Rachel Grundl

Dr. Spartz
Observational Writing
28 September 2015
Nights on Stage
The stage. A place where introverts like myself would detest being the center of,
in the limelight in front of all to see. Exposed. But at night, this stage transforms into a
place of solitude. Quiet. Underneath a spotlight, the moon sending down white light
illuminating my body, the cool boards against my back. It always fills me with a small
sense of belonging, allowing me to unwind. To think or even still my thinking. Its a
place of relaxation, meditation.
Its quiet.
Well, quiet enough.
The ever-present low humming of the generators just outside of Wyman
Commons eventually blends into the background, the campus is breathing. The campus
comes alive at night, students tucked away in their dorms. Except for those that awaken
in the night. Lone figures walk by to or from their dorm, along the long loop road.
Hands tucked tightly in pockets. Staring at their feet either with disdain or eyes to the
sky, lips smiling.
The random few who present their quirks freely always seem to appear in threes.
The ones that make noise, as they proudly screech or howl like some animal theyve been
fighting to keep quiet during the day.
Ive come to declare the campus almost officially dead and devoid of student life
between 11 pm and 1 am. Flat lining in a void of people, just crickets, frogs and branches

swaying, crackling in the light cool breeze. The only other disturbances are headlights
blinding my eyes, as public safety comes down the road slowing as they see me on stage.
For that moment it gets tense.
But they pass by.
Always.
The stage functioned as a safe haven for me since freshman year, a place for
reflection and relaxation. A place I will miss when I leave. The stars were always there
for me, bright, gleaming, or hidden behind the clouds only to shine through for the
briefest moments. They were always there and could make the coldest night worth it
because there is calm to be found in the night, when you get lost in the blackness of the
sky, tightly bound to the beads of light.
They speed by.
Ive seen fifteen on a good night.
Shooting stars.
Each time they pass, it feels like an achievement. I had just seen another traveler
on their way. Sometimes my eye loses them, the moon swallows them, changing from a
shallow sliver into such a bright wholeness.
I am envious.
Something so complete, that can be held if you place your hand just right.
You can hold the moon.
Even catch a shooting star by pinching it to a stop.
Every night on stage has been different. The weather changes everything. The
colder it gets, the less the stage stays a haven. The boards once refreshingly cold against

my back are ice as they welcome their way through my sweatshirt. Cold brings out more
students for study. Gathering in packs around the fire pit not far from the stage, quietly
mumbling, laughing now and then. Trash talking teachers. Cursing for forgetting their
keys.
It was the night of the band, Friday, September 25th. Arriving at my stage around
9 pm. That night I found the heart of the campus. The SAC, bass pulsating for hours,
blends with breathing generators. The night is lackluster. It has so much more to offer
when students are tucked away.
Three girls run towards the stage, yelling they cant see. I can see them flailing
their arms as if theyve been walking a tight rope. This is the only time I had been
bothered by nightlife.
Pulling out the brightness of phones. Picking away at the screens with their pale
fingers, voices in a higher pitch as if theyve been starring in an anime. I wonder if those
are their real voices. My eyes take to the sky, taking a breath, searching for my shooting
stars, wishing for my eyes to be stolen away from finger tapping, phone slapping girls as
they speak of songs to dance to
This was going to be interesting, to say the least and most polite.
Two stepping, throwing arms, twisting fingers in some excuse for gang signs
these girls danced for a good fifteen minutes to rap.
I tried hard not to laugh. I succeeded.
They began to chant.
Fergalicious defFergalicious def-

Fergalicious defIm the F to the E, R, G, the I, the E,

And cant no other lady put it down like me
I had to leave. It was cold. The campus was alive, heartbeat strong, sky
lackluster. But there was a Blood Moon coming. I couldnt miss that.
Lying down, my stage and I connected. I wasnt alone. Two groups of three
clustered on the stage, one a little left, the other far right. The left group was smoking; a
sweet scent enveloped me as my eyes focused on the changing moon. A sliver of white
was being consumed by crimson.
Beautiful.
Sliding.
Transforming.
A Blood Moon was a slow process. Starring into the blue halo of the moon, the
sweet scent warmed me. The moon was a lit cigar.
Did it smell as sweet?
Howling, the left group losing their minds. I smiled. Blood red and burning the
moon shone brighter, the nearest stars fading.
I had faded away.
Alone.
Exposed.
Surrounded by sweetness, the cool boards beneath my back.
I would miss my stage.