The Performance

Story of a boy confessing to his crush. This piece won third place in my school's creative writing contest for short stories.

In his palms was a card adorned with hearts and glitter. It was childish, yet a sincere representation of his love.

He walked beside his friend, on the smooth concrete sidewalk, under the bright, blue sky, listening to his friend ramble about a newly released game. His friend clearly loved it, although he hadn’t played the game, nor was he interested in the game itself, it didn’t matter; his friend loved the game, and that was enough.

It wasn’t just his friend’s passion that made him fall in love; his friend’s eyes, the gaze warm and mature, comforted him when he was in need of company; his friend’s smile, truly genuine, not the forced smile you put on to be polite, but an honest, warm smile.

He palmed the card in his left hand, away from the eyes of his audience, his friend. It wasn’t the right time to reveal the card. Just like how a magic trick requires build-up and timing, he needed to say the right things at the right time. Too soon would lose all the drama. Too late would become awkward. The sands in the hourglass were trickling down slowly. Each grain dropped as he took a step closer to his friend’s house. There were millions of grains in the hourglass, but he couldn’t wait forever.

This would be an exaggerated performance. Everyone knows it’s dramatized, but a good magician can make the audience enjoy it regardless. And if he wanted to make this moment truly special, a simple confession wouldn’t do. He had been practicing the right things to say, searched for words in a thesaurus like a true scholar, and recited his lines many times to ensure that this would be perfect.

Then they arrived at his friend’s house. The sand of the hourglass had already run out in what seemed like mere minutes. Astonished, he quickly recited every line in his head to ensure the performance would go smoothly. 

Good friend… confidant. Special… remarkable. Say something. Love, endearment. You, stars. Bright… luminescent. 

He had already prepared this confession a week prior, yet never followed through with his declaration of love, never opened the curtains to start his performance. And now, his singular audience was about to shut the door.

As his friend said his goodbyes, the sand stopped flowing. He, with his card in his hand, stood under their treehouse, standing on the flowers, waving goodbye without revealing his hidden feelings. He wanted to reveal his love, but the fear beat in his chest. How could a magician perform in front of so many people, knowing that any slight mistake would break his illusion and ruin his legerdemain? If he were on stage, performing an actual magic trick, he would freeze up at the mere glance of all the eyes watching him. And now, there weren’t many eyes on him. Only two. Two eyes, one person. One. Person. This should not be hard. Would it be okay to wait another day, to make another delay? The door was closing, and the card was still in his hand.

He called out. The door stopped, then started opening again. His friend came out, wondering why he called him. 

He couldn’t utter what he practiced. Yet, a magician wouldn’t stop because he fumbled one part of his trick. A good magician knows to improvise. To act like nothing happened, like this was intended. So, he uttered a brief abbreviation of what he wanted to say. Then, he gave his friend the card.

Under the tree house, next to the flowers, he waited for the audience to respond. His friend, with his friendly gaze and warm smile, hugged him in a tight embrace. Applause. Curtains closed.