by Alison Janssen
So, this lying game. Which are the lies and which the truth?
Well, I've definitely eaten eggplant in my life, though usually only when it's breaded and fried and smothered in Parmesan cheese. (Mmmmm.)
And I never won a poetry contest by adapting Dickinson to outer space, though that would have been awesome. (So awesome, in fact, that I couldn't help adapting a couple purely for blog purposes ...)
By those who ne'er succeed.
To comprehend a vastness
Requires sorest need.
Not one of all the purple host
Who took the flight to-day
Can tell the definition,
So clear, of victory,
As he, defeated, grounded,
On whose forbidden eye
The distant plumes of triumph
Leave, agonized in sky.
When here in space we lie,
As when the Earth held her lamp
To witness our good-by
A moment we uncertain step
For newness of the night,
Then fit our vision to the dark
A meet the vast, a-light!
And so of larger darknesses --
Those evenings of the brain
When not a moon disclose a sign,
Or star come out, within.
The bravest grope a little
And sometimes fly askance
Into a gaseous planet --
But, as they learn to see,
Either the darkness alters --
Or something in the sight
Adjusts itself to universes --
And free we float away.
But! I did have a serious crush on Matthew Broderick (thanks, Ladyhawke!). And I did go to NYC for the first time when I was a sophomore in high school, and saw "How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying" on Broadway. And Matthew Broderick did recognize me from the audience.
I was all full of midwestern-kid wonder during this trip, which was with my mom and two family friends, both involved with us in the local community theater scene. This was also my mom's first trip to the city, and the main goal was to see as many shows as possible. So, our first full day there, we stood in line at the TKTS booth, me saying over and over how great it would be to get tickets to see "my Matthew's" show. The universe was on my side that day, and we scored front-most box seats, on stage left. I was *so excited* about it that I donned my best outfit for that evening: a black, ribbed, mock turtleneck and my bright white short skort. Yeah, I said skort. IT WAS 1996 GIVE ME A BREAK. Oh, also my winter jacket, because it was frakking cold. March, maybe?
Anyway, when we entered the theater, I was agog at its splendor. My mom and our friends let me have the best seat in the box, and I pulled my chair as close to the railing as I could get it, and leaned forward as far as I could manage, and watched the entire show with rapt, starstruck attention. Not only was I IN THE SAME ROOM AS MATTHEW, but this was the first time I'd seen any production as grand, with the sets and the costumes and the orchestra and oh my god it was amazing. So at one point, as I'm straining to take it all in and not drool over the side of the balcony, Matthew exits stage left, and on his way off, glances up. We make eye contact. I am close enough that I can discern his five'o'clock shadow.
I whipped around to my mom and screamed (well, as much a scream as being polite at live theater would allow), "HE JUST LOOKED AT ME DID YOU SEE HE JUST LOOKED AT ME HE SAW ME."
And my mom said, "Yes, of course he did, that's great, now let's watch the rest of the show."
And though I knew she was just humoring me, I also knew that I'd just made eye contact with my childhood movie star crush.
So I watched the rest of the show, and it was incredible, and when it was all over, I asked if we could camp out by the stage door to get his autograph. And I recounted the "HE LOOKED AT ME" story to our friends, and we all headed out into the cold night to wait and hope.
After a little while, as various actors began filtering out of the building, a stage hand came to the door and said that Mr. Broderick and Ms. Parker (his wife was playing opposite him at this point in the production) wouldn't be coming out for autographs, but that we could pass our playbills to him and he'd take them in, get them signed, and return them. I was devastated, but I passed in my playbill and my mom said to me, "Don't worry, he'll have to leave at some point, we can wait a little longer," and then she pointed to the town car that was parked at the curb and said, "I bet this is how they'll get home, let's just stand near this door."
Eventually, my playbill came back to me, signed (I still have it, of course), and I began to worry about Mom's plan as most of the crowd dispersed. But we waited, and waited, and waited, and then ... the stage door opened, and out walked Matthew Broderick and Sarah Jessica Parker. They made a beeline for the town car, just as my mom had predicted, and we were RIGHT THERE, so close to them. And my mom, because she is awesome, flagged down SJP with some compliments on her performance or whatever, and I ... I approached Matthew as he was ducking into the backseat.
I reached out my hand, and tapped him on the arm. He was wearing a black polar fleece. I realize it's creepy of me to remember that detail, yes. I stuttered something about how much I enjoyed the show, and how I thought he was great. He kindof glanced over his shoulder at me and was all, "Thanks," and then ...
And then, all time stopped.
Matthew turned away from the car, stood up, and faced me. He said, "I remember you. You were sitting in the front box seat tonight, weren't you? I saw you sitting there."
And I burst into tears.
Time started again, he and SJP got in the car, and it drove away. I turned to my mom and our friends and screamed, blubbering, "I TOLD YOU. I TOLD YOU HE SAW ME."
New York City will forever be a place of magical happenings and amazing memories.
Oh, and then I met him again in college. Twice.
