I was the very first to arrive in front of the theater. One hour and sixteen minutes before the play, to be exact. I noticed everyone that got there. Their shoes, who they where with. I noticed every cab stopping. I started creating scenarios and being sad about them. I tried getting distracted with the woman next to me that was also reading, the fat lady that was very anxious to just enter, the two girls fangirling, the boy that was on sophomore year in Journalism and tried interviewing people and reminded me of a boy that went to college with me, the only other person wearing sneakers that was also handing pamphlets. I wrote on my journal.
I was the very first to enter the theater. And while doing so, I kept looking back to see how empty all the seats were in that moment and how full they would be minutes later. How silent it was and how loud it would become. By that logic, I was also the first person entering to be noticed by the cast that was already on stage. I noticed the people that were outside and where they were seating. I only kept looking at all the other ones that were also alone, trying to recognize something in their eyes, but people are alone on their terms. Most of them were observing everyone else too. In that moment, I felt lonely. And very aware of my surroundings.
I was the very first to seat, especially in that corner area. 30F. 29F would be empty, as I had the ticket in my backpack. 28F and 27F were occupied by a gay couple, very interested in their phones. Right next to me, 31F and 32F were a middle age and silent couple. Behind me, six people: a couple that, quite possibly, brought the guy’s mother and then his wife kept justifying how good their seats were to the mother in law that was complaining; another heterosexual married couple, young this time, that did not get my attention; and two girls, that looked like college friends – from them, all I got was this sentence that started with “I have no prejudice, but…”.
I was the very first to arrive home. Because the minute the play ended, and everyone else started talking and my head kept thinking again, I zoned out. There were all these little things happening and me noticing them and what I wanted to say about them and all I could do was keep it inside or write this silly post about it. I walked as fast as I could, I bumped into people, I was rude and desperate. One day I might not be attached to what could’ve been and one day all the words I say about what’s happening and how strong I am will comfort me, but today is not that day. I got home, tired and sweaty. My room is empty and so is my bed.
listening while writing: Jenny Owen Youngs – Fuck Was I