I took a breath. The theater's warmth wrapped around me like my grandmother's arms. "If you stagger the entrances in groups of three, each new group can fill the spaces left by the previous one. Like waves instead of a flood."
"Show us?" one of the teenagers asked.
My body answered before my mind could object. "Like this—first group establishes the pattern, second group mirrors but offsets, third group fills the gaps..."
They followed easily. Within minutes, the chaotic crowd transformed into flowing movement. When they reran it, several kids added their own flourishes.
"That's it!" The joy in my voice surprised me. "Use your instincts. The audience should feel the excitement building."
Only when the cast cheered did I realize I was grinning. I'd directed a full number without freezing or panic stealing my breath.
During the break, I retreated to the prop table, trying to process what I'd just done. The familiar scents of greasepaint and sawdust threatened to overwhelm me with memories both beautiful and painful.
"I can't do it."
A small voice drew my attention. A boy—maybe eight—stood with Noel near the stage door, clutching his script like a shield.
"What's worrying you, Charlie?" Noel crouched to the boy's level.
"My line. It's too many words." Charlie's shoulders hunched. "Everyone will laugh."
"Hey, you know what? I get nervous, too. Even Santa gets stage fright sometimes."
Charlie's eyes widened. "Really?"
"Really. Want to know a secret?" The boy nodded vigorously. "Being brave doesn't mean you're not afraid. It means doing something even though it scares you."
The words hit me square in the chest. I'd been afraid yesterday. Terrified, actually, but I'd done it anyway, and the world hadn't ended.
I turned to leave but knocked over a prop nutcracker. Charlie jumped at the noise.
"Sorry." I steadied it. "I was just—"
"Mr. Alex knows about being on stage." Noel pulled me into the conversation as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Maybe he has some tips?"
Charlie's hopeful expression demolished my defenses. My hands trembled slightly, but I pulled over a chair. "Want to know how I learned my first big line?"
He nodded.
"I pretended I was telling it to my grandmother's cat." A tentative smile appeared on Charlie's face. "Seriously. Old Tiger Paws was the best audience. Never laughed, never judged. He purred and looked interested."
"I have a dog. Her name is Toast."
"Perfect." I couldn't help smiling at that. "Toast would love to hear your line."
For the next few minutes, Charlie read to an imaginary Toast while I offered gentle encouragement. Each repetition built his confidence. The Christmas lights strung along the prop table began to pulse softly, keeping time with his words.
"That's it!" I high-fived him. "Toast would be so proud."
"Can I try it in the scene now?"
"Absolutely."
As Charlie scampered off, one of the decorative snowflakes in the window display spun slowly, catching beams from the stage lights. Noel noticed it too, then looked at me with knowing eyes.
"You're good with kids."
"Just remembered what helped me at that age." I shrugged, uncomfortable with the praise. "My grandmother always said theater was about telling stories, not showing off."
