The Show Must Go On…Even When I Faint On Stage

The Show Must Go On…Even When I Faint On Stage

Oh no…..oh no. My vision goes blurry and my knees start to give out under me. Not again, I thought. This was the second time tonight that I’ve gone down on stage. Maybe performing with a 101.7 degree fever was not such a good idea.

I don’t know what it’s like to be caught in your underwear, but I imagine the embarrassment rivals this feeling right now. The stage lights are hot and heavy, and I feel thousands of eyes widen in horror as I go down. Things could have definitely been worse; instead of hitting the cold stage floor, I merely sat down on the bleacher-style seating on these risers beneath me. Much less humiliating. I’m sure that’s exactly why they were designed this way.

Before long, I hear the applause signaling the end of the song and I dart for the stage exit. I have a brief moment of panic as none of the panels open when I push, but then I remember this isn’t my first rodeo. I fainted on this very stage two years ago, during my first performance at The Kennedy Center, where a fellow chorister came to my rescue and pushed on the second farthest panel from the right. As if these doors remember my name from that fateful performance, they give way to my demanding shove.

I pull off my mask and gasp for air. Within a few seconds, the stage assistant was at my side offering me water and asking if I needed a medic. I take the water and decline the medic, saying I had to go back out for my solo soon. I savored each breath I took without my Vocal Ease mask suffocating me. Truly the worst mask for breathing and singing, ironically.

The stage manager, Bobby, is studying me intently. The air is thick between us. I know what is coming next. “I would really, really like to still perform,” I tell him. He just looks at me, saying nothing. “I have a lot of people here for me tonight. I don’t want to let them down.” We have some back and forth about different options before he says, “Let’s walk over to stage right and see how you’re feeling.” 

This short walk to the other side of the stage nearly takes me out. My body is so weak and tired, and no amount of medication could cover that. I try to fake it, but he can see it all over my face. Being the stubborn little girl that I am, I dig in my heels. “I still want to perform. Once the adrenaline kicks in out there, I’ll be fine. I really want to do this.” 

Bobby hesitates. “Elisha, as your stage manager, I want to tell you that you cannot go out like this. But as your friend, I want to support you in whatever decision you want to make.” A beat of silence stretches between us. “Tonight, I will be your friend.”

Relief rushes over me. “Great,” I smile. “I’m going out.”

They send me out with a stool, and I am grateful for the safety net since I truly don’t know what’s about to happen. Oh, the joys of live performing. This time I would hit the cold stage floor if I went down, because I was standing front in center away from the risers. A stool is definitely a step up from the floor. 

My song is introduced and I grab the microphone gingerly, as if any sudden movements would cause me to lose consciousness. I’m not gonna lie, I was scared. I glanced over at my director on the podium three feet from me. Eugene Rogers puts a comforting hand to his heart and looks at me with fondness. I loosen up. This man is the definition of musical strength, warmth, and power. If he believes in me, then truly, I can do anything.

The song begins and the rest of the world disappears. It’s just me and the music. Performing is a privilege I never take for granted, but this one especially, I sang as though it was my last time. It wasn’t a perfect performance, but it was so true and raw. I gave everything I had to offer, and the intangible connection between me and something bigger than me strengthened. It was truly magical.

The audience roared and I took my bow at the end of the song. Eugene grabbed the mic and said, “Elisha Miller, everybody!” and their shouts deafened me. I’d done it.

I exited the stage with a huge smile on my face. As soon as I passed the threshold of the stage wings, I went down again. I sat in a chair they’d prepared for me and guzzled more water.

“I don’t know what just happened, or how you did that, but that was GREAT.” Bobby said to me. I beamed. “I don’t know how I did that, either,” I laughed. And truly, I don’t. There is unexplainable magic in music sometimes, and all you can do is accept it and thank it for being there for you. This was one of those times.

My favorite moment of the evening was two songs later, as I was preparing to go back out to rejoin the chorus. Eugene introduced the next thing happening and then exited the stage. He saw me and walked right up to me, wrapping me in the biggest hug I’d ever received. There weren’t any words needed. Feeling his support made me feel incredible. Making him proud made me proud. I was so, so grateful.

“Don’t you want to go home now and rest?” He asked when we finally pulled away. I laughed. “No, I want to finish the show!” Truthfully, if this was my last Candlelight Christmas show with The Washington Chorus, I couldn’t leave without singing The Dream Isaiah Saw. This piece brings me to tears each time it leaves my mouth. I needed that experience one more time. He smiled and accepted my answer, and then whisked away to his dressing room. I made my way over to stage left, took one last sip of water, and rejoined the chorus.

This is a performance I won’t soon forget.