Doctor-Patient Confidentiality: Chapter Thirty-One (Role Play Edition)

 

The curtains rise slowly, revealing your ensemble of violinists and vocalists to an incredibly large, seated audience.

 

The enormous stage lights are bright and feel hot against your face and neck, perfectly illuminating your musical assembly from high above your heads. The auditorium is packed, just as you expected it to be—as you all expected it to be.

 

The annual Weitzman performance is one of the events that always gets sold out quickly. Last year, you were seated in the audience, far behind on the other side of the renowned stage your moccasin-clad feet are currently planted on. You had been restless at the time, feeling giddy and excited for the whole duration of the show as you watched your upperclassmen perform their hearts out.

 

 You’d been so eager to see the show that you ended up staying in your seat the whole time, even during the intermissions. You didn’t want to miss a second of the experience, even at the expense of your unhappy bladder, so you sat there for two and half straight hours in sheer amazement, just happily taking it all in. You kept imagining what it would feel like to be up here, and you couldn’t wait to find out. Now you know, although you never imagined you’d be feeling the disappointment you feel now.

 

Get a grip, Roni! you mentally shake yourself. You need to get out of this funky mood, at least for now. What’s done is done, and you’re here now. You may not be in the exact position you thought you’d be, you may not be in the exact position that you want, but you’re still here, dammit! And this is still a performance that you’re going to be judged on, one that’s going to count toward a good portion of your final grade at the end of the semester, so you have to bring your A-game, no matter what.

 

Besides, when you really think about it, just having the privilege to be on this stage is more than enough, and this moment is too important to you to not give it your absolute best, regardless of whatever else is going on in your life. There’s no point in beating yourself up over what you can’t control.

 

You don’t even have the time to fully process all the emotions running through your mind all helter-skelter. You’ll deal with all of it later. Right now, all you’re going to focus on is singing your ass off, because that’s all that matters.

 

***

 

An energetic chorus of claps bursts through the auditorium, echoing and reverberating throughout the hall. The audience is full of smiles, and they all rise in a magnificent standing ovation to demonstrate their praise. The smacking sounds crack through the air and bounce off the walls and ceiling, making their way to the stage and back. A few whistles and verbal cheers make their way through the tidal wave of claps as well.

 

The applause is even grander than the audience creating it. They’re clapping and cheering as if they’re getting paid to do it. It’s obvious that they really enjoyed the show.

 

Normally, you’d be getting an incredible rush of adrenaline by now. You’d always imagined you’d be feeling ecstatic in this very moment, right after such a huge and highly anticipated show, but you feel anything but.

 

You should be on ‘the ultimate high’ after seeing their reactions, you should be making your way up to cloud nine, but instead, all you feel is numb right now. Numb and demoralized and…unsure. Unsure of everything. Life seems to have a fondness for doing that to you lately. The curtain lowers and shields your ensemble from the view of the audience once again, but you can still hear the very audible slaps and smacks of their seemingly undying applause.

 

“Oh, my gosh, you were great, Kayla!” you hear someone say. “The audience loved you!” they continue to gush.

 

You’re afraid to turn and look to see who it is, so you don’t. That’s the last thing you want to be hearing right now. But honestly, it wouldn’t matter if you did, anyway. They’re right. Kayla did an amazing job. It’s a hard pill for you to swallow, but it’s the truth. Still, that doesn’t make admitting it or standing here and listening to their gushing any easier to deal with.

 

 You don’t want to be here right now. You can’t.

 

You move away from the cluster of people gathering around Kayla and joining in on the gushing praise. You absently glance at your watch, and your heart does a double flip.

 

Shit!

 

You’re supposed to meet Nicole outside and you’re already running fifteen minutes late thanks to a few unforeseen delays that happened during the show. You grab all your stuff and quickly head toward the stairwell leading to the back entrance, but your plan is thwarted almost immediately.

 

 Swarms of performers are quickly gathering in front of it, completely blocking off the passageway. It’s already so packed with everyone standing around and congratulating each other, with a few people trying to one-up someone else. They’re all busy relishing the highs they’re on—like you should be doing, instead of scurrying to head to some rich guy’s party so that your potential whoring skills can be “assessed” by a scary woman who seems to be utterly obsessed with rainbows.

 

God, this is turning out to be such a shitty night.

 

It’s impossible to make your way through the back. Your only other option is leaving the building through the main entrance—with everybody else from the audience. You really don’t want to take the front door route as you’re not at all in the mood, or have the time, for that matter, to make small talk with anyone, but right now, you don’t have a choice.

 

You dash in the other direction, making your way through one of the backstage exits and into the auditorium once more. The hall is rowdy as streams of people shuffle out while some continue to remain seated or chat in little groups in the corner. The aisles are so much more packed than it is backstage, but at least people are moving here.

 

You do your best to wiggle through, smiling and saying ‘thank you’ when a few people congratulate you and tell you you did a “great job”. You only do it for the sake of being polite and as a gesture of common courtesy. You really don’t feel like you deserve to be congratulated on anything right now. You did your best, but you know you weren’t at your best.  And that makes all the difference.

 

As you keep walking, you think you hear someone call your name, but you’re not sure so you ignore it. You continue shuffling among the masses of people with even more urgency, eager to get out of the annoying cluster as quickly as possible. But then, you hear your name again, and it’s loud and clear this time.

 

“Ramona!”

 

You’re a bit startled by the sound of the deep voice, and you turn to see none other than Jamie Wrighton walking up to you from a few feet away.

 

Your eyes widen at the sight of him. He’s dressed formally, in a well-fitting dark grey suit and navy blue tie. He actually looks pretty fancy. You’re honestly surprised to see him here. You hadn’t really pegged someone like him to attend these kind of events.

 

He sidesteps a few people as he makes his way over to you with ease, towering over everyone around him. It’s almost as if people automatically just part and make way for him wherever he goes, and you’re not sure if it’s because of his height or because he’s the school’s star quarterback. Maybe both. Either way, right now you don’t have time to try to decipher it, and you certainly don’t have the time to make small talk with him.

 

“Ramona, hey,” he smiles, finally stopping just a few inches in front of you.

 

“Jamie…hey,” you say. It’s probably the lamest attempt at a greeting, but you’re not exactly sure what else to say. He’s the last person you expected to be talking to tonight.

 

“You were great out there,” he says, giving you another encouraging smile as he shoves his hands into his pockets.

 

“Thanks,” you say, feeling somewhat unsure. You have no idea where this conversation is going, but you don’t have time to stick around to find out.

 

You shift your weight onto your other foot by force of habit; something you do when you’re in an uncomfortable situation that you’re trying to get out of, or if you’re being bogged down somewhere when you really need to be somewhere else.

 

He starts to speak again. “Hey, listen. I was wondering—”

 

“I’m glad you liked the show but I really need to get going. Good seeing you again,” you quickly say, stopping his words short.

 

You don’t mean to cut him off. You honestly do it unintentionally. You really hate that you sound rude right now and you wish you could apologize, but you’re certainly not about to give him—or anyone else—any more opportunities to keep you here any longer.

 

You turn before he can say anything else and practically run through the remainder of the crowd as fast as you can.

 

You hear him call out from behind you one last time before you head through the exit. “Yeah…good seeing you again, too.”

 

As soon as you’re out of the building, you immediately spot Nicole’s car ahead.

 

Okay, it’s not like you really tried to spot it. It’s literally right there, parked right in front of the main entrance, in a very unauthorized parking space.

 

You can only shake your head in disbelief at the proverbial balls she has to do something like this, and on a day like this one, no less. This chick is really something else. 

 

You quickly close the distance, not bothering to mention how blatantly she’s breaking the law, because with Nicole, that would just be a waste of time. But at least she’s here, just like she promised she would be.

 

She puts her window down as she sees you approaching. You can’t read her expression behind the large Guess aviators sitting proudly on her face. You guess she likes to stay fashionable year round, even in shit weather.

 

She gestures with a slight cock of her head to the side. “Get in.”

 

***

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