The Side of the Cereal Box

“And do I dream again?
For now I find
the Phantom of the Opera is there
inside my mind…”

It started a few weeks ago; I had a dream one night about going to see the musical. I was seated in the auditorium (which, in my mind was the Chicago Theatre, only it looked more like Circle Theatre, and was somehow located adjacent to my grandparents’ house in Brazil), and for some reason the actors were on stage rehearsing – very poorly, I might add, but I brushed it off as, “I guess they’re trying to save their voices.” (Now, you realize that it’s odd for performers to be rehearsing on stage while the audience is coming in to be seated, but… this was what happened.) Apparently, the rest of my family was supposed to be there with me, but none of them were. I was there exceptionally early (45 minutes, I think), so I decided to make a quick trip to the restroom. It took far longer than it should have (and I won’t give you those details), but needless to say, as I was finishing up, the lights flashed, as if to say the performance was starting, and I panicked and ran out shouting to the ushers and pleading with them to not close the doors (I knew I wouldn’t be able to get back into the theatre until intermission if I missed the curtain going up). Nathan Holbrook was there (as one of the ushers), and he kind of laughed at me and pointed at the clock: I had 15 minutes to spare. He quickly and quietly handed me a sticker with a black number on it (43?) and a small gold dot sticker in the corner of it and said, “Put this on.” (I was guessing that it was a “Gold Circle” sort of ID that would make it so that I could still be seated even after the curtain went up (‘cuz you know those rich people get special treatment).) Meanwhile, Nathan’s brother, Kurt, who was also an usher, directed me to the refreshments that were laid out on a table behind me: celery sticks and chocolate-covered strawberries (weird combination, huh?). Kurt’s wife, Jennifer, was there at the table getting something, and she smiled at me as I walked past. …The next thing I remember was going through a side door and immediately being in my grandma’s kitchen. Sarah and Mom were standing around, and I asked them what the hold up was. “We’re waiting on Dad,” Mom said (though I assume they were waiting on Bubbs, too). I went back to the theatre and sat down again, but that’s the last thing I remember of the dream.

I woke up that morning with an indescribable (urge? need?) compulsion to read the book and listen to the music. I’d never read the book before and didn’t have a copy of it myself, so I borrowed Sarah’s copy and drug out everything from underneath my bed to fetch my 2-disc set of the Original Broadway Cast recording of POTO. I haven’t stopped listening to it since. Oh, one day I managed to listen to a bit of Cris’ CD instead, but then it was right back to POTO. I felt bad subjecting any and all riders in my car to such an odd selection (especially the likes of the Algate children and Noah and Hope), but for me it was that or nothing. I didn’t want to listen to anything else! And before you starting going, “Uh oh, Katie’s lost her mind!” you should know that this happens all the time with many different CDs (and even radio stations). Before POTO, I listened to the Brother Bear soundtrack (everywhere I went) for several weeks! Sometimes I only want to hear a certain thing, and if I can’t listen to that, I don’t listen to anything. (I’m weird that way, I guess.) Anyway, I finished the book too, in fairly short order, and though I’ve felt the drive to read it again (for what reason I don’t know), I haven’t. It was pretty good, interesting, not much like the musical (particularly the ending (circumstances)), but I liked them both.

And lest you should think this is all in my head, I’ll relate two outside occurrences (that weirded me out). One Saturday morning, after this had been going on for a week or more, I was watching TV (cartoons, in fact – what else?), and I flipped over to X-Men (the old series). Cyclops and Jean Grey had gone out on a date, and as they walked out of the theatre, I spied the marquee: The Phantom of the Opera. I didn’t know whether to shiver or laugh. My jaw dropped, and I continued to stare at the screen long after that frame was gone. Weird. Then, a week ago Thursday, I was babysitting for the Algates in the evening, and I had to go pick up Jeremy from Cross Country practice. I had determined that morning to push any and all POTO thoughts aside and just try to forget about it. (I’d had a second dream about POTO recently – don’t remember it now, but I was sort of getting tired of it. I didn’t even want to read any other books (not even my new interest: “A Series of Unfortunate Events” by Lemony Snicket), let alone listen to any other music.) And that day had been good so far, and then, just as I pulled up beside Jeremy and stopped, I spied a black bag with familiar lettering on it. As the girl carrying it turned to speak to someone else in the group she was standing in, the bag twisted ‘round to reveal… a white mask. Those familiar letters on the reverse side were those “shattered glass”-looking letters used in all merchandise related to the musical: “Phantom of the Opera”. I blinked, my jaw dropped once again, and then I turned my head and drove away, speechless.

I’ve since had a third dream about POTO, though I can’t remember it now either. And I can only guess as to the reasons why I’ve had “Phantom on the brain”. I doubt that I should audition for any upcoming productions (there’s no role for me, really). Perhaps I should go see it when it comes to town (or go see it again in Chicago)? (But why?) Maybe someone in Hollywood is looking to make the musical into a movie (like “Chicago”). (It’s possible. Should I be praying about it?) Or maybe it has something to do with my friend Mike (who lives in Cleveland, OH, and whom I’ve not spoken to in nigh on two years); he always said he would jump at the chance to play the Phantom in a production of the musical (he loved it!). Perhaps there’s something going on with him? (But then why not just dream about him? Or why not have something else (in addition) that would remind me of him?)

Are you beginning to understand why this has become exhausting? (And are you scared yet?) …Oh, and just so you know, I have read other books recently (all Lemony Snicket, but…). I am still listening to the music though. Sheesh, I’m even creeping me out with this one.