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
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.
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.
A physical record of
The experiences from the
Past and the present,
Packed with set pieces,
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
That very few get to see.
And of course,
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 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.