Phantom

     15 years old and already seeing a show on Broadway in New York City. I couldn’t fully grasp how amazing it was at the time, but I was crazily excited. Everything seemed to race in my mind as the world around me slowed to a crawl. I walked down the street; I breathed in the cool air; I passed hundreds of people. Approaching the opera house, I was engulfed by all the extravagant bilking signs of Times Square. Crimson, chartreuse, and cerulean on my left; persimmon, periwinkle and pink on my right. Captivated in the spirit of the Big Apple, I crossed into the theater.

     My face contorted and my mood dipped. People were packed into a cramped foyer like sardines in a tin can. I was severely disappointed, especially consider how flamboyant the exterior had bee. This can’t be it, can it? Some sort of cruel joke played on an unsuspecting tourist? An usher administered a ticket to me and beckoned the throng of boisterous people through a tiny hole in the wall. I could only make a sole conclusion at this point: this is how I die.

     For the second time that night I donned a queer countenance. My jaw dropped, awestricken. Right behind the microscopic entry way was an enormous room adorned with a splendid diamond chandelier, the likes of which I had never seen. I followed the velvety staircase to the performance hall, cavernous and extravagantly decorated. The stairwell paled in comparison to the breathtaking spectacle before me. A high vaulted ceiling painted artfully, walls blessed with golden pillars and graced with angelic winged infants. The lush beige curtains draped over the stage provided the perfect subtle contrast to the business of the space.

     I was promptly seated; my friends, beside me. Our combined anticipation and eagerness creating an almost tangible force in the air. We were there to see Phantom of the Opera, a wondrous play I knew positively nothing about when I sat down. My companions however were already well versed on the topic and simply couldn’t suppress their giddy giggling about how much I would love it.

“It’s the perfect blend of musicality and mystery.”

“Definitely the kind of suspenseful love story you’d enjoy.”

     I rolled my eyes and dryly pointed out that if I wanted reviews I would have gone to a more reputable source. They brushed off my comment and spent the next few minutes teasing me by discussing key plot issues in agonizingly general terms.

“Do you remember that thing that happened when he did that other thing?”

“Oh my gosh! I totally forgot about that. It’s probably the most important event though.”

     Much to my relief, the curtains were drawn back and the lights dimmed as the pit orchestra played the famous opening bars of Phantom of the Opera. I was instantly intrigued by the foreboding cords and peculiar first scene. After that, I found romance and shadowy secrets interwoven in the story mystifying.

     However, it was not until the James Barbour sang his “Music of the Night” that I was truly enamored. I have never heard a more beautifully executed melody in all my years as a musician. His every note and accent flawlessly accompanied the equally gorgeous lyrics. But without a doubt, it was his honeyed voice that had me obsessed. A professional opera singer is such thing to experience! I swear that even the most precise recordings could never do it justice.

     It was about then that my dear friend Sarah decided to poke my arm. I started and scolded at her, receiving a startled expression. I didn’t pause to question here intentions as I focused back on the stage, completely engrossed in the plot. I was rooted to the edge of my seat and hung on every syllable.

     The whole event was akin to being completely transported to the deepest reaches of my mind, wherein lies an entirely different world. I lost myself in the music and drama. After a curtain call and a standing ovation we left; I felted completely elevated. A broad grin was plastered upon my face and a surreal understanding of true rapture coursed through me.

     Over dinner each of the groups discussed the musical they had gone to observe, no one was more vehement in defending their choice of entertainment than I. It wasn’t until a few months later that I realized I hadn’t “lost” myself, but found who I really was in a deep new passion for this fabulous art form.