If I had been chosen:

As I Breathe

Meg Giry's Story

Part I

I am standing on the edge of the stage watching the shadows from the flickering stage lamps play on the stage curtain. I am supposed to be putting them out but the shadows are much more amusing. I want to dance: the overwhelming urge of the stage takes over. I am watching the play of light over my body, shadowed on the burgundy velvet. Dancing was my only life until-

Suddenly I can feel him behind me, watching me. I will pretend I don't feel him until he speaks.

It is my mentor, the one who empowered my voice to new heights.

"Meg," his voice is musical, deep and beautiful.

Angel! I hear you! Speak- I listen…

I curve my back upward, pretending that my heart did not just skip a beat. "Mmm?" I turn; hoping I don't look like the clumsy cow I feel like. I know why he has come… my failure looms before me.

Stay by my side, guide me!

"Up here," he is laughing as I vainly try to search him out in the shadows of the theatre.

My eyes snap up to box five. He would be there. I smile. "What is it?"

A shadow darker than the rest detaches itself from the darkness of the box. "Is that how you greet me now?"

I swallow, "Come down here so I don't have to shout."

The shadows swirl and he stands beside me, "Better."

"I-I-Yes," I can't think with him so close. I can smell him, ink, candle smoke and something deeper and wilder.

"They ignored your performance." It was a statement.

Angel, my soul was weak- Forgive me…

"What did I do wrong?" I reach for his arm; to cling to his solidness in the torrent of confusion.

He pulls me closer, his warmth sooths me. "Nothing, we will only make it better for next time."

"I don't know if I can do this anymore," I am thinking of Christine; she has a voice teacher also. Except he isn't a ghost and he comes every day to teach her exercises and things; and she is getting better.

"Meg," his voice is so warm and persuasive… I know what is going to happen when the stage lights flicker out.

Enter at last, Master!

I am well acquainted with this hallway now. He is taking me to his lair. I like being there, with him. No chores for me to attend to; no fetching things for Christine or her fiancé Raoul, listening to my mother talk about Christine's career. She only made a big deal about it because she was disappointed with me. Christine was the real kind of daughter she wanted. No tedious exercises to try and stretch my voice into a beautiful one. Only me and him; together.

"Meg, you shouldn't quit. You have made so much progress!" He turns to help me into the boat.

Angel of Music! Guide and guardian!

"No I haven't. Why did you choose me?" I sit down clumsily. "Christine is doing so much better, and she is prettier too." The envy bleeds threw. Why is it only girls like Christine have happy fairy tale endings? Where was my prince in shining armour?

Grant to me your glory!

The boat rocks as he steps into the back, "Meg, we have had this conversation before."

Angel of Music!

I sigh, remembering the argument. I look back at him, his white mask shining in the darkness.

Hide no longer!

I have always wondered what it would be like to peel the mask off; to know him completely. Not just as my teacher and mother's friend, but to know who he really is; inside his head.

Come to me, strange angel…

"I didn't choose Christine because I didn't want to choose Christine," He propels the boat toward the shore of his lair. The gate opens and we glide threw. He jumps from the boat with his wild grace, flinging his cape to one side and offering his hand to me.

"I'm not-" what is the word I want? Good enough? Pretty enough? Talented enough?

"You are," his answer is almost like he read my mind. I feel like he has just said, 'You are good enough, and pretty enough and talented enough.'

I shiver.

"Cold?"

I take the cape he offers. "I don't want-"

"What?" He turns back, angry. "You don't want me to teach you?"

"No, I didn't say that," I cower; maybe I have pushed him too far. "I like being with you."

His shoulders relax slightly, "But…?"

"I think you are wasting your time." There it's out. All my failures and mistakes loom before my eyes; what will he say?

I am your Angel…

"Does a master painter's greatest work tell him that it is not worthy?" He moves to my side, a silent silhouette.

I shake my head.

Come to me: Angel of Music…

"You are my great work. You are not allowed to tell me you are not worthy." He takes my hand and leads me to the piano. "Sing for me. Only me. Forget that there will be others listening."

I am your Angel of Music…

I stand next to him, my hand resting on his shoulder. "Only you."

Come to me: Angel of Music…

"Forget the rules; let your spirit into your voice. Then you will sing well." He begins to play a familiar song.

I am your Angel of Music…

My eyes follow the curve of his masked cheek as I breathe. He smiles as I breathe; ready to sing for him.