“Oh no,” I thought. “I’m gonna lose it. Don’t do it, Erin. Be strong.”
Andrew and I were in New York City, and like every time we go (okay well this was only our second time in NYC together, but maybe I can still use language like “every time”?) we see a show on Broadway. This time, we were seeing a performance of Our Town.
Maybe I should step back even further.
Andrew does all our trip planning. He loves planning trips and he does it very well. Plus he knows what I like, and consults me on nearly everything, to which I always reply, “That sounds amazing! I’m excited for the plans you’re making!”
So when planning our trip to New York, he approached me with the question, “Do you want to see Jim Parsons and Katie Holmes on Broadway?”
I replied, “Yep, sounds good! I like them both.” Pausing, I then asked, “What’s the show?”
“Our Town.”
And that was when I reacted with great, GREAT excitement. “Oh my goodness, I’ve been wanting to see that play forever! I can’t believe I’m going to see Our Town! I can’t wait!”
He looked at me. “Whoa. I knew you liked that play, but I didn’t realize you liked it that much.”
Stepping back further.
I used to subscribe to a creative/marketing email thing. For years. I would read it faithfully every Monday morning, and at some point realized the quotes featured on the sidebar were more interesting to me than the content. One day, the seemingly random quote I read that morning burned a permanent impression into my memory:
“I can’t. I can’t go on. It goes so fast, we don’t have time to look at one another. I didn’t realize. So all that was going on and we never noticed. Take me back, up the hill, to my grave. But first, wait! One more look. Goodbye! Goodbye world. Goodbye Grovers Corners… mama and papa. Goodbye to clocks ticking… and mama’s sunflowers. And food and coffee. And new ironed dresses and hot baths. And sleeping and waking up. Oh earth, you’re too wonderful for anybody to realize you. Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it?”
The quote was attributed to Thorton Wilder. I googled it and learned this was from his play, Our Town. I would not have expected a play with such a mundane name to be so absolutely true, beautiful, and devastating.
In the years that followed, I purchased copies of Our Town whenever I came across them at the MCC thrift shop across the street. Andrew noticed these books lying all over the place and pointed out this pattern.
And then bought tickets for us to see the play on Broadway.
Funny thing, in all those years and with all those books, I never once read the play. Andrew said maybe I didn’t need to — I could just see it for the first time without having read it. That seemed like a good plan to me.
And so, here we were, engaged in watching smalltown life play out in Grovers Corners. And then act three began. I somehow knew this was going to wreck me. Eyes locked on the stage, I fished a packet of tissues from my purse and positioned them at the ready. I wasted no time. I began sobbing immediately, crying all my makeup off. I decided I could not, would not stop it. Why resist when art is moving you? Isn’t this what we had paid for?
But it wasn’t only that. It wasn’t only because a character dies. The thing is, the point is, everyone dies. And are we appreciating life while we are living? I not only thought of all those I have loved who have passed on, but the fact that all of us will.
I can’t even explain fully. I felt like something changed in my DNA. This resonated so deeply with me.
I have no idea if you’re ever planning to read Our Town, see the play, or both. Just take note, spoiler alert:
It opens with the stage manager explaining who you’re all going to meet. Each character. What they care about, their reputation in town, and how they typically spend their days. And, that they are all dead. He casually explains which plot belongs to each one, in the town cemetery. And then we get into meeting them while they are alive. Those busy mornings over breakfast. Late nights working. Everyday struggles and triumphs. Gossip. Gazing out the window. Seemingly meaningless moments. And then… for each of them… it ends. And the play is about all of us. I was shook.
I knew where it was going to go, and yet I was still devastated in the best possible way.
As we left, I felt like I was floating.
I could hear other theatre-goers talking about what it meant to them. “Classic americana,” was mentioned. I told Andrew we had to get away from these people. I can’t believe the whole point of the play had gone over their heads. Perhaps they had suppressed in order to keep their makeup intact. I was ruined, and had no regrets.
