The stage lights were off, and dim blue lights guided us.

The voices of the crowd

streamed steadily through the grand curtain. The stage director gave the final call for places and

I took my position behind the trolley carriage. The opening music I had heard a hundred times

before filled the theater. The blinding lights illuminated the stage. We all shared one last eager

smile, and then I walked on stage.

Muse Machine had been tirelessly working on Hello Dolly for months. High schoolers

from all around the Dayton area came together each night to develop our version of a show that

had been performed by different casts all around the world. Working a part-time job, taking

advanced courses, and spending twenty hours a week at Muse was a balancing act. By the time

opening night had arrived, I was a professional juggler.

The same analytical approach I used in my academics transferred directly into my role in

Muse Machine. I thrived in the environment where my hard work was vital and I was contributing

to something much bigger than myself. Hello Dolly required the entire cast and crew to give

nothing less but the best in rehearsals. Everyday I would leave school and immediately go to

rehearsal until 10 pm. From there I would head home and work on all of my school work or

study for tests. The next morning I would repeat the same long process.

The show began as a single, complex dance routine. Each day a new piece was added

or an earlier scene would be rehearsed until it was perfect. I assisted the directors and stage

manager by taking notes, plotting stage actions, or organizing props. During tech weekends, the

stage crew ran scene changes over and over again until we were able to make the show

change right in front of the audience's eyes. The other production assistants and I were the glue

that held the show together and the oil that kept the gears turning.

After four months of rehearsals, the time had finally come to tell our story. The music

crescendoed, and I was transported into Yonkers, New York as I stepped into the light. I stared

straight ahead while pushing the trolley along with me. Two other girls and I directed the prop

onto the middle of the stage and patiently waited for our next cue. When I looked back at them, I
could see my excitement mirrored in their eyes. The show was now a reality.

The lead actress finished her song and I got my cue to move. I gently and steadily pulled

the trolley off the stage. The backstage crew celebrated and we all quickly dispersed to go onto

our next task.

I helped transport the audience into our version of Yonkers for two hours and I helped

the cast give a voice to the characters they had developed. I was a part of a magic we all had

created. The cast and crew had become a machine, maneuvering seamlessly through the

scenes. The show wouldn’t have run as smoothly if a chorus member were absent or if a

production assistant were missing. We all were a part of something much larger than ourselves

and yet we were what made the musical great.

That opening night we danced behind sets, mouthing the words to the songs we had

heard everyday. The scenes flew by and within moments the final song was finished. The stage

lights came on one last time. We walked on stage as one, took our bows, and the grand curtain

fell.