We felt the excitement in the classroom. We had felt it all the way to school that day. No school bags. Each of us came with just coats and jackets. We gathered in little groups around the desks, talking excitedly. Occasionally we stole a glance at the black board. Yesterday’s homework was erased and replaced with the chalked words “Opera Today”.
Our teacher arrived. We sat at attention, each in our own desk. She waited until all eyes were on her, and then she flipped on the overhead projector. Slide by slide she advanced the plot. Pictures of a young man. A young woman. Music above their heads. Words in German.
Excitement built. We filed out of the classroom two by two, each clasping hands with a partner. Out of the school and onto the cold winter street to the bus stop. The creaking, gas-guzzling beast arrived and soon we were upon it, craning our necks as the city unfurled. We traveled down through the hills and soon were crossing the river at the heart of the city. A moment later and the National Opera appeared.
We hopped down and onto the busy city sidewalk. Our teacher circled us, keeping us from the road. We walked toward the grand steps. Marble columns towered above us. An impossibly large door opened. Stone floors were crisscrossed with red carpets. We removed our coats, stuffing hats and gloves into the sleeves, depositing them at the coat check.
A final head count by our teacher, and then an usher showed us into the auditorium. Under our teacher’s watchful eye, we each found our seat. The upholstery was red and soft. The backs of the seats in front of us were of rich, deep wood. The air smelled expensive. We turned this way and that as other schools arrived and dozens of other students filled the chamber.
A head usher clapped his hands. All our heads turned and the chatter was silenced. A few announcements. How to behave. Where were the bathrooms. How to applaud. The lights dimmed. Somewhere ahead and below the orchestra warmed up. Cellos thrummed and violins edged into tune. A trumpet tried a high note once, then twice.
Then…darkness. A few students ooed. Shushes from teachers. Slowly lights glowed and the stage appeared…an island in the blackness. A young man with a deep voice. A pretty lady with a trilling song. A midnight queen with a voice so high it touched the stars again and again. Two hours that seemed so short. Soon all the singers appeared with modern smiles, bowing and gesturing to one another and to the musicians below. We clapped until our palms smarted.
The trip home went quickly. We felt like old hands at it now. We’d been through the city center. We had seen the show. We were the chosen crowd, not stuck in class like the rest but out on the town. In no time the bus was back in the hills and we trudged back into the school.
Snatches of goodbyes. Waved hands. Lost mittens lamented. Then each of us alone on our walk back home. Filled with memories. But how to tell them to our parents?
Image by PDXdj CREATIVE COMMONS BY-SA 2.5
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