~Base on a true story~
The dark theatre filled with the applause of a thousand crazed fans as the touring cast of RENT took their final bows. Adrenaline rushed through my veins as I took one last look at Adam Pascal and Anthony Rapp before the lights were turned back up and the cast walked off stage.
“That was the most amazing thing ever,” I tell me mom with a sparkle in my eyes.
She smiles and hands me the brown bag of souvenirs we had bought before the show.
We walked slowly through the crowd and through the door of orchestra one.
“Look! A backstage person,” Mom points to a woman. “Let’s talk to her.”
“No,” I protest. Before the word even left my mouth, Mom was walking towards the woman. I followed after her relentlessly, but hopeful.
“Um, hello,” Mom said to the woman.
The woman stepped forward to us, pushing her blond bangs away from eyes. “Hey. Can I help you?” she asked, her thick, Australian accent surprising me.
“My daughter here,” Mom starts, “is RENT’s biggest fan. We drove eleven hours from Alabama to see this play.”
“Really?” the woman asked.
I smiled at her accent.
Mom lowered her voice to a whisper. “Is there any way you could let her backstage and meet the cast?”
“Mom!” I exclaimed.
The woman laughed. “I can’t do that. But, around the back of the building, under a green canopy, most of the cast come out and sign autographs.”
“Thanks!” Mom and I cheered. We ran around the building to find the green canopy.
We walked quickly through the crowd in hope to get just a glimpse of someone. We found an opening in the crowd and I inched my way up to the front.
“Stay off of the sidewalk!” a man in a tux yelled, trying to look FBI.
The crowd ignores him, only getting larger and expanding half way across the street.
Minutes later, the crowd cheered loudly as they saw the chick who played Maureen walk out of the door. She made her way around the circle, signing posters and taking pictures with fans. She got around the circle to where I was and signed my Playbill, Nicolette Hart.
Then, Anthony Rapp makes his way out of the door. The crowd jumps up and down and he smiles.
I watched him make his way around, signing posters and programs and copies of his book.
Hurry up and get here! Hurry up and get here, I think to myself.
He made his way around to my side of the crowd. My heart starts to beat a thousand times a minute and my knees started to tremble. Anthony Rapp inched his way in front of me.
I handed him my copy of his book, Without You, and watched as he autographed the title page.
Anthony Rapp is standing one foot away from me, I yell in my mind.
He hands me the book and reaches right over me to autograph someone’s program.
It felt like years had gone by and I wanted to say something to him just in case I never got the change again. “Have time for a quick hug?” I asked him cautiously.
He laughs. “Can’t. One leads to a thousand.”
That was all I heard before my senses shut down and I stopped hearing him.
He finished his autographs and stepped to the side to keep signing.
My brain clicked on. Picture. I pull my cell phone out of my pocket and snap a picture while he was still one or two feet away.
Anthony Rapp finishes his autographs, and the FBI wannabe yelled, “That’s it! We are done!”
The crowd wined, but scattered off to live there lives.
Mom takes my hand and guides me through the crowd. My heard was beating faster than it ever had and slower than it ever had all in the same moment. I hugged Without You to my chest and peacefully rode home with the words, “one leads to a thousand” repeating in my head.
“That was the most amazing thing ever,” I tell me mom with a sparkle in my eyes.
She smiles and hands me the brown bag of souvenirs we had bought before the show.
We walked slowly through the crowd and through the door of orchestra one.
“Look! A backstage person,” Mom points to a woman. “Let’s talk to her.”
“No,” I protest. Before the word even left my mouth, Mom was walking towards the woman. I followed after her relentlessly, but hopeful.
“Um, hello,” Mom said to the woman.
The woman stepped forward to us, pushing her blond bangs away from eyes. “Hey. Can I help you?” she asked, her thick, Australian accent surprising me.
“My daughter here,” Mom starts, “is RENT’s biggest fan. We drove eleven hours from Alabama to see this play.”
“Really?” the woman asked.
I smiled at her accent.
Mom lowered her voice to a whisper. “Is there any way you could let her backstage and meet the cast?”
“Mom!” I exclaimed.
The woman laughed. “I can’t do that. But, around the back of the building, under a green canopy, most of the cast come out and sign autographs.”
“Thanks!” Mom and I cheered. We ran around the building to find the green canopy.
We walked quickly through the crowd in hope to get just a glimpse of someone. We found an opening in the crowd and I inched my way up to the front.
“Stay off of the sidewalk!” a man in a tux yelled, trying to look FBI.
The crowd ignores him, only getting larger and expanding half way across the street.
Minutes later, the crowd cheered loudly as they saw the chick who played Maureen walk out of the door. She made her way around the circle, signing posters and taking pictures with fans. She got around the circle to where I was and signed my Playbill, Nicolette Hart.
Then, Anthony Rapp makes his way out of the door. The crowd jumps up and down and he smiles.
I watched him make his way around, signing posters and programs and copies of his book.
Hurry up and get here! Hurry up and get here, I think to myself.
He made his way around to my side of the crowd. My heart starts to beat a thousand times a minute and my knees started to tremble. Anthony Rapp inched his way in front of me.
I handed him my copy of his book, Without You, and watched as he autographed the title page.
Anthony Rapp is standing one foot away from me, I yell in my mind.
He hands me the book and reaches right over me to autograph someone’s program.
It felt like years had gone by and I wanted to say something to him just in case I never got the change again. “Have time for a quick hug?” I asked him cautiously.
He laughs. “Can’t. One leads to a thousand.”
That was all I heard before my senses shut down and I stopped hearing him.
He finished his autographs and stepped to the side to keep signing.
My brain clicked on. Picture. I pull my cell phone out of my pocket and snap a picture while he was still one or two feet away.
Anthony Rapp finishes his autographs, and the FBI wannabe yelled, “That’s it! We are done!”
The crowd wined, but scattered off to live there lives.
Mom takes my hand and guides me through the crowd. My heard was beating faster than it ever had and slower than it ever had all in the same moment. I hugged Without You to my chest and peacefully rode home with the words, “one leads to a thousand” repeating in my head.
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