January 29, 2019 by thewashingteenian
by Antoinette, Staff Writer
The entire day was a blur. I rush through all of my classes faster than lightning. I couldn’t help but feel the buzz of opening night. As I take my seat in Bio my bored classmates all fade into the dull background of the classroom leaving me to nothing but my thoughts. Finally, the bell rings, and I’m quickly swept away into the hustle and bustle of my high school hallway. I make my way through the hall as stealthy as a ninja, trying to make my movements quick and precise, not wanting to waste any time. I smile as I run to my dorm, practically kicking the door down and rushing upstairs. I finally reach my room, and I can feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins. It is at this moment the world around me begins to warp and eventually disappear. No one else in the whole universe exists besides my script and I. I carefully shimmy my way down the stairwell filled with girls just getting back to the dorm and sprint out through the door. I then make my way to the theater almost unable to contain my overflowing enthusiasm. The moment I reach the steps there’s some type of energy that pulls me in, and I’m immediately thrown into the dressing room. The air smells of hairspray and broken spirits. Girls are running to and fro chanting their pre-theater rituals and finishing their makeup.
“FIVE MINUTES TILL CURTAIN!!” I hear our A.D. announce, ”THANK YOU FIVE!!” the girls around me reply. But not me. At that moment I get dizzy as I hear the crowd. I urge myself to stay calm as I make my way up the stairs and take my place on stage. Tension fills the atmosphere like an over-looming dark cloud as I hold my breath. It’s hard to believe that no matter how many times I have to sing a song, it always seems hardest on opening night. I stand there absolutely panic-stricken and wait for the curtains to be drawn back. As they do, I’m met with what seems to be a crowd of a thousand eyes. The music begins to swell as I sing. More and more familiar faces begin to fill the stage as we perform what seems to us an and over-practiced ritual. But within a blink of an eye, the show is over, and we’re lining up for bows. People say that theater has no real taste, but they’re wrong. The taste of theater I can get as an actress is the taste of Victory: knowing that I made it through the production and that I’m able to see the satisfied faces of the crowd as they greet me in the lobby.