I stand at the train station with my admiral blue pea coat from Target and dangerously blue skinny jeans, luggage in tow.
Among the early morning commuters, I look alert. I look like a city girl. I’m loaded. Bogged down with cameras, maps and the ever-important black Sharpie. Perfect for getting important signatures.
My destination? New York City. I’m off to see the musical “Spring Awakening.”
Now, by chance and a generous grandmother, I am able to witness this new spectacle of Broadway, in its infantile stage. Ripe with original cast members.
But wait, I’m getting ahead of myself. Silence is golden, and I try to hold in my excitement until I stride through the Eugene O’Neill Theater.
My personal definition of the musical is 1890s Germany meets rock ‘n’ roll. The nitty-gritty of the plot is teenagers in Germany going through angst-filled adolescence without guidance from adults.
Fancy that. I can relate.
But I digress.
As I enter the theater, a simple schoolhouse set is visible. The back wall is brick and practically drowing under the weight of pictures, knick-knacks and blackboards. The lights dim, and the first note permeates the room.
The musical is artistically brilliant. The music, the singing, the lighting … all worthy of the eight Tony awards the production received. Clearly, I am not the only one drawn by “Spring Awakening.” The legendary Andrew Lloyd Webber sits several rows behind me.
Afterward, I make a beeline for the stage door. The cast members are all attractive, young and charismatic. I ask the two lead guys to sign my shoes, and pose for pictures.
While riding home on the train, I stare out into the darkening horizon, humming the songs, and promising myself to relive “Spring Awakening.”