Waiting in the Wings

ONE It’s definitely mocking me. So thought Erin Javier, mesmerized by the rock Hiraya Cosculluela wore on her finger. In terms of size, it wasn’t that huge. Marquise cut in white gold, the simple elegance of the shiny little thing fit Hiraya’s bright, no-fuss-no-frills personality to a T. And it wasn’t as if the newly-engaged playwright deliberately flaunted the diamond, not at all. It was just there. That Erin thought it mocked her was her problem. After all, none of the other Teatro Lakambini company members inside the war room seemed to mind. Everyone else was focused on the script for Hanggang Ulap, the new musical they were staging next. Some of them were reading silently on their own, while some were huddled in small groups, engaged in discussion. She flipped a page on her script, closed her eyes, and sighed. Focus, Erin. Focus. “Anything the matter, babe?” Fire engine red highlights in Hiraya’s hair caught Erin’s eyes first when she looked up at the woman who eyed her curiously. Erin shrugged. “Nope, nothing. Why do you ask?” Hiraya pouted and tilted her head to the side. She always seemed to be trying to figure people out, and Erin was one of her favorite subjects. “Is the script stressing you out?” The playwright puckered her lips in the direction of Erin’s hand. It was tapping a pen against the work table in a steady staccato beat. Erin stared at the pen as though it was an alien object and let it go. She didn’t even realize what she was doing. “You can be honest with me. That’s what workshopping this piece is for, after all.” “It’s…kind of depressing?” Erin bit her lip. She didn’t have a problem with the script, but she knew her theatre big sister-s***h- confidante wasn’t going to let her off the hook if she didn’t give an appropriate response. The appropriate response didn’t necessarily mean the truth, of course. “You’ve read through to the end, right?” “I did, but…this part is just really sad.” “Says the girl who pitched Chronicles of a Breakup. Do you know how difficult that was to write?” Erin pursed her lips and nodded. “Touché.” A Teatro Lakambini original musical, Chronicles of a Breakup featured the stories of three people who were on their way to meet and break up with their significant others. Erin had pitched the idea during her first integration workshop three years ago, and the writing team eventually picked it up for development. The project paved the way for Erin and Hiraya’s friendship and launched Erin’s career as a full-fledged theatre actress as well. Hiraya reached across the table to pat Erin’s hand. “I’ll write a happier one next time,” she said with a playful wink. “Like Karaoke Queen?” Both women laughed at the mention of the campy jukebox musical they staged last year. “Oh god, yes. That was so much fun, we have to do it again.” Hiraya flashed her a thumb up, and Erin found herself staring at the diamond ring once more. . . . . . Hiraya’s boyfriend, Jericho Abueva, had proposed three nights ago during the final curtain call of Ang mga Manghahabi. It hadn’t been as fancy as Erin had imagined, but that was just the grand gesture-loving hopeless romantic in her speaking. The moment the musical director had gone up on stage and went down on one knee, not even the utter lack of pomp had stopped Erin from swooning and crying and cheering with everyone else in the theatre. Maybe she had cried a little more backstage, but nobody had to know that. Erin had long been feeling hyperaware about the couples around her, but that proposal lit a fire of longing in her heart. How was she so unlucky finding love? Her college friends were all in relationships. Even her close friends in the theatre industry have significant others too. Either that or they were active in the dating circle. And then there was her. Erin Javier, the perfect leading lady. She was someone whose heart you fought for, won, and protected—but only on stage. On average, her romances lasted two hours a day. Four, if she did both matinee and gala shows. When the curtains fell and the lights went down, her love affairs ended too. Was there something wrong with her, that men only fell in love with her because it was written into a script? That men only kissed her and held her in their arms because the scene called for it? “Yes, babe?” Erin blinked and realized she’d been staring at Hiraya this whole time. Should she bare her thoughts to her Ate Hiraya? She was sure Hiraya would drop anything for her if she SOS-ed somehow, but this wasn’t an emergency. This was her being whiny at the world. She wasn’t going to drag her friend down from cloud-nine just because she was unhappy about her singlehood. That’s just wrong. So instead, Erin left her seat and cozied up to Hiraya, perching her chin on the woman’s shoulder. It allowed her to peek at the playwright’s notes, gave her a glimpse at how her mind worked. “I like this song,” Erin said, pointing to a page with Himig ng Pag-uwi written on top of it. On the margins were a couple of notes in black ink and pencil, Hiraya and Jericho’s handwriting. “I think it’ll be the best song in this musical.” “You think so?” “Mm-hmm!” “I have Jer’s preliminary arrangement. Do you want to listen to it?” “Sure!” With a shared pair of earphones, they listened to the song that spoke of longing to see your beloved, no matter the odds. Jericho’s piano arrangement was still raw, but Erin heard its potential. She could already imagine the musical director acquiring the help of a string quartet to lend a more desperate, haunting feel to the piece. “I would love to hear you sing this,” Hiraya said, smiling hopefully at her. Erin returned a grateful smile. She was, by no means, the best singer in the company. Her voice wasn’t as powerful as Iris Sandoval’s, and Andrea Lopez had better technique than her. But she was told that whatever she lacked in vocal prowess, she made up for with stage presence. A newspaper critic once waxed poetic at how she could tell stories with her voice, her face, her body. Which was why, even as she continued training to be as good as Iris and Andrea, Erin became a casting favorite. But while she thrived on stage, she now felt apprehensive about putting on the shoes of another woman in love. For five consecutive productions now, Erin had always played the leading lady—the girl who refused to break up with her high school sweetheart, the kolehiyala trapped in a love triangle, the working lady asked to choose between love and family, and so on. She was only 23, and already so exhausted with romances that were never even real. “We’ll see,” Erin simply replied, unable to say no outright. Hiraya would probe for sure, and Erin wasn’t certain she had a good enough reply. But she’d already decided. The next time she falls in love, it won’t be on stage. Her love story wasn’t going to come in a script, complete with musical scoring and dramatic lighting. The next time she falls in love, there won’t be an audience watching with bated breath, waiting to applaud. Because the next time she falls in love, it will be for real. And all her love story needed was her and whoever it would be on the receiving end of her first real kiss.