Bio

She had never seen him act before, never seen him onstage. She wasn't even much of a theatre-goer, but tonight she was beaming, she was thrilled. That was going to be her boy up there, her man, her sweetheart. He was going to be the star. He was the star!

She opened the program. Flipping through she saw steely gazes, accolades, recent work and websites. She stopped on his familiar face, that toothy smile, that dimpled chin. She read his carefully, taking twice the length of time she normally would on each word.

She got to the end: "Endless love to his parents, and to" her. She blinked hard, and the lights dimmed.

The show was good. It was good and then it was over. She waited for him in the lobby. She had two plastic cups of white wine.

Love? Endless love? He had never used that word, certainly never accompanied with the qualifier endless. And to place her next to his parents like that. Were those loves equal? Not in that he loved her as a mother, but that the strength and depth of love for his mother matched that of his love for her. Were they the same? My god, were they equal?

If it were true, how come he'd never said it? How come he couldn't say it? What was stopping him, holding him back? Was this his way of being romantic, his idea of a Grand Romantic Gesture? Was he merely adding any word to stuff his bio? Did he, even more frightfully, merely replace another girl's name with hers? Did he not mean it? Was it a mistake? Which of these things was worse? My god, was she already on her third cup of wine?

The dimple emerged. Her thoughts shuttered themselves. She congratulated him on a wonderful performance (which it was). He asked her what was wrong. She told him nothing, played like he was the fool for thinking it. But she was glad he noticed.

What was keeping her back? What was she waiting for? Was she waiting for that Gesture? Would she mean it when it came? Was it endless? Was it there at all? My god, were they equal?