“Alice! Alice darling, where are you?” The cry rang like a gong. It was low and deep as it echoed through the theater halls.


“Alice! Answer me! Do you really think you can hide forever?” Goodness, the man was relentless. How long had it been? Ten, no, maybe twenty minutes? I thought he would have given up, yet still he called and called my name.


“Alice! Alice!” It was starting to make me sick. I didn’t want to speak to him. I didn’t even want to look in his direction. The fumes of my anger billowed up in my ears. It made my hiding place stuffy and insufferable. If he didn’t stop his ranting soon, I was going to suffocate.


“Come on out darling! I – I am not mad at you,” the man said. However I knew he was lying. Of course he was mad. How could he not be mad? After all, I had done that terrible something I was never supposed to do. Never- ever- ever supposed to do. I wanted to cry. I wanted to whimper like the little girl I was, but then I would risk him hearing my sniffles. So, I just curled myself up into a ball. I buried my head into my knees with the blue fabric of my dress scratching against my nose.


“Alice?” The voice was closer and quieter now, no longer a shout but almost a whisper. Oh no! Did I whimper? Did he hear me from my hiding place?


“Darling, come out of the box.” Alarms went off in my brain. How could he have found me? This was always my best hiding spot. Even the finicky ticket taker couldn’t find me here. Not even in a game of hide-and-seek. Then I got to realize, I was in the presence of a hide-and-seek master.


Slowly, he lifted the lid up, and the dark cloak of my box suddenly let in a sliver of light. It cast a glowing line on my eyes that burned like lasers on my vision. I am sure that this burning is how a criminal feels when he is caught in the spotlight. His crime is no longer hidden from the world. That is what I was.

A criminal.

Caught.

All I could do was await my punishment.

“What are you going to do to me?” I sobbed. My words came out a jumbled mess that was interrupted with sniffles. It was as if I was speaking underwater with my voice drowned in tears. “What are you going to do – sniffle – I don’t – sniffle – want to be punished! Sniffle - I don’t!”

The man sort of just looked at me. His eyes were two sweet chocolate candies, very dark, and steady. His face was worn and tired, beaten pale from lack of sleep and lined with faint wrinkles. The clothes he wore were his usual attire: tan bibs that were marked with stains. They had pockets big enough for me to get lost in. I kept that in mind for the next time I needed to run and hide. The man also wore yellow rubber gloves. They covered what I knew were giant strong hands.

Hands that have so often helped me up when I fell.

Hands that I knew had a long scar running from the pinky to wrist on his left.

Hands that have brushed away tears from my cheeks and held me when I was lonely.

These were the hands of the man I knew almost better than myself, and they were the hands of a man I loved.

“Daddy,” I whispered. “I did that terrible something.”

Then, the most unexpected thing happened. Daddy’s head flew back with his hand on his forehead, and he gave a sudden laugh. It was so deep and joyful that it send his whole body shaking. The world wouldn’t need ‘Chicken Noodle Soup for the Soul’ if everyone had that laugh, I thought. However, I still didn’t get it.

“Daddy, Daddy! What’s so funny? I-I did the terrible something. I went into the actress’ changing room Daddy. Aren’t you mad?”

“No, darling,” he continued laughing. “No. I am not mad at you.”

“But you told me... you told me never-ever-ever to go in there. You said.”

“I know what I said, darling. Just promise me you won’t go into their room again. Okay?”
I stared at my toes. My father’s laughter slowly faded away, and his demeanor suddenly shifted. His eye brows crinkled. His lips tightened. That was his serious face.
“Alice,” he gave my shoulder a shake, “Look at me honey. Promise me you won’t bother those actresses again. Okay?”

I remained quiet.

“Alice. Promise me.”

I nodded. But he just sighed.

“I guess that will have to do,” he mumbled unsatisfied. Then, just as fast as the serious face came on, it was gone again.

“Now get yourself out of that box, Missy,” he chuckled.

With my knees and back throbbing, I climbed out of my hiding place. It was such a relief to be able to breathe again. So, in my contentment, I swallowed down an enormous mouthful of air which filled up my lungs like a balloon.


Ah, beautiful air.


Beautiful, beautiful air.


“Better?” my father asked while taking my small hand in his own.


I replied with a grin, “Better.”

“Now, get your little behind out of here because your daddy’s got to get working. It is going to be a busy day today, and this theater can’t clean itself.”

He was right. Theaters couldn’t clean themselves. They needed heroes like my daddy to make them sparkle, and I would love to argue that T and D’s would have lost it’s magic without him. So for the sake of the theater, and for the sake of its sparkle, I left the best man I knew. I skipped away from my hiding place, with a train of giggles trailing behind me. My footsteps were chiming bells down the hallway. Their sounds surrounded me as I bounded to the foyer.

I would give anything to say that my life from that moment was paradise. I would give anything to say that I lived the life of a fairytale, enjoyed all experiences of a theater, got to shake the hands of celebrities, and even gulped down the left over red velvet cakes from the restaurant on the second story. However, if I said that, I would not only be a criminal, I would be a liar. You see, I still haven’t told you about that penny.


Yes, the penny.


We once again come back to the penny.


After all, isn’t that what this whole story is about? You are probably wondering how the head of it fits into all of this. Well, believe me when I tell you that the crime of the terrible something was a repeated offense, for it was as if destiny required for that terrible something to happen again. Goodness, if only I would have learned from my mistakes.
If only.

I reached the foyer in record time. I bent down and put my hands on my knees to quickly catch my breath. It was then that I noticed I was still giggling. Who could blame me. After all, I had gotten off the hook. No punishment. No time-out. Daddy’s always make good judges.


“Stop with your giggling, silly girl,” demanded a sharp voice, “You’re going to start a whole lot of trouble.”

Startled, I shot my head up and looked around. Plans of an escape route popped in my head as I decided whether or not I should bolt. I was just about to run for the gold gilded front doors, my toes already getting their starting grip on the carpet, when I found the origin of the voice. Rutherford. The floor manager. A pompous old man with circular glasses on the end of his nose. Skinny as a beanpole, his back is always straight, and I am sure he owns no other clothes besides his black and white suit. He also has a nasty temper. Too many years stuck in one place does that to you I suppose. Yet despite all that, Rutherford is utterly and hopelessly harmless.

“Oh Rutherford. It is just you,” I breathed. No need for an escape route, thankfully.

“Really, Alice. No girl like you should be running up and down the halls. Especially giggling like a lunatic.”



“Oh Rutherford, don’t you ever have any fun? My daddy told me that’s why you is so sleepy all the time, ’cause you do do nothin’.” I sat myself on the rim of the potted plant next to the door, not bothering about the potted soil sticking to my dress.


“Are…that is why you are so sleepy, and I am afraid that your father is wrong.”


My eyes got very big. “Oh no, my daddy is never wrong,” I said. Then there was a long silence as I waited for Rutherford’s reply. It never came.


“You know, Rutherford,” I added assuredly. “You should play hide-and-seek with me! That would wake you up for sure. You see, I got this new hiding place and - ”


“Alice, go away. Can’t you see. I am busy,” he grunted. He moved himself over to one of the front desks. His hands quickly flipped through papers. “Don’t you know that Madame Fastine Zelia is coming to this theater? Today! The actress Faustine Zelia... coming today!”

“What’s that?” I asked.

He sighed, “It is, ‘Who is that’, Alice.”

“Well, then... Whoooo is that?”

He looked at me. No, looked isn’t the right word. It was more of a stare. A stare that meant something along the lines of, Are you stupid, girl?!

I didn’t like that stare one bit.
Not at all.
“Madame Faustine Zelia is an actress,” he haughtily declared. His voice carried a heavy French accent while saying her name. “She will be performing in our upcoming performance of Othello - by Shakespeare - where she will be playing as Desdemona, Othello’s devoted wife.”
Goodness, this man was a walking dictionary. Then, quite suddenly, he seemed to be finish with his papers and briskly strode over to one of the coffee tables in the sitting area.
“Oh, she sounds lovely.” I cooed.
“Of course she is. She is one of the best in the world,” Rutherford agreed while his hand sifted through a bouquet of flowers. “Zelia is, and I quote from the New York Times, ‘the most beautiful harmony of elegance and poise ever to grace the stage’.”
“Wow. I can’t wait to meet her. I am sure -”
“Meet her?” He bellowed. “Meet her! Oh no, you will not go anywhere near that women. Not in this foyer, not in the halls, and especially not in the ladies changing room.”
I gasped. My secret was out. Everyone knew about the terrible something. I ran up to manager and grabbed onto his arms. “Who told you about that?” I whispered.
“You’d be surprised at how fast word can get around.” Then he grumbled, “And I am serious. Don’t talk, don’t even look in Faustine Zelia’s direction. If you were to cause any harm to this theater then the Boss might as well - ”
“I might as well what, Rutherford?” came a deep growl from behind. It was as if he came out of nowhere, like when you inattentively run into a street pole that catches you off guard. I was sure it was just Rutherford and me in the foyer, yet there he was. The Boss.
No sound of footprints for a warning.
No smell of peppermint from his breath.
Just his growling chubby face giving us a stare-down.
“ I–I was j-just telling our Alice here a-about Zelia.” He cleared his throat,” I mean Madame Faustine Zelia, S-Sir.”
The boss’ fatty sausage fingers stroked his golden watch that hung limply from his pocket.
“Aaah, yes. Faustine Zelia. Her name is the newest addition to my vocabulary.”


Faustine Zelia
\fa(u)-sti-ne z(e)-lia\.
Noun
Definition: “The savior of this theater,” quoted by Theodore Punchello (theater owner: a.k.a. – the Boss).


“She will be the savior of this theater, Rutherford. Expect a sell out show!” He gave a 180 degree turn on his heels and sauntered on his way. Those fingers of his still stroked the pocket watch as if it was his pet.

Rutherford finally exhaled a huge breath. A good thing too because otherwise I was sure he was going to pass out in the foyer. That would have made a bigger mess than my foolhardy giggles.

“I really don’t like that man. Twenty years here and no raise. He doesn’t even give me time off for Christmas.” Rutherford frowned.

“Rutherford?” I asked.

“What? What is it?”

“When is Faus Tin Zela going to get here?”

“Her name is Faustine Zelia, Alice, and she should be here in...” he gave a quick glance at the clock ticking down on the wall. Then he gave a nervous gulp. “She should be here right now. Actually, she is about two and a half minutes late.”

Two and a half minutes late. That didn’t give me much time to prepare. I wanted at least some prep time before I met the best actress in the world. I shot off to the restrooms like a rocket with no giggling this time. I was ready for some serious business.

In the restroom, I had just about enough time to brush the brown bangs from my face and swat away the dirt on my dress when I heard the commotion. It came like a forrest fire, swift and brutal. Outside that bathroom doors was a whole different world.

Flashed of cameras blinded my eyes like lighting would in a thunderstorm. Crowds of people packed themselves in close to one another like one giant jig-saw puzzle. Their colognes and perfumes all intertwined with one another, creating a toxic mist. Their hollers and shouts were a roaring storm that drowned out all other sounds around them. I could no longer hear the clock’s ticks. I couldn’t hear the buzzing of the fish tank, and I couldn’t hear my own heart beating. It could have stopped, and I would not have noticed.

It was a scary thing. That foyer seemed to douse all my sense in a single moment. And all for what?

One person.

Madame Faustine Zelia.

When she entered the building, everyone could tell. Her presence was intoxicating, overwhelming. It could have been her height, for she was easily the tallest in the room. It could have been her beauty which resembled the face of a goddess. It even could have been her eyes and hair. They were such an intense black, like the wings of a raven. However, for me, what made her unforgettable was her hands, for around each finger was a family of rings. They were each a different shape and size with different stones and gems. I couldn’t imagine trying to do anything with all that jewelry on. Even scratching your nose could be a task.

As she walked her way down the foyer, all her rings glittered. They twinkled like a summer night sky, but one ring specifically caught my eye. Unlike the rest, it had no stone or gem. It had no funky shade of green or blue. It was just a copper band, simple and elegant, and on it’s front was something round.

Something smooth.

Something shiny with a gleam of copper.

On her ring was a penny.

With the year 1967.

There was a water stain in the upper left corner.


And I thought it was beautiful.

So, as I made my way to my bed that night and as the commotion in the foyer slowly died into the night, I couldn’t stop thinking about that penny. I couldn’t help but wonder why it was so special that an actress would want to where it on her finger. I wanted to know what secret it was hiding from me.

I never slept that night. With its elegant copper band haunting my thoughts, the image of that penny sparkling on Zelia’s hand played over and over again in my mind. I couldn’t focus; I couldn’t just turn off my brain for a second. I found myself imagining and giving wonderful stories of what could be so special about it.
I imagined that it was the cursed loot of a pirate. I imagined it was the precious heirloom of a dead father. I imagined a mother’s sweaty and frail hands reaching out the penny to her lovely daughter: Faustine Zelia, as she breathed her final words.


What story could that penny conceal? What was its secret? I made a small pact with myself that I would find out. It would be like one of those mystery books with me playing the brilliant detective always proper and smoking a pipe. Well, I wouldn’t be smoking a pipe, father wouldn’t approve of that, but the idea of living out those adventures was enough to make me shout for joy.
“Alice, no shouting please,” father whispered to me from across the room. Oops.
“Sorry, daddy!” I hollered back to him.
“Shhh… go to sleep.”

You could never tell the time in that little room my father and I called home. It was always dark with the dimness of our single light bulb dangling from the ceiling. There were no windows and no holes in the walls to let in the sunlight. No warmth of its rays lay on my skin. So when I say that I awoke in the morning, I am just giving you a rough estimate. It could as easily have been ten past noon, for I had no way to be sure, but unlike me, my father always knew the time. It was like he was built with one internally in his body much like we are all built with a heart. Getting up at the same time each day, sipping coffee the same time each day, going to work the same time each day, and getting me to bed the same time each day was just a part of his everyday life. That routine must have been drilled into his memory like a screw in wood, I thought. Then I would always imagine a brain surgeon leaning over my daddy with a screwdriver and saying,
“Hold still, this will only hurt a little.”
So, on that day, when I notice that my father had already gotten up and was guzzling down his bitter morning coffee, I knew that the time was at least before eight. I yanked back my bed sheets, which was really just a dirty bed curtain, and raced towards the table, almost bumping my elbows right into it.
“Whoa, watch yourself,” spurted father while shooting out his hands to guard whatever was left of his coffee.
I sat my but down on a mop bucket, which also was a part-time dining room chair, and grabbed for a piece of toast steaming in the frosty air.
“You know Daddy, today is a big day.”
He gave a little chuckled, “Oh? Is it now?”
“Yes. A very big day.” I scraped some jelly over my toast and shoved it all in my mouth. “Mudumgnfmustmgne is here.”
“What? Darling, I can’t understand you with all that food in your mouth.” He wiped away some escapee jelly that was on my cheek.
“Madame Faustine Zelia is here. I saw her! I did, and she is really pretty daddy. Really pretty. And she has these rings, and this penny, and that’s pretty too. She’s tall. Well, way taller than you, and - ”
“Haha… slow down darling,” father said. Then, he took another sip of his coffee. “You know, Alice, just because a person is tall, pretty, and famous, they are still all people on the inside. People just like you and me,” he tickled my ribs when he said that. I let out a giggle.
“They still laugh,” he continued. “They still cry, and they can still be as cruel or nice as ever.”
“You know daddy, I am going to be an actress when I grow up. I am going to be just like Zelia with all those rings and jewelry and clothes and shoes.” My eyes got really big as imagined that life. No more mop buckets for chairs, I thought. Or curtains for bed sheets.
After another sip of coffee, I saw that my father had put on his serious face. His eyebrows were crinkled and his eyes so intense. The wrinkles on his face seemed to grow twice their size, and the way that his mouth would open to say something and then close again made me believe that he was looking for the right words to say.
“Alice,” he began to say. His words were slow and drawn out. “Anything you do, you must do it for the right reasons. The things you do must matter for others just as much as they do for yourself. Understand?” He stared at me, waiting for a reply. I don’t think he appreciated it when I shook my head no.
He sighed, “Okay, think of it this way. When your an actress, and I see your name in lights, always remember that you do it because you love it. Don’t do it for the fame, money, or glamour because that stuff is all just a bonus. You do what you do because you love it. You love to do it. You get it?”
“Sort of,” I said. I was honestly trying hard to understand what he was telling me (or at least remember what he was saying, so I could figure it out later).
“Then, when you are sure that you love it - whatever it may be - you will not only do it for yourself, you will do it for others as well.” He was on a roll now. His voice got louder and more inspirational by the minute. I always thought my daddy would make the best coach if given the chance.
“Every time you go on that stage and every time you see that limelight shining on you, always remember that you are doing it for the audience as well. You are acting so that you can see all those people’s faces light up in laughter or crying happy tears. You act so that you can help the old relive their past. You act so that you can help the children envision a life different from their scummy homes. You act so that others can love what you do as well.”
He took in a breath. Satisfied with what he had said. Then, just as I thought he was finished, he added a few last words.
“We are asked to do two things in this world. One: that we would love our God, and two: that we would love one another as ourselves. The sooner you realize that, the more you will understand your purpose in life and not spent most of your time searching for it.”
He looked at his coffee. It was empty in his little mug. He took that as a sign to get up and stretch himself, and I took that as a sign that we were done with our talk. I jumped off the mop bucket and rushed for the door.
“Thanks Daddy! Bye Daddy! Love you Daddy!” I burst. Then, I was gone, Leaving my poor father wondering whether I heard anything of what he told me.

For breakfast, I often go to the foyer. More often than not, Rutherford has brought some muffins that he keeps stashed in the bottom left drawer of the ticketbooth. It is absolutely amazing what you can find in that drawer at some times.
Blueberry muffins.
Nut muffins.
Chocolate muffins.
Cheesecake muffins.
Doughnuts!
It is heaven in a box, but usually only the crumbs were left when I got there. This morning, was one of those mornings. Looking at the empty bottom of that drawer, with its dust built up in the corners and agitating my nose, my eyes began to pool. My hopes tumbled down like the falls of a spring rain. Everything seemed a little less magical and a little less promising, but it funny how quickly things can change because In a moment, with only a few words, my hopes were up and flying once again.
“Tomorrow night? How am I, the greatest of all actress’, the beautifulest of all beauties, and the most talented out of all the woman alive supposed to be ready in one night?” The voice was shrill and made me flinch behind the desk counter.
“I don’t know,” said a short stocky man pacing across the carpet. His hair was balding and his pink lips stuck out way too far; I knew I had seen him from somewhere before, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. My gut told me that he was our theater’s director. Wallace or Watson? I couldn’t remember his name exactly. What I did know was that this was the man that made actors quite and babies cry. That was what Rutherford told me anyways.
“The Boss says if we show Othello tonight,” Wallace (or Watson) announced, “our gross income will be out the roof. So, my dear Zelia, you’d better think of a way to be ready. Mr. Punchello doesn’t easily change his mind. Not even for you.”
“Well I never! You are insufferable. You know that I don’t have to put up with this.” Zelia screamed.
Wallace (or Watson) retorted, “If you won’t be ready by tomorrow night then you shouldn’t have showed your powdered behind at this theater a full three weeks late. All the other actors are ready to perform. Do you think I am going to jeopardize all their hard work for a brat like you?” He then turned his back to her and began to walk away down the hall. After a couple of seconds, he stopped and took one brief glance over his shoulder and quietly added, “Be there and be ready.” Then he was off. His body swayed back and forth like a pendulum of a clock that was ticking down the minutes until show time.
Zelia stood shell shocked in the foyer. “Tomorrow night,” she breathed to herself. She gathered up the hem of her fur coat, a pattern of spots and stripes, and ran her way right past me toward a winding staircase to my left. She gave me just enough time to see her penny flashing out from under her sleeve.

Performance night came faster than a baseball pitcher’s throw. If you didn’t pay attention, that ball could hit you hard. Me on the other hand, I was more prepared than necessary. I had picked out the corner where I was going to watch the performance (since only audience members were allowed to sit in the seats), and I had even ironed my blue dress to perfection... twice.
I also admit I did something a little childish, even though it sounded like a good idea at the time. On the night of the performance, I decided I was going to find out all I could about this Madame Faustine Zelia and why she was proposed to be our theaters savior. Also, if I am truly honest, I still had a fascination for her penny, and I meant to keep my promise to myself. Find out its secret at any cost. So, that is what I did.
I followed her. I followed Zelia like a puppy follows his master, for an entire days worth of time. I was smart about it though and made sure to keep my distance. Something told me that being caught spying on famous guests wouldn’t go over well, yet despite the large stretch of space between me and my target, I could still smell her stench. It was overwhelming and emitted from her skin in waves. First I thought it smelled like one of the cleaning chemicals my dad used to clean bathrooms. Then, I thought it resembled the supply closet that held all of the dirty tablecloths. However, I eventually decided on this: the fragrance smelled like a wilting dandelion trying to pose as a rose. Harsh, fake, and utterly revolting.
Following seemed to last forever, and having to hold my breath to subside her smell didn’t make my mission any easier.
She seemed really to do nothing, I concluded, other than wander around and bat her long lashes. I felt sorry for the room service boy on floor one who she never seemed to leave alone. It wasn’t his fault that this women has a serious attention issue.
So, believe me when I say that I was about ready to give up. All my rolling across aisles and hiding behind potted plants was getting me nowhere, and the penny started to get a little less and less important with every second. But then, something happened.
Zelia’s pace rapidly sped up. Her legs took moving faster and faster until she was a flying prized stallion, complete with the clip-clop, clip-clop of her heels on the ground.
There was no more eyelash batting for her and no more flirting hopelessly with the employees. Instead she frantically glanced at the inlaid diamond watch clinging to her wrist. It didn’t look very comfortable. Just looking at that watch made my own wrist feel like a cat’s paw was hacking at it.
I was exhausted. My chest was about to burst. If Zelia ever wanted to change careers and become an athlete, I would be her biggest supporter. Goodness, she was even wearing high-heels. That was impressive.
“Almost there,” she breathed. “Almost there.”
Almost where? I wondered. Where could she possibly be running to? Then it hit me. It was already late. The performance should be going underway soon, and that meant that all the actors and actresses needed to get ready. Beautify themselves. There was only one place they did that. Zelia was heading for the changing rooms.
She reached the rooms mahogany door with its flower engravings etched in gold as a border. A lone star was nailed into the wood at Zelia’s eye level. The star that basically meant, Actors/Actresses only. That’s right. You needed a membership to get into that club, and I wasn’t one of those members. Zelia was however.
She flew open that door as if that was her salvation, and disappeared from my sights as the door swung shut behind her.
But wait!
It wasn’t shut.
At least, not all the way. A small crack appeared at the edge of the door. It was just there to mock me, I knew it. If that crack could have talked it would have said, “I triple dog dare you to open this door and commit that Terrible Something once again.”
The irony was that I accepted the crack’s challenge.
The door beckoned me like a lantern at night, and I was the bug buzzing straight for it. All things surrounding it was held in a blur. It was a camera photo with only the star on the door shining out the words, “Women’s Prep Room” in focus.
I shouldn’t.
I knew that I shouldn’t.
But who knew what was behind that door? Who knew what mysteries stood the chance to be uncovered.? After all, any ingenious detective would never let down an opportunity like this. The stakes were too high; my curiosity was too great. There was no stopping what I was about to do.
I opened the door.
The golden knob was cool in my hands. With the help of adrenaline pumping through my veins, it sent chills running up and down my spine, but my hand held firm.
I was not letting go, for if I did, I knew I was never going to find out what Faustine was truly like.
My mind went through the last time I had ventured in the room. That last time when I committed that Terrible Something. I remembered a couple of women sitting at tables. On them were sprawled out powders and perfumes of all shapes and colors. The smoke of their cigarettes billowed into the air making the room smell like a perfume store on fire. I also remembered their faces. They were the perfect mix of shock and amusement. I am sure those expressions were somewhat the cause of me. I bet they weren’t expecting a little girl to catch them in their undies. But this time, the second time I committed the Terrible Something, things were different.
No shocked faces met my view. No surprised shrieks rang through the halls. No one really even noticed I came in.
Chaos.
That was the only word to describe what I saw that day. All the ladies rushed themselves from one side of the room to the other, flinging themselves onto the costume racks and pouncing at deep red lipsticks.

It was a war zone. I wondered what I had gotten myself into, but there was no turning back now. Not when I was so close too finding out the truth about Faustine Zelia’s penny. So, courageously I moved forward. I disappeared as I weaved myself in and out of the labyrinth of chaos.

Camouflage.

Like a leopard’s skin in the jungle.

Like a worm wriggling in spaghetti.

And so was the way Faustine so easily blended into the crowd. I lost my sights of her as I ventured deeper and deeper into the chaos of that changing room. It was as if she had vanished, forever gone from my sight like a hair caught by the wind.

I spun myself around in circles, trying to get a better view of things. Finding an open chair, I clambered myself up onto it. My feet left two muddy footprints on the upholstery. I even yelled her name the loudest a shy and frightened girl could muster, but all my efforts were no good. She was gone, swallowed up by the monstrous crowd.

Getting down from my chair, I hung my head low and drooped my shoulders. Dejectedly, I believed that my mission was a failure. The room no longer held my fascination and the actresses no longer seemed as beautiful as they were before. Even the penny that gleamed at me from the far away desk was just deemed as worthless as a broken yo-yo.

Wait a second!

The penny!

There is was, winking at me, beckoning me, and daring me to step in closer, and in an instant, a smile returned on my face that was even broader than before. Actually, the smile hurt my cheeks a little, but it was so little a problem that I disregarded it.

Was it a trick?

How could my objective be so visibly unguarded?

So easily obtained?
I snuck in nearer, diving behind a rack of feathered costumes and sprinting for cover in between bureaus, until I could see the dirty filth in the penny’s cracks. Oh, it was beautiful, and it was so close. I could almost feel its cool copper ring in my hands by gazing at it.
“Just a little closer,” I told myself. Then, I shot my hand over my mouth. My voice was louder than I expected, and I looked around worryingly. By the look of things, no one heard me, but there would be no more talking for me from then on. Being noisy was too risky, and this was serious business. After all, I wasn’t supposed to be in the Actresses’ prep room at all.
More stealthily before, I made my way in even closer. The people in the room seemed to be filing out. The gallery of ladies, all of different shapes and different colors, were ushered to a rear door. Some ladies were ecstatic. Their energy was higher than the steeples of a Cathedral. Some ladies were sick. They held their stomachs and covered their mouth with two hands. Either way, everyone was a box of candies packaged in shiny or sparkly wrappers. Experiencing pre-show jitters, they were all soon to be warm with a spotlight of attention.
This was all good for me. Everyone leaving for the stage meant there were less people to notice me. There were less people to know I had committed that Terrible Something. So, seeing my opportunity, I made a dash for the desk. I thought my timing was perfect. I could snatch the ring and run back before anyone detected me. Then, I only needed the penny for a couple of seconds. I just needed enough time to hold it and inspect it. Just a few seconds to find its secret. However, this plan was spoiled when the face of none other – Faustine Zelia – decided to show up. Still in my run, I had no choice to turn around and head back. I had no opportunity to slow down or hit the breaks. No, the only thing I could do was throw myself under the desk and hide things out.
I dove under the table. My knees scraped the carpet, leaving two red burns. My hand hit the left wooden leg hard and made it throb. I sucked on it, but it didn’t help the pain. It just helped me not to scream.
Zelia was close now. At the table she fumbled around with a couple of things, obviously searching for something. In her thoughtlessness, she clumsily knocked an entire bottle of perfume on the ground. She swore under her breathe and tried to repair the shattered glass, but it was too late. The stench of whatever the bottle concealed had been let loose. It reeked of daisies and summer-time grass. I plugged my nose with the hand that wasn’t hurting.
“Zelia, come on!” shouted a lady from across the room. She wore a simple gown with an apron and knitted scarf. “We have to go! It’s show time.”
Zelia paid no attention. “Where is it? I know I left it here!” she flustered. “Right here!” Her hand fingered the spot where the penny once was.
Once was!
That’s right! The penny was no longer on the table. Instead it lay motionless on the ground, knocked off the table in the collision of Alice versus Desk.
“Zelia!” The lady yelling at Faustine hustled over and yanked on the actress’ arm with surprising strength. “I am not going to do this show with out you. Now, pull yourself together!” She dragged away a furious Madame Faustine Zelia. The whole way to the rear doors she shrieked, “But I need it! I need it! You don’t understand! That penny is everything!” Then, they were gone. I was left alone with the penny. Lincoln seemed to grin at me, but it wasn’t out of friendliness. It was more out of spite.

When everything seemed quiet, when the ruckus faded to only the buzzing of lights and hum of the vents, I peeped out of my hiding place. Like a turtle sticking his head out of his shell, I attentively eased into the open and got up onto my knees. They still burned and were now an even deeper red than before. The beginnings of a battle scar, I silently told myself.
Slowly I began to stand. Carefully trying to prevent any more exertion of pain, I was firmly established on my feet; then I gave my back a long needed stretch. The stiffness of my joints slowly became relaxed again, and it gave my body a good reason to be happy.
Yet during all my recuperation, while I did my stretching and damage assessments, my eyes were determinedly fixed on the ring the entire time. The penny ring. It cast an uncanny shadow across the tiled ground where it lay. I crouched nearer to it.

I almost felt terrible with myself for picking it up. It seemed incredibly serene in slumber as it took a short night’s nap on the tile square, but my curiosity had too strong of a hold on my will. While still bent over, my fingers stretched themselves to the floor. They grasped the coin which was as cold as the icicles I would so often see in Animus, Massachusetts during fierce winters when the wind smelled of peppermint and ginger.
My fingers carefully dropped the object in my free hand which was still numb from being whacked. My eyes followed every curve of the penny’s surface. I took in every detail. I took in every clue. I remembered anything and everything that would help me find the reason it was so valuable to Faustine. I wanted to know the reason she cried with pain so easily detected in her voice. Then I recognized something. Holding the object in my hand, I notice that I only held the penny. Lonesome and worthless without its precious jewel, the band still rested on the dirty floor.
Broken.
That was the first word to enter my thoughts. I had broken my target. I had failed my only mission. Well, not completely. I still had the penny after all, but to know the face of Faustine Zelia, when she saw her prized possession as scrap metal, terrified me. Chills raced their way up and down my spine. Sweat beaded on my forehead and gathered behind my ears.
In my haste, I desperately picked up the band of the ring and banged it against the backside of the penny. I wanted it to magically stick back together. I wanted the two broken pieces to fuse, but the accident was unfixable.

Now, I ask you, what would you have done? If you were a little child, in a place that was unknown to you, with the broken object of an Actress lying dismally in your small hands, what would you do? If I could go back, I would have just left it there. I would have placed the ring on the desk and left behind my problems with it. How wonderful things could have been and how pleasantly my life could have changed. However, I did tell you that memories were things that often hurt. I told you how they can so easily sneak up on you and smack you in the face. I even told you that this penny was something that ruined my life. Now you will know why.
I ran. I ran from the changing room into the hallway where I ran some more. Actually, I didn’t stop. Even when my lungs were on fire, even when my feet ached and my throat burned, I continued running. Like a frightened horse, all I wanted was to get away. All I wanted to do was disappear; I wanted to stop making so many mistakes. The penny and the band were still tightly grasped in my palm.
I headed for the only place I knew as my safety. I headed for the only place I knew no one could find me, except for one. One person could find me in that place, but he was someone who loved me. He cared for me. Maybe - just maybe - he would understand? I headed for my box… my hiding place.
Only when I reached my box did I stop running. I heaved up the lid with a grunt and vanished into its abyss. There was a good chance I would never come out. Closing the lid was just as if I was finalizing that fate, and in an instant I was surrounded by complete darkness. The clasps of the lid clicked shut, and I thought, better get used to the darkness now because it is going to be your new best friend... forever. I sobbed.
I was truly a criminal.
Locked.
Condemned.
Through my sobs I could hear the sounds of people’s shouts. I could hear their rage. I could hear cruel laughter that was full of bitterness and animosity, and I wondered. I wonder if all that shouting was because of me. Could I have caused that? Could I have?
What was the severity of my crime.
My crime.
Crime.
But it was just a penny.
Just a penny.
How bad could things be?

I was soon to find out.

Hours seemed to go by. The time slowed to a snails pace with each second lasting a minute and each minute seeming to last for forever. My joints were cramping, and my head was starting to feel dizzy like the head of a spinning top going around and around. The symptoms of claustrophobia nagged at me relentlessly. However, my box still seemed a far less scary place than whatever was outside it because within my box I could hear the theater roar with boos and cries.

“I sure hope I get my money back!” shouted a man whose foot nicked the corner of the box as he passed by.

“That was the worst performance I have ever seen,” stated a lady only a few feet away. “That actress was definitely and completely overrated.
“Hmmm… what was her name again?” asked another.

“Madame Faustine Zelia!” added another woman. “How in the world did she ever get cast for such a prominent role? Especially since she couldn’t remember a single line?”

The first lady replied, “Perhaps it was nerves or maybe just very bad luck.”


These same comments seemed to pass by my box every few seconds. Once and a while someone would get really loud about it and throw a childish fit. Yet, for the most part, people spoke of Faustine Zelia’s performance as if it was a secret. It was just a lovely piece of juicy gossip, and they couldn’t wait to spread it through all of Massachusetts.

Eventually, the ruckus faded away. The last people of the audience filed their way out of the theater, ready to announce T and D’s failure to the world. For some reason I couldn’t help but feel as if it was my fault. I felt as if my crime, my thievery of stealing the penny seemed to be the giant reason for this catastrophe.

As I was thinking these thoughts to myself, I heard the most gruesome sound. It resembled an injured lion’s roar, a desperate cry for help. It rang like the bellowing of a gong and echoed through walls and ripped through curtains.

“Why! Why!” the cry screamed. “E-Everything, everything I-I worked for… gone!”

“Now, now,” said the voice of Rutherford. He was calm and steady like always. His words still sounding monotone despite the circumstances. “None of this is at all your fault, sir. If anything, these people will solely blame the show on Zelia.” He sighed. “Stop crying, boss. You need not worry.”

The Boss blew his nose. Even within my box I could envision his fancy laced hanker chief coated with his slimy boogers. “My reputation… it-it’s ruined.”

“Your reputation? What about mine?” There was a new voice in the room now. This one was shrill and altogether too familiar. Faustine Zelia. I could still remember the sounds she made as she was dragged towards the stage from the changing room.

“My whole career is finished I tell you! If I ever get my hand on the person that stole my penny I swear I’ll - ”

“You’ll what?” said the boss. “Are you really trying to blame this fiasco on a penny. Your lucky penny?” He gave a brutal laugh. “Please, the only thing that is to blame is you! Ugh, if only I would have cast Georgia Hadders instead.”

“Georgia Hadders!” she squealed like a dying pig. “She can’t even sing a high C! If I would have had my penny, I swear I would have made this theater popular again. I could have lifted it from its dead grave!” she hollered.



Their bickering continued, getting more and more severe as time went on. Insults were thrown along with a brilliant array of words I was never supposed to say and other words I had never heard. Breaking of glass and the splintering of wood were heard, and my body flinched at each and every crash. I thought it would never stop, until the shout of Rutherford was hear through the screaming of the others.

“Stop!” he yelled. “Stop it!” The scene changed to silence, and I could hear the heavy breathing of Theodore Punchello and Zelia through the wooden walls of my hiding place. I imagined the scene that lay on the outside of those walls. I wondered if there was anything left unbroken in their storm of vengeance. Rutherford continued with a quiet whisper, “Where is your decency?” He sighed. “I am tired of the arguing, the improper behavior of you, and the insensitive treatment given to me and the people who work here. Yes, this theater is running into the ground. Yes, I and you have seen better days, yet still you, Boss, squander money on cigars! Hanker chiefs!” Rutherford’s voice rose, and for once in my life (and the only time in my life) I could no longer say that he was a boring old man in suit. “Twenty years I have worked for you, and never received a single raise because you spend money on people like her!” I envisioned him poking his bony finger at a flustered Faustine. “Obviously, I quit. I am going to make something of my life. So, goodbye Mr. Punchello. I will enjoy my time not being observed under your microscope.”

His footsteps trailed off and eventually faded to nothing after he closed the theater doors behind him. The room he left was frozen in time. Shock subsided in the entire place, until it was broken by the whimpers of a Boss who just lost his floor manager.



In my box, I held Zelia’s penny out in front of me. In between my two fingers I held it up to my face, but it was still hard to make out in the darkness. Now I knew what made it so special. Now I knew the value this coin had on Zelia’s life. I am not sure whether you believe in luck, but at that moment in my box, I did. I fully believed that without this charm, Madame Faustine Zelia’s life had been ruined. I told myself that if she would have had it during her performance, Rutherford wouldn’t have quit and the Boss wouldn’t have gone mad and destroyed his own theater.

I blamed everything on me.

I blamed everything on my crime.

So this burden was my punishment.

I felt I deserved it.

Was I wrong?


When I was sure that both Mr. Punchello and Zelia had left the room, I ventured myself out of the box. The penny I shoved deep in the pocket of my dress in fear Faustine might catch me with it. If she did, I was certain she would strangle my tiny neck.

The room was just as wrecked as I imagined it would be. Shards of expensive china stuck up from the carpet like spikes in a war zone. The prized oil lamps that were covered with soft purple velvet and inlaid with diamonds lay as sleeping beauties on the ground. I bent down and rubbed my fingers on one of the lamp’s surfaces. The velvet was still smooth, like a puppy’s coat against my fingers. I could smell the oil they leaked in the air. I could smell the smoke they made when lit for the first few seconds. I could smell – wait a second! Smoke! How could I smell smoke? The lamps were on the floor, shattered and unlit. I looked around me in panic. The first things a person learns it that to have smoke you must first have… fire.

Fire.

Learning about fire goes hand in hand with don’t touch the stove top.

It is a word that is usually followed with run!


My head analyzed the room. I followed my nose like an animal, trying to find the origin of this smell. Don’t panic, I told myself. Maybe someone just decided to make pancakes…with lamp oil?

Then I saw it. Out of the corner of my eye, next to the splintered table and near a broken wine glass, roaring flames licked at some tapestries. Fueled by the broken lamp’s oil and the burning of a lonely cigar, it gaily ate its way up the room’s walls. What I remember clearly was the intense heat it gave off at my face. It was the heat of a million suns on my cheeks, and I had to turn myself away. My eyes were watering.

I did the only thing I could think to do. I got to my feet and ran.

“Fire! Fire!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. Through the halls and through the many rooms, I shouted it. “Fire! Fire!”

All of the people I encountered were employees. Most of them just looked at me confused. Some of them panicked and began dashing for the exits.

What had I done?

Most infamous day ever?

Yep.

Now I can mark that off my bucket list.

I mean, not everyone can say they are responsible for wrecking a show and burning down a theater.

In the same day!



“Alice! Alice darling, where are you?” My father’s voice was a beckon in the chaos.

I looked around the room I was in. Just a couple more steps and I would be in the foyer and to the front doors. “Daddy! Daddy! I’m here!” I screamed, but there was no reply.

I sprinted to the foyer. People everywhere crammed near the doors. Each one prayed to get out of that theater alive, and each one had fear written deeply across their faces. However, none of those faces were my daddy.



I was amazed at how quickly the fire spread. The entire building began to creak and groan in utter defeat, but worse than anything was the smoke. It was inexorable, filling up entire rooms with poisonous air, and like a snake it slithered its way closer and closer to me.
My throat began to cough. Burning pain found its way into my nostrils, and it took all my strength not to keel over. I needed to get out. I needed to at that moment, but where was Daddy? Where was the man that loved me?
I was torn between to paths. One led me to my father and into the smoke – into my possible death. The other path was to the doors. It was safe that way. I could eventually have my salvation. But the possibility of losing my dad was too great. It was too hard a pain to live with.
I headed toward the smoke. With all my will power, my feet clumsily took one step in front of the other. The tickling in my throat got worse and worse within every second.
“What are you doing!” Shouted a lady behind me. The name on her maid uniform said Elma. Her brown hair was pulled tight back in a bun and the look on her face screamed out fear. “Come on girl, let’s get you out of here.” She grabbed my hand and yanked me towards the doors.
“No! No!” I screamed. I told my arms and legs to fight against her hold. “No!”
“We have to get out,” she said. “Don’t you know there is a fire? Stop squirming!” Elma wrapped her arms around me and hosted me up. She carried me toward the doors with surprising strength. I couldn’t wrestle myself from her now. I was simply a rag doll, powerless against her will.

Through the doors we went. Outside the sunlight was blinding, and the winds whipped through my dress, giving me a chill. I collapsed myself on the paved ground. My energy was completely gone; it was sucked away and left me mentally and physically exhausted.
With my hands cold, I mindlessly put them in my pockets. The tips of my fingers brushed the surface of something smooth and cold. The penny.

I don’t remember much after that. I just remember the sounds of the fire truck’s sirens arriving at the theater. I remember receiving the news of my father from a built black man in a red firefighter’s suit. In a trance, I could barely make out the words he told me. I could just barely make out the words, “Your father has passed away,” and, “I am so sorry.” He placed a plush teddy bear in my lap and silently walked away.
I never said a word.
Not for a long time.
How could I?

Now, this story is a memory. It came back to me on the sidewalk so many years later. With the gleam of a penny, and the way it seemed to smile out of spite. Standing there on the sidewalk that chilly morning, interrupted by my walk, I couldn’t help but think of how things could have been different. What if I was to have let my curiosity sleep? What if I was to just let that penny be? What if? Would I still have a father? I don’t think that I will ever know. What I do know it that luck is something a person shouldn’t mess with. It should be left alone where no one and nothing can get hurt.
So, in conclusion to my tale, you probably wonder why I am telling you all this. You wonder why I even bother to share with you such a big part of my heart. The way I answer that question is simply by this: sometimes you just need to say some things otherwise you’ll explode. You need to confide in something or someone so you don’t keep everything bottled up inside. It is much like a confession or getting something off your chest.
Now I can say that a burden has now been lifted from my shoulders. By sharing this part of my past I feel as if I have taken the first steps of moving on. I guess what I thought was moving on before wasn’t true. If anything, I was just toying with myself. I was hiding all my feelings away instead of getting rid of them.
In that sense, I guess I owe the penny on the street something. After all, it did force me to rethink and retell the story that has so relentlessly haunted me in my past. The penny, that day on my walk, helped me to realize that memories are something I no longer need to keep secret. I have learned that it is okay to let some things out of my head. Lastly, I have learned that it even feels… good. It feels good to write my life on paper because I feel like I am preserving something. It is as if I find myself part of something bigger in this world. It makes me feel as if I have made my mark on the future.
My last wish to you, dear reader, and my final words in this account, is that you would do something with the lessons I have shared. I wish that you would take my story to heart and that you would belong to a greater picture in life. Most importantly, I wish that you would follow the words of a great man.
This great man once said, “We are asked to do two things in this world. One: that we would love our God, and two: that we would love one another as ourselves. The sooner you realize that, the more you will understand your purpose in life and not spent most of your time searching for it.”
So follow the words of my father. Promise to me that you follow all these lessons word by word because if you don’t this story is destined to replay in your life. All memories will become a ghost of horror. You might just find yourself scared of a penny, or even worse… you might find yourself as a thief soon to be in the limelight.
Trust me.
In the limelight.
When you are a thief.
That is a scary place to be.