The curtains rise slowly, revealing our ensemble of violinists and vocalists to an incredibly large, seated audience.

 

The enormous stage lights are bright and feel hot against my face and neck, perfectly illuminating our musical assembly from high above our heads. The auditorium is packed, just as I expected it to be—as we all expected it to be.

 

The annual Weitzman performance is one of the events that always gets sold out quickly. Last year, I was seated in the audience, far behind on the other side of the renowned stage my moccasin-clad feet are currently planted on. I had been restless at the time, feeling giddy and excited for the whole duration of the show as I watched my upperclassmen perform their hearts out.

 

 I’d been so eager to see the show that I ended up staying in my seat the whole time, even during the intermissions. I didn’t want to miss a second of the experience, even at the expense of my unhappy bladder, so I sat there for two and half straight hours in sheer amazement, just happily taking it all in. I kept imagining what it would feel like to be up here, and I couldn’t wait to find out. Now I know, although I never imagined I’d be feeling the disappointment I feel now.

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