Dear Eagle Rock High School Auditorium,

 

I was a mere seventh grader when you were renovated.

I was afraid that the 90 years of history

Would be lost.

I guess that’s the thing about theatre. It vanishes.

 

After just one year, I already loved being surrounded by the memories.

I didn’t want a clean slate.

I wanted the

Emotions and

Work and

Honesty of all of those who came before me.

I was worried that whatever company the district hired to do the construction wouldn’t see any of that.

 

But Auditorium,

You proved me wrong,

For although you now wear a lighter shade of paint,

And your seats are methodically scattered with the new regulatory signs,

You are a museum.

You are a time capsule.

You are a book of memories.

And you, my friend, are home.

 

With your twists, turns, corners, and closets like a haunted house or an intricate novel,

You never failed to entrance me and surprise me.

 

The shop:

A physical record of

The experiences from the

Past and the present,

Packed with set pieces,

Props,

Posters from 1970s productions of

Fiddler on the Roof, Romeo and Juliet.

 

The makeup room

With its eerie lack of windows

Where we tried to scare each other

And spent hours applying gold sequins to our faces,

And braiding our hair.

 

The costume room

Holds some of my oldest and fondest memories,

My first production in seventh grade

All the actors singing show tunes

And playing with the red mannequins

After the show.

 

Then there’s the tall, narrow staircase

Leading to the tech box

Like the mystery man behind the

Mask

That very few get to see.

 

And of course,

The stage,

My one true love,

Where I said my one line as a troll in a

Christmas production when I was twelve.

Where I’ve spent hours rehearsing,

Where I’ve laughed

And cried

And embarrassed myself,

Where I found out that my favorite

Teacher was leaving the school,

Where I ruled Egypt

And threw shoes

All while delivering Shakespeare,

Where I got to do a monologue from

My favorite musical,

Where I had my first kiss,

Where I felt the soapy taste

Of artificial snow linger on my tongue,

Like a child fighting to stay awake,

Slowly fading away, drifting off.

Where I get people to smile,

Or to cry,

To get inspired,

Where I feel most inspired,

Where I am free.

 

Thank you, auditorium,

For allowing me to escape,

For letting me act like a kid,

Or a troll,

Or a queen.

 

Thank you, auditorium,

For the memories.

 

And thank you, auditorium,

For always being a part of me.