyes. Every person in the front row watched her with intrigue. Linda Bell was still smiling. She met Sarah's eyes and gave a little nod, as if she was giving Sarah a sign that all was fine and that she should keep going. Sarah felt a little burst of pleasure upon seeing that reaction. She felt emboldened, and she recited the rest of her poem without even looking at the paper. She looked straight out into the dimly lit room, speaking directly to the audience.
"So I scooped up the bird, out from the icy rain,
And cared for his wing, to rid as much of the pain,
I found a white cage, and straw for a nest,
Then came a perch, hardy food, and the rest.
Day after day, I looked after my friend,
As he grew stronger and chirped to night's end,
Then one evening, Little Robin took flight,
Around the house he flew, what a wonderful sight.
We celebrated with song, with joy and with glee,
Then I wondered with sadness if he wished to be free,
When on one spring morning, sunlight brightened every ledge,
I opened the window, setting my friend near the edge.
I said: My dear friend, it is alright to be free,
The little bird looked out, and then back at me,
With a sharp chirp, Little Robin dared stay,
I prayed my friend's pain to be over this day.
No pain in his wing, no pain without me,
What lay ahead was a bright future to see,
So with a chirp and a leap, he soared up to the sky,
To my dear friend now free, I said: Fly Robin Fly!"
Sarah finished, looking out into the many faces before her. She was slightly out of breath. She waited to see what would happen.
For a moment there was nothing. Nobody reacted. The room was deadly quiet and Sarah felt a wall of sadness come crashing down over her. Shame crept steadily across her slumping shoulders. They didn't like it. Sarah felt frozen to the spot in a state of dread and humiliation.
But then one member of the audience began to clap. It was a slow and steady clap. Sarah turned her eyes to the source of the sound and saw that the person who was clapping was Linda Bell. She grinned as Sarah's eyes caught hers, and she began to speed up in her applause, until her clapping with fervent and exuberant. She rose to her feet, still clapping very quickly, and all at once her clapping was joined by the hands of many others. A thunderous round of applause shook the room. The rest of the audience began to rise to their feet. Sarah felt a sense of elation begin to fill her. She was receiving a standing ovation. Most of the club-goers were on their feet now, slapping their hands together quickly and calling out their approval.
Sarah grinned and rushed off the stage. Edward was waiting on the side as she stepped down from the raised platform.
"See that!" he cried. "What did I tell you? You were great! Sarah that poem was beautiful! Come here!"
Edward held out his arms to her, and in her state of glee Sarah dove into them, accepting Edward's hug with a peal of laughter.
Then Sarah looked up at Edward, still in his grasp. "Oh, you were right, Edward! I can't believe it. They really liked my poem!" She gazed into Edward's endearing eyes. "Thank you for believing in me."
Edward smiled softly. "Well, you're welcome. With talent like that, I'd say you can come back any old time you want, sugar."
Edward raised a hand, brushing aside a tendril of hair that had fallen across Sarah's face. After lifting it away, he kept his hand there, cupping the side of her cheek, and Sarah remained in his arms, looking up into his eyes. She felt transfixed. Her happiness was so great and Edward was the one who had encouraged her to take the stage.
Edward began to lean in, his lips parted slightly, drawing Sarah in close to him.
Sarah heard the fragment of a sentence from somewhere behind her. A raucous conversation was taking place somewhere across the room.
"-don't care about that. I'm glad to see the Pioneers with a black player."
Those words hit her ears, and Sarah felt a wave of shame crash down over her.
Henry!
She shouldn't be standing here, allowing another man to hold and kiss her, when she knew that she had feelings for Henry. Sarah pulled away and stepped back. Edward stuttered forward, opening his eyes wide with surprise, lips still puckered.
Edward straightened up, looking a bit confused if not irate. "What's wrong, Sarah?"
Sarah opened her mouth, but she couldn't find the words. Instead she shook her head furiously, as hot tears began to pour down her cheeks. She put her face in her hands and ran through the club.
How could she go from feeling so happy in one moment to feeling so confused and hurt in the next?
She could hear Edward calling her name, but his calls grew dim ...
... as Sarah ran off ...
... into the night.