The Music of the Night...

Sitting five rows back, I felt like I might as well have been on the stage for the production of Phantom of the Opera I saw this weekend in Ft. Lauderdale.

It was the fourth time I've seen the show live, and the very first time I've actually had a decent seat for it. And the experience was incredible.

Seated that close, I could actually see, for the first time, the phantom's distorted face. I was so close, I could actually feel the musical notes pounding into my head, raising goosebumps on top of the goosebumps already on my arms and legs.

I was even close enough to wonder why all of the actors had make-up covered lumps on their heads (until I realized they were strategically placed microphones).

The evening's production was magical, and completely unforgettable, but it wasn't my favorite.

No, it couldn't hold a candle to the first time I watched the phantom row across the stage on a magical lake filled with candles, or heard Christine hit that high note I thought would surely shatter the chandelier that I had no idea was doomed to fall.

I remember it well: I was a senior in high school, and it seemed as though everyone I knew was going to see the show during its run in Raleigh, N.C. Everyone except for me, of course.

After hearing far too many of our friends rave about the magic of the opera, my friend and I pooled our money and bought the only tickets we could find on short-notice: obstructed viewing.

The demand for tickets was so great, we found, that even our terrible seats, which were nowhere near one another, cost about $50. That's a lot of money for an 18-year-old, (hell, that's a lot of money for me now) but we were determined to see the show.

We got all dressed up in formal attire, and even treated ourselves to dinner at the Olive Garden. (Hey, if you're going to go broke, might as well do it all at once!) After we arrived at the theater, we bid each other goodbye (until intermission), and set off to find our awful seats.

I was greeted by an unwelcome feature at my seat -- a large pole blocking my view. Realizing nothing could be done about it now, I shrugged, cocked my head to the left, and settled in for the performance.

Despite the crick in my neck, which lasted the rest of the week, I knew I'd witnessed a masterpiece. I laughed, cried and gasped at each scene, and when it was over, I realized gladly that I had completely lost touch with the outside world for the duration of the play.

Even more amazing was the lingering effect the phantom had on me. So blown away by its power, I found myself unable to sleep that night. The songs kept dancing around in my head as I laid awake trying to make sense of each scene I had enjoyed.

The power of the performance was so real, in fact, that I took home with me the fear portrayed by the characters, and found myself scanning the room for weeks, checking for any man/ghost that might be stalking me. Sadly, I wasn't quite lucky enough to be visited by the angel of music!

Every time I see the play, it's a new experience; a new memory imprinted on my mind forever. But it'll never compare to the first time the phantom rocked my world, and I never saw it coming.