Lin has lost his mind. The last of his brain cells have deteriorated. He wakes me up at 6:00 in the morning because he wants me to come to work with him. I respond with some colorful choice words and hit him with my pillow. It's Saturday. He wants me to see his show. I want to sleep until three in the afternoon. I refuse until he tells me that Sebastian is having intestinal complications and I'll be the one to take care of him if he doesn't go to daycare. It's a fifteen minute subway ride to Midtown. Lin takes a photo with a group of teenage girls outside Grand Central. I spit on someone's shoe when they ask me for directions. Ladies and Gentlemen, Mid-Manhattan.
We push past the plebeians and reach the acropolis, the Richard Rogers theater, home of all that is brilliant and blue-blooded. I've lived in New York my whole life and have never been to Broadway. The Population density exceeds maximum capacity. Tourists are squished like sardines to compete for seedy photos of signs and landmarks. Why does anyone stay here?
When we get inside the building I ignore the actors in the hallway who try to introduce themselves. We go downstairs to Lin's dressing room, where I'm subjected to his pre-show ritual. He uses an entire can of Dippity-Do on his ponytail and gets dressed in layers of costume. Looks like he's ready for a civil war battle reenactment. He tells me about the actors in the show, and that they're in the green room if I want to say hi. These are the raw backstage details you don't see on Broadway.com. Someone get the cameras over here.
He drenches his ponytail in hairspray and tells me he reserved a seat for me in the mezzanine and that whenever I'm ready, I can head to the audience. I tell him I want to look around backstage for a while. Wealth has always intrigued me. Now that I'm confronted with it, I don't know where to start. I wonder about the green room. Will it have a horsehair couch for actors who need naps? Hard liquor and hors d-oeuvres for them to snack on during intermission? Reclining chairs with cup holders and a private butler? How about the leftover resumes of the rejects from auditions?
The truth is nothing more than a small green room with three futons against the walls and a lingering smell of hairspray and sweat. The bulletin boards are pinned with playbills from extinct productions and sign in sheets. And there are no leftover resumes. They must junk them after they experience the desperation of those mediocre hipsters. A coffee maker whirrs in the corner. There are three Hamilton posters on the wall, two clocks on either side of the room, and seven faces staring into mine. They say that if two people spend enough time together, they begin to resemble one another. I can tell that these are Lin's people: clad in civil war getup and smiling uncomfortably wide for a first impression.
I make eye contact with one of the women sitting on the first futon. "Where's the mezzanine?"
Silence. What is it about me that makes that happen? Teachers should have me sit in on noisy classes. Bosses should have me proctor meetings with chatty businessmen. Not a soul would stir after I introduced myself.
A freckle faced guy next to the girl on the futon pipes up. "If you go from the lobby, up the first pair of stairs to the right of the stand with the T-Shirts."
I step closer to him. "Where is the stand with the T-Shirts?"
He begins to stand. "Why don't I--"
"No! You'll spoil the illusion." I stare at his costume. "William Shakespeare doesn't usher Broadway shows."
"John Laurens, actually." His eyes narrow into mine. "You're Vidya, right?"
"Where is the mezzanine?" I smirk. "John Laurens?"
A bald guy in a purple outfit points to the door across the room. "You know what? If you're so smart, you'll find it pretty easily on your own."
He's right. After five minutes of shoving tourists and stepping on feet, I find seat G78. The lights dim as I pay for three boxes of M&Ms from the food cart. I should have dropped the f-bomb and made them hate me sooner. I would have saved some time.
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SHOUT - Adopted by Lin Manuel Miranda
Fanfiction"Sometimes I think the universe sets certain people out into the world like gifts meant for others, people whose purpose is to save someone else. That's how I think of families. And if the universe couldn't do me that favor, couldn't put someone on...
