Basically I saw the show on Tuesday night and I’ve been thinking about it ever since. And my complete certainty that I will never see anything like it again.
Now that I’m home I’m almost in disbelief that I even got to see the show. I have wanted to since the first time I heard Waving Through A Window on the radio. I wanted to see Ben Platt’s Tony-award winning performance, and I did, and I understand why he had to win.
I thought I knew what to expect, but I didn’t.
I was not quite Evan as a teenager, but I did wonder if anyone would even notice if I disappeared, and I am that mother, terrified of not catching the signs. It rang so true to me. All of it.
I felt, physically and emotionally, what Evan was going through. I cried for him, I laughed. It hurt.
I cried through the whole show, I have cried since, I cried the next time I listened to the soundtrack. I still feel the need to just spend some time weeping for all the memories and hurt. The absolute reminder of what it is to be in that place.
I vividly remember one day, standing by a row of lockers during a break between classes in high school, and one of the most popular guys in school just backing into me as if I wasn’t even there. An event that totally confirmed that I was invisible and I didn’t matter. I was so sure that my friends weren’t really friends like other people had, that they would easily move on. That my family’s life would be so much easier without the hassle that was me.
Never did I expect to be where I am now, able to see how many people feel that way at that age. It’s damn near universal. You brought me back to that place, and made me realize I made it out.