Beastly's Arc

Chapter 11 of 11

The recital night arrives. Beastly stands behind the curtain and listens to the auditorium fill. Seats scrape. Voices climb. A staff member peeks through the gap and tells him they are turning people away at the door. Beastly straightens his cuffs. He looks at his students lined up in the wings, small and ready, programs clutched in their hands. He walks out onto the stage. The lights find him. The room goes quiet. He sees the faces that once passed his window. He sees the rival's empty two blocks away in his mind. He bows once, lifts his arm, and signals the music. The red barn stage glows under warm lamps. Wooden planks shine from a fresh polish. A rope-and-post gate stands at the foot of the steps, hung with a small carved sign that reads simply, Welcome. His students file out past it, one by one, and take their marks. The velvet seats beyond the lights are full to the back wall. Dark beams arch over rows of red. Every face is turned forward. No one is looking away. The first girl steps to center. She finds her position. She begins. Her arms move clean and true, exactly as he taught her. The next student follows, then the next. Beastly watches from the wing with his hands behind his back. His students do not stumble. They do not shrink. When the final pose lands, the auditorium is silent for one long beat. Then the applause breaks, and it does not stop. It keeps coming in waves. People stand. People who once walked past his door stand. Afterward, the lobby fills with parents asking about the fall term. The waitlist sheet runs out of lines. Beastly steps back inside the empty auditorium and looks at the stage one more time. The lights are still on. The little gate at the foot of the steps still says Welcome. He turns off the lamp himself and walks home through a town that finally knows his name.