As I walk into a small hot room, I jog up the stairs to my seat where a fuzzy dark red chair is calling my name. There’s an echo of busy voices all around but I can’t make out what anyone is saying. A small book is placed in my hands, with a vibrant yellow print at the top which reads “PLAYBILL.” I flip through the shiny pages that smell like old leather. I recognize a few names in the book, but I skim over the names I don’t. Because really, I’m only there to see one person.
The lights begin to dim and voices lower to silence. Chills fill my body as the tension and the energy around me is enchanting. A bright light shines on a woman slowly walking across a wooden floor. Her high heels clicking along is the only sound that occupies the space. She is wearing a long, fluffy, leopard-print coat with a black mink hat and her tight black curls pop underneath it. She sits down on a chair with a table and mirror in front of her. The woman sighs, looks into the mirror, and says softly, with a strong New York accent, “Hello, Gorgeous!”
After those words rush from her lips, I feel my heart filling with excitement, as my childhood dream is finally coming true. “This isn’t real,” I keep saying to myself. There is a distance between me and the stage, the boundary between reality and performance. It doesn’t stop me from being fully immersed. I am the character herself. I AM Fanny Brice. I AM the Funny Girl!
