The stage is at the edge of the park.
It is not very big. It is made of wooden boards that creak when people walk on them. Someone put up metal poles and hung lights that look like silver flowers. The lights are off right now, but I can still see them because the sun is bright and the sky is very blue.
There are trees behind the stage. Their leaves move when the wind comes, and sometimes they drop little shadows that dance on the floor. I like those shadows.
They look like they are also performing.
I am sitting on a blue plastic chair behind the stage. My feet do not touch the ground. They swing back and forth, bumping the chair legs sometimes. I am wearing white socks and black shoes that are a little stiff.
When I move my toes, the leather makes a small sound.
My dress is pale yellow. It feels smooth on my arms. The skirt is wide, and when I turn even a little, it floats. The teacher said it looks like sunshine.
I think it looks like a flower that hasn't opened all the way yet.
"Yura. Are you ready?" My teacher asked. She crouches down so her eyes are level with mine. She smells like soap and the paper she uses for music sheets.
"Yes." I said.
I am ready.
I have been ready since this morning, since before breakfast, since before I opened my eyes and knew today was the day. My chest feels warm, like when I hold a cup with both hands. It is not shaking. It is not tight. It is just full.
Behind the stage, I can hear sounds from the park. People talking. Someone is laughing loudly. A baby crying and then stopping.
Music from another booth, something fast with drums. Every sound feels like it is leaning toward the stage, even if it isn't.
I peek through the curtain.
There are many people. More than I thought.
They are sitting on folding chairs, standing behind them, and walking around with food in their hands. Some people have balloons. Some have cameras hanging from their necks. Some are holding hands.
I try to count them, but I lose track after a while. It is okay.
I like that there are many.
I like that they are all facing the same way.
"Don't forget to smile." My teacher said gently.
I nod. I am already smiling.
The festival is for the school and the neighborhood. There are booths with games, food, and drawings on the ground with chalk. There is a big banner tied between two trees that says the name of my school.
The letters are red, and some of the paint is a little uneven.
We practiced for weeks in the gym. The gym smells like dust and shoes and the floor cleaner that makes your eyes sting.
The stage smells like wood and grass and the sweet food from somewhere nearby. I like the stage smell more. When we practiced, the teacher clapped her hands to keep time. Now there are real claps, from people I don't know. I think that is better.
"Next is Class One's recital. Please give them a warm round of applause." A man said into a microphone. His voice is loud and echoes a little.
People clap.
The sound is like rain, but heavier.
It falls on me even though I am still behind the curtain. My heart bumps once, like it is saying hello. We line up. There are eight of us. I am in the middle. The teacher fixed it that way. She said I keep a good balance.
I look at the other kids.
Minji is biting her lip. Her hair ribbons are crooked. I want to fix them, but there is no time.
Joon is bouncing on his heels. He always does that when he is excited. Or nervous. I think maybe they are the same thing. Someone squeezes my hand. It is Haeun. Her palm is warm and a little sweaty.
"You okay?" She whispered.
"Yes." I whispered back.
She nods. She looks at me like she is checking something. Then she smiles, big and crooked. The curtain opens. The light changes. It is still daytime, but the stage lights turn on, and everything looks clearer. The world feels closer, like it leaned forward to listen.
I step onto the stage.
The boards are warm under my shoes. I can feel the sun on my cheeks and the lights on my forehead. The wind moves my skirt, just a little.
I look out.
Faces.
So many faces.
Some are smiling. Some are talking to each other. Some are looking at their phones. Some are looking right at me. I like that too. The music starts.
It is a song we practiced many times. It begins softly. I know when to move my hands, when to step forward, and when to turn. My body knows before I think about it.
I move.
My arms feel light. My feet know where the floor is. When I turn, my skirt opens like a circle, and I hear someone make a small sound, like "oh." That makes my chest warmer. I see my teacher at the side of the stage. She is counting with her fingers, very quietly. She is smiling.
I smile back, but I do not look at her for long.
I look at the people.
When I look at them, something happens. Their eyes change. Some get wider. Some get softer. Some people who were talking stop talking. I don't know why. I just know when to look and when to look away.
When the music gets louder, I lift my chin. When it gets quiet, I slow down. I like the quiet parts best. In the quiet parts, I can hear breathing. Mine and theirs.
It feels like we are all doing the same thing together.
There is a moment where I have to stand still, with my hands folded and my head tilted. We practiced that part a lot. The teacher said, "Hold it. Don't rush."
I hold it.
The wind moves the leaves behind me. A bird flies past, fast and dark. Someone coughs.
No one laughs.
I like that.
Then the music swells, and I move again, and it feels like opening a door. When the song ends, there is a pause. Just a small one. Then the clapping comes back, louder than before. It hits my ears and my skin and my chest all at once.
I bow. We all bow.
When I lift my head, I see people standing up.
Some people are clapping over their heads. Some are smiling very big. A woman in the front row wipes her eyes. I don't know why, but I think it is okay.
I feel taller.
—
Backstage, everyone is talking at the same time.
"You did great!"
"I messed up the turn!"
"Did you hear them?"
"My mom was waving!"
The teacher hugs us one by one. When she hugs me, she holds me for a second longer. "You were wonderful. Very calm." She said. I like that word. Calm. It feels round.
My parents come around the side. My mother's eyes are shiny. My father claps again, just for me, even though everyone already clapped. "You looked like you were born up there." My mother said. I don't know what that means, exactly, but I like it. A woman I don't know comes up and bends down.
"Hello. What's your name?" She said. "Han Yura." I said.
She nods slowly, like she is tasting the name.
"You were very good. Do you like dancing?" She asked. "Yes." I said. She smiles and looks at my parents. They talk in low voices. I cannot hear the words, but I can hear the sound of interest, like when someone finds something they were not looking for.
I look at the stage again.
Someone else is on it now. Older kids, with different music. But it still feels like mine. Like I left something there, warm.
—
We eat lunch on a picnic blanket. Rice rolls, fruit, and juice boxes. My shoes are off, and my feet are on the grass. The grass tickles.
People keep coming over.
"Are you in first grade?"
"My daughter couldn't stop watching you."
"You have such good expression."
I answer when they ask me things. My parents answer when they ask grown-up things. Sometimes I don't know what to say, so I smile. That always seems to work. Haeun sits next to me and leans close. "They keep looking at you." She whispered.
I nod.
I am used to that feeling now, from the stage. It does not go away when I sit down. It is softer, but it is still there.
After lunch, we walk around the festival. Someone gave me a free cookie. Someone asks for a picture. My father holds the camera. I stand still and smile. It feels like another kind of pose.
When it is over, when the sun starts to go down, and the lights turn orange, I feel tired. Not heavy tired. Just the kind where your body wants to be quiet.
In the car, I lean my head against the window. The glass is cool. My mother turns around from the front seat. "Did you have fun?" She asked. "Yes." I said.
"Were you nervous?"
I think about it. "No." I said. She looks surprised, then laughs softly. "That's good." She said. I watch the streetlights pass by. They look like stars that learned how to line up. My reflection in the window looks different. Not older. Just brighter.
I smile at it.
It smiles back.
I think about the stage, the pause before the clapping, and the way everyone looked at the same time. I like that place. I hope I can go back.