The Flowers

The scrape of a folding chair leg on the tile floor snaps me back. I was drifting as the auditorium slowly filled and conversations fell into a mass murmur. Now the room is nearly full. People are still standing in the aisles and around the edges, but many have already started taking their seats.
I try to avoid looking at the flowers next to the sound board by checking the levels again, but my nerves won't let me.
I look down at the board and start flipping through my notes.

Scene three --
Opening ... mic. 2 up to 10. Mic. 3 and 4 up to 8.
Fade down to 0
Solo... mic. 4 up to 10. Remote mic. 10.
Scene four --
Opening...

Two hands slap down next to my notebook and begin drumming out a bass line.
"So, who is she?"
I look up to see the electric grin of my best friend Eric. He nods at the flowers.
"Nancy," I say.
"Hmm ... The violin player?"
"Umm hmm."
"Hmmm ... You got her roses?"
"Yeah. I wrote a note too," I say, pointing at a small envelope.
Eric nods and looks at me.
A door opens at the front of the auditorium and the orchestra starts filing in. They walk, single file, to their spots at the side of the stage.
Nancy opens the music on her stand and flips through it as she sits down. Her dark brown hair falls over her shoulders and she pushes it back with one hand, still intent on her music.
"You gonna go out with her?"
"I don't know ... guess I'll find out tonight," I say, looking down at the roses.
"Oh..." says Eric, looking down too.
"I guess I've gotta ... you know..." I look back to the orchestra.
"Yeah."
"How much time do think we have?"
"Before it starts?"
"Yeah."
Eric looks around for a clock. There isn't one. The orchestra had been tuning. The lights blink once as the musicians finish.
"Not very long," says Eric.
I look across the room at Nancy. She's a million miles away.
"What if she doesn't..." I say, looking over at Eric.
"She will."
"But what if she doesn't?"
"She will."
I look at my friend. His confidence takes some of the edge off, but I'm still trapped in a mass of nerves. If only I had some of that confidence.
"Could you..."
"Yeah, no problem," he says, grabbing the flowers and note. "Asta."
I watch him weave up the center aisle, the flowers held high. Sweat forms on my palms and I can't make it stop. My stomach tightens as he makes his way along the front of the stage, smiling as he goes.
His lips are moving. It isn't hard to imagine the words.
"Excuse me. Excuse me. Special delivery. Coming through."
I feel the heat in my cheeks and I focus all my energy on not sinking into my chair when Eric finally makes it to the front of the orchestra. It's going to be a spectacle, I know it.
With a flourish, he stops in front of Nancy. People turn their heads to watch as she takes the flowers. My world condenses into the note she's about to open. A few lines on a small card are everything.
Time crawls as she slowly slides it out of the envelope.
What will she say?
The world nearly ticks to a stop. My stomach can't get any tighter as she opens it.
What will she say?
The house lights blink twice.
Her eyes move across the card and I'm afraid to breathe -- afraid to breathe until I know.
She looks up. I see her eyes follow Eric's pointing hand. He's grinning. The miles close and she smiles.
Finally, I breathe.
I don't need to see her nod and mouth, "Yes." Her smile already says it.