Tru Luv
WOW. long mother effing time. This is a lil story or whatever. Not done, work in progress, oh well
I was thinking it would be really nice to write a well written essay about musical theatre. How I feel when the lights come up, sitting in those deep (usually burgundy) seats. To describe the longing I feel watching my dreams being played out a few (or more than a few) yards away, and the little spark and aliveness I feel after, that lingers weeks later.
But every time I tried it wouldn't come. No honest description or catchy similes. What I came up with was a long list of pre-fabricated phrases. It felt like the feelings and experience didn't belong to me. But why wasn't this working out? I have more than enough passion for musical theatre to write an anthology. And I couldn't muster up a measly paragraph.
But I wouldn't give up. I did something I've never had to do before- write notes. Plan out thoughts and eventually I came up with a list. The small things that drive me crazy. I don't know whether it will translate into how I feel about mt but it is definitely worth the shot.
In the beginning you're caught off guard. Whether or not you were anticipating the start of the show, you're jolted. The lights dim and something exciting happens. A song cue or a spotlight. Maybe a few actors walk on stage first. No matter what, you're surprised. You're suddenly unconscious of your body. It perks up involuntarily as if following a strict regime from something other than your own brain. You're not performing tonight, you know this, but you're nervous. A quiet grin works itself over your face and soon your whole body smiles, you break out in goose bumps. Your mind, constantly nagging and tugging at your pant leg is content. It's an unruly toddler finally set in front of a tv. At the risk of being cliche, I've got to say, the world seems to fall away.
You begin to watch something unfold. Hidden in the darkened audience you're peering into someone else's story. You're gone the rest of the first act. You're in some distant place, Germany in 1890, Washington Heights circa now. Your legs shuffle here and there, you scramble to silence your vibrating phone, whisper an opinion to your friend but aside from this, stillness.
Every show I've seen (which isn't many- seven!) I take a particular interest to the spotlights. It might sound nutty, but its as if there was a hole in the building and the sun itself decided to shine down on this one human being. It's something no electrician or tech crew member could have set up. This ethereal light has to be from a higher power. I hope it isn't a vain thing, but I see those lights and imagine the day I'm under them. Miss chosen one herself. I see these spectacular professional actors, singers, dancers. I blush with envy but somehow, the intimidation never kicks in. All I am left with is anxiety. To shove them over and be among them.
By the end of the first act you finally catch yourself in this permanently awed facial expression. This is where you get to sigh from enjoyment and appreciate that there’s a whole act left. You notice the theatre itself. Always elegant yet classic. Walls laden with golden designs and maybe a statue here and there, at least a statue-esque drawing. And although the actors usually don't extend over six feet, the stage is as high as the ceiling. Rightfully so, it’s a whole other universe. But the solitary stage is something different now. When the actors come out the room changes. It even smells different, I swear. But now, it's whatever it wants to be, its everything, its here or there, B.C. or A.D.
When I was leaving Spring Awakening I had to run back after we left to use the bathroom. As I was walking back out, the auditorium was emptied so I stopped to study the stage for a moment. To me, it's the scariest place on Earth. It surpasses any haunted house, dark alley or airplane soaring 35,000 feet above the ground. So it seems funny to participate in shows and subject myself to this gut wrenching fear. But I have no choice. I unknowingly signed my life away to this at birth. I creep up on stage and try not to disturb anyone. Try to go up there, make as little noise as possible and go home with little judgement and gossip after. Never leave your heart out on the stage, it is too terrifying. The stage fright will just swallow you whole. But I have finally come to realize, this is not how it works. The best thing you could possibly feel is vulnerability, letting this lucky audience see you naked. Throwing your heart away without another thought and going home empty handed. It's a beautiful epiphany and will come into effect the next chance I get. Whatever that may be. But I felt, for the first time in my life, that the middle man was out. No gossiping parents, petty diagnosis from critical onlookers or thorough evaluations from peers. Now it's just me and my one true love.