Misconnection

“81^st  street please,” I say to the cab driver as I throw myself and all my belongings into the back of the cab. It was a Friday night, the best time of the week, and thankfully the chaos at work would die down for a few days. We were in the middle of a business deal with a local partner and it was not going well. The last few days have been a cycle of conference calls, work meetings, and panicked conversations. Finally, I would be able to take a break and do something that I’ve wanted to do for so long. 

“Got it,” mumbled the cab driver. His face was shielded by the darkness of the cab, but a faint streak of light glistened off the side of his head revealing his black hair. I was told that I would have this exact experience; I would be in an ominous cab with an ominous cab driver. And while I requested to go to 81^st Street, I also knew that I would not end up there tonight. 

The cab began to move onto the busy streets of New York City. I opened the window and carefully peeked my head out into the fresh air. The familiar scent of sickly sweet gas automatically entered into my nose. For some reason, I didn't mind the smell; I guess I was used to it by this point. My eyes squinted at the flashing lights of Time Square in the distance as an advertisement for Wicked emerged on a screen. I had seen it last week after years of waiting and it definitely lived up to my high expectations. I continued to stare at the other billboards when I heard the cab driver speak again. For a second, I forgot that I was in the terrifying cab. 

“We’re here,” the driver mumbled under his breath.

I pulled my head out from the window and back into the cab and turned to face the other direction. A rundown red sign hung from the door of a building with the words “The Osborne Theatre” written in white. Except the bottom half of the “s” had fallen off the sign and the top of the “b” was missing as well. 

“This has to be a mistake. I don't know this place.”

“I never make mistakes.”

With that, I grabbed my belongings, slipped $20 into the driver’s hand and ran out of the back. I watched the cab drive away hoping to see the driver’s face for the first time but again was disappointed when I only could make out his sleek black hair. I turned around to look at what was in front of me. I had never heard of the Osborne Theatre, yet this is where the cab brought me. I was told that this was the only cab that didn't take you where you wanted to go, but where you most needed to go. My friend Molly took the cab a few months ago and said it was one of the most rewarding experiences of her life. When I asked where it took her, she said that she was unable to say until I took the cab myself. 

I took her advice and here I was. I apparently was in the place where I needed to be. But I could not fathom any sort of reason for me to be standing outside a theatre that I had never stepped foot in before. It didn't mean anything to me. Yet, while I wanted to storm away and just go home, I knew that the cab brought me here for a reason. A reason unknown but still a reason.

I grabbed the door handle of the theatre and yanked it open. A substantial amount of cool air hit the center of my face making me turn away. After a few seconds of adjustment, I turned my head back to position to see myself standing in a small lobby. On my right was a clear glass stand that held Skittles, Twix and a variety of sodas.

“Pre-show snacks,” I thought to myself. On my left stood a cardboard sign with the words “Les Miserables” sprawled out in unprofessional handwriting. Underneath were the dates of the performances: “November 1st-3rd.” “This show starts tomorrow,” I again thought to myself. 

I continued walking, ultimately bringing myself into the actual theatre. 

“Hello?” I called out, hoping for anyone to answer. After two minutes of waiting for a response, I decided to sit in one of the back row seats. Confusion was the only emotion I felt at the moment. What was I doing in this vacant theatre? Should I stay or leave? While the door to the theatre was open, I had a feeling that I was not allowed to be in here. 

“Um hi. Can I help you?” a voice called out from a distance. I looked up to see a young man on stage. He seemed to be around 25 years old wearing ripped blue jeans and a plaid shirt with yellow paint splatters. A beanie covered his head but a few pieces of flowing black hair peaked out from his hat. 

“I’m sorry. I know I’m not supposed to be here. It’s a long story. You probably wouldn’t understand. It’s just that I was dropped off here hoping that I would have some sort of revelation or epiphany or something but that hasn’t happened. And I don’t know who or what exactly I am supposed to be looking for but I am supposed to be looking for something. And I…” 

            I stopped mid-sentence realizing that not only was I rambling, but I was crying. Little droplets of tears had falling onto my pants leaving my jeans damp and marked. I slightly touched my face, scared of what I would find, and felt my face flushed and my cheeks drenched. I slowly started to bring my head up expecting to find the man gone. Yet, he remained in the same position he was before.

“ You don't have to apologize. I get it. Sometimes the universe says ‘Fuck you’ and throws us in an unknown territory to fend for ourselves. I’ve been there myself.”

“ Thank you. I should be going.” 

“Why don't you stay and look for what you need? Sometimes things just pop out at you around here.” 

“Um ok. I will. Thanks.” 

I got up from my backrow seat and began to walk to the front of the theatre. I climbed up the stairs until I was on stage. I was now only a few feet away from the stage crew guy and he was even more attractive in person. I could feel myself blushing and instantly turned away and began to walk towards the right side of the stage. I looked up and down, left and right for something, anything, that could be what I was sent here for. But all I could see were a whirlwind of props, costumes and scripts; nothing that were of any meaning to me. Up until this point, I had felt bad for myself. The tears that fell down my face were not from frustration but were from sadness. But now I was angry. I was angry at Molly for telling me how amazing this cab ride would be. I vividly remember her saying, “It’s life changing!” in a high-pithed, overly enthusiastic voice. I was angry at the cab driver for thinking that this was the place for me. For thinking that this rundown, shitty theatre that probably had mediocre performances with a crowd of three people could transform me in anyway. But I was most angry at myself for having such high expectations and for thinking that this was the best way to spend my time. With that, I rushed back on the stage, down the stairs and ran towards the front door. 

“Hopefully I will see you tomorrow. 8:00. Les Mis” a voice shouted in the background. By the time I heard it, I was already halfway out the door. I hailed a normal taxi, one that would actually take me home, and called it a day.

            I found myself sleeping until 1pm the next day. I guess it was the excitement of the night before that led me to spend half of my day unconscious. When I woke up, I tried to replay the events that occurred the night before. I remembered the theatre, the dreamy stage crew guy and running out of the theatre as if I was trying to break the sprinting world record. It all felt like a dream or maybe even a nightmare. I was still perplexed on the purpose of the night and whether I missed something in my search. 

“Well, I tried” I thought to myself as I started to get dressed and continue about my day. 

I spent a few hours at the mall doing some retail therapy. I thought that the dress sale at Nordstrom’s would lighten my mood and bring me some pleasure. While I did leave the mall with a new dress and a few beautiful blouses, my mind kept wandering back to the theatre. Before I knew it, I had left the mall and hailed a cab to take me back to the Osborne.

When I arrived at the theatre, there was a young boy standing outside with flowers. He was on the phone with a terrified look on his face.

“The show starts in 30 minutes Mom. You have to get here soon.” He ended the call and ran inside the theatre. 

Now I remembered. Les Miserables was opening tonight. I guess I was staying for the show. I went inside, bought a ticket and a pack of Skittles and took my seat in the last row. There were about 50 people in the audience-more than I expected. Most of them seemed to be relatives or friends of the cast, but there were a few couples having date night at the theatre. I was in the back, by myself, per usual. The lights began to dim and the pit began to play the overture. Next thing I knew, I was fully immersed in 19th century France. The play was brilliantly done. Each set design was better than the one before and truly brought a simple Paris streetscape to life. And the actors truly developed their characters making them feel like real people. 

While I enjoyed everyone in the cast, the actress playing young Cosette caught my eye. The moment she stepped on stage I felt a stream of electricity run through my veins and into the body of this young girl. It was an instant connection so strong that I found my eyes attached to her throughout the entire performance. I didn't know her or at least I didn't think I did. But was automatically drawn to her sunlight hair that seemed to shine even brighter on the lighted stage. Her hair was partially curled for her role, but I couldn’t help but notice one stubborn piece of hair in the front that was as straight as a wire. Her face was perfectly round with freckles that speckled her like drops of paint. I couldn’t tell the color of her eyes, yet I had a suspicion they were hazel, just like mine. 

With the final bow of the cast and the final note of the pit, the crowd began to storm out of the theatre. I sat in my seat waiting for the crowd to finish filing out when I saw the girl playing Cosette run to the front row and jump into a women’s arms. 

“Probably her mother,” I thought to myself. I continued to watch this intimate moment unfold even though my brain told me to look away. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I somehow knew this girl. My feet started to move without any warning and I found myself walking up to the seats where the daughter and mother stood. 

“You did a great job” I said to the young girl. I was now close enough to see her eyes were hazel-just what I thought.

“Thank you” she replied. 

“Is this your first show?”

“Well, my first real show. But I have been acting all my life.”

“How old are you?” 

“12”

“So much talent at such a young age. You must be proud of your daughter,” I said turning to the mother who stood staring at me.

“Yes. I am really proud of her. She has come such a long way.”

“I’m Lisa by the way. Sorry I didn't introduce myself before,” I said putting my hand out to greet the mother.

“I’m Lizzy. This is Bella,” she said pointing to the girl.

I could feel my face drop as fast as a rollercoaster. That name was just too familiar for me. 

“Um I have to go. But great show!” 

I ran out of the theatre pushing people along the way. Bella. Her name is Bella. I continued running with no destination in mind down the dark streets of New York. I finally stopped in front of a McDonalds and watched my hand vividly shake up and down with fright. I put my hands to my head and crunched over trying to catch my breath. 

“This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening. This isn’t happening.” 

With each new line, I could feel my confidence dwindling. This was happening. As much as I didn't want it to, it was. I opened my bag and whipped out the Playbill I was given at the start of the show. I flipped through it until I found what I was looking for. Bella Irvings. Her last name is Irvings. I closed the Playbill, stuffed it into my bag and turned on my phone. I immediately opened Google and typed Lizzy Irvings into the search button. Automatically, I found her Facebook page. I scrolled through her timeline until I found a picture of Bella with a birthday hat on and a beautiful chocolate cake in front of her. “Happy Birthday to my amazing and talented daughter Bella. We love you!” the caption read. May 28th. That is the date of Bella’s birthday. I now knew why the cab had brought me to the theatre. Bella was my daughter. The daughter that I gave up 12 years before. The daughter that I tried to completely erase from my memory. The daughter that I did not want anything to do with.

In a moment of clarity, Lisa jolted awake. She was sitting in the back of the magic cab, the same one she was sitting in the day before. Suddenly, everything became clear to her. She never left the cab, never went to the theatre, never saw Les Mis and never met Bella. The cab did not take her where she needed to go, but gave her a vision of what she needed to do. It was all a vision. 

“You ok there?” It was the cab driver. He turned his head around back and for the first time, his face appeared. It was the stage crew guy from her vision. 

“Yes, I’m fine.” 

“You know what you need to do?”

“Yes. I think so at least.”

“You know. Sometimes a little guidance is all it takes.”

With that, Lisa grabbed her belongings and exited the taxi. While standing outside, she saw the front window of the cab being rolled down.

“Good luck” the driver said with a sly wink. And with that the cab was gone.