fakediary

After our little food adventure, we made our way toward the Theater District. I had booked tickets to see Hadestown on Broadway that evening, and I was rather excited about it.

I’d always loved live performances. There was something about sitting in a theater, watching people sing and act right in front of you, that no movie could quite reproduce. And since this was David’s first visit to New York, I thought a Broadway musical was practically mandatory.

The streets around Times Square were as chaotic as ever. Tourists crowded the sidewalks, enormous advertisements flashed overhead, and people dressed as cartoon characters wandered around soliciting photographs. I had forgotten just how aggressively New York could demand your attention.

David seemed fascinated by it all.

He kept looking up at the buildings and taking photographs, occasionally stopping so abruptly that I nearly walked into him. I found myself laughing and pulling him along whenever we were in danger of blocking the sidewalk.

Eventually, we reached the Walter Kerr Theatre.

Inside, the atmosphere was lively, with people chatting excitedly as they found their seats. I glanced around at the ornate interior while David looked through the program.

When the lights dimmed and the music began, I settled into my seat, already pleased with my choice.

Hadestown was a retelling of the Greek myth of Orpheus and Eurydice, a love story about a man willing to descend into the underworld for the woman he loved.

The music was wonderful, and I was particularly taken with the atmosphere of the production. The performers had a way of making the entire theater feel involved in the story.

Every now and then, I glanced at David to see his reaction.

He was watching intently.

I liked seeing him absorbed in something I’d chosen for us. Throughout the trip, I had been quietly hoping that the places I picked and the experiences I planned would live up to his expectations.

At one point, he reached for my hand without taking his eyes off the stage. I slipped my fingers between his and continued watching.

As the story unfolded, I found myself thinking about its central question: how much could love survive without trust?

It was a rather uncomfortable question, considering the circumstances.

David and I had taken a considerable risk to meet each other. We had trusted our feelings, our conversations, and our impressions of one another enough to board planes and meet in a foreign city.

Yet trust, as the musical rather dramatically demonstrated, was not always as simple as believing you loved someone.

I glanced at our joined hands.

I wondered how we would fare when things became more complicated than choosing restaurants and deciding which tourist attractions to visit.

Then the music swelled, and I turned my attention back to the stage.

By the final curtain, I was thoroughly impressed.

We joined the crowd filing out of the theater, discussing the performances and the story as we made our way onto the sidewalk.

I was curious whether David had enjoyed it as much as I had. He seemed pleased, and we found ourselves talking about the ending as we walked.

I couldn’t help finding the whole thing a little ironic.

Here I was, spending an evening with a man who had traveled from Chile to meet me, watching a musical about a man who traveled to the underworld for love.

At least David had only needed a passport and a plane ticket.

And I pray, no one ever calls my Orpheus to look back.