I'm waiting for the elevator to descend and another chapter in my life to end. The closeness of the people is like a swirling cloth, going around us while twisting and untwisting. Our joyous silence is a welcome change, and we need it more than we need to sleep. We know in the silence that we did our best and we still love each other.
Suddenly I hear a voice I know immediately. It's deep and husky, and the man sounds tired from the full day he's been through. Mr. Taylor is telling us to go to bed upon arrival. I nod as I move closer to the elevator. I wish he could follow his own advice, but he has to make sure everyone's in his or her room.
I turn around, and I see the selfsame band director slumped in a chair. His abysmally poor posture contrasts sharply with his stylish black suit and gold tie. As usual when I'm around, his light blue eyes are focused on me, and his body is fully towards me. His eyes are ready to close, and his head is ready to rest on a pillow. But he looks perfectly happy, because the band did its best.
His happiness is only matched by mine, the reason of which came several hours ago. It feels like it's happening now, though I know it's my very vivid imagination playing tricks on me.
The agonizing excitement of prelims is upon us. The bright sun is in everyone's eyes, and I'm going through the show in my mind so I don't think about messing up. I finish the closer perfectly just as I feel an arm around me and a hand rubbing my left shoulder. I feel light and I sink in toward the person.
"Excuse me honey," Mr. Taylor says in a gentle voice. His lean body brushes against mine, and he hugs me in the split second before he leaves to go with the other directors. As he walks away while still looking at me, his normally gentle blue eyes feel like they're burning holes into my soul. I know he's instructing me to do my best in the show, but something about his stare is different, almost a hopeless sadness.
The elevator opens, and I walk in. I try to get one last look at Mr. Taylor, but I'm pulled inside by Lauren gripping on my backpack. He smiles gently and waves his hand low so only I can see it. Once again I feel sleep and knowledge that I'm loved rest on me like a comfortable sweater, and my heart beats faster than any measurement of time or space in any place.