A small group of us decided to continue the cast party following the final curtain call Sunday night. I guess despite our public disdain for what always seems to be the longest weekend of the year, inside we were all fostering a hidden desire to stretch it out just a few hours more. As we shuffled down Washington Street, Stable-bound, I glanced to my left, completely randomly, and came face-to-face with the red luminescent glow that turns our city’s title into a badge of honor and beckons passersby to ignore their downtown destinations and surrender to the hypnotic nature that is a visit to the Providence Performing Arts Center. It’s so mysterious a mirage to many, but so familiar a face to mine.
We kept on our way, but not before I gave in to my compulsion to snap a quick photo of the great PPAC in its quiet, midnight glory. It looked so different post-show than during our residence, when the bulb-lined mirrors are the only reflections we are shown for the duration, and the gilded house greets us with open arms each morning. How lucky we are to live inside of a music box for one week of each year. Now that I think of it, I completely understand our subconscious geographical attraction to PPAC only hours after we’d cleared our dressing rooms and said the formal see you next year; its magic is not reserved for those gracing the iconic red velvet seats, no, it is shared by those who fill the stage as well. So see you soon, old friend, thanks for the memories.