Last Friday my mom and I went to my
Old elementary/middle/high school's production of Fiddler On The Roof
(I'd been a part of Redeemer's drama team for 5 years; 8th to 12th grade)
It's always bittersweet when I go back to visit
It's great to see everyone again
The welcome is always amazing
Sometimes it boggles my mind, how everyone is so excited to see me
Hey, calm down, it's just me
I don't get it, I guess I'm just as excited to see them too though
But It's sad,
Knowing that the times I had there are over
Knowing that as precious as my memories of those days are
And how vivid they may be
And how many times I may play them over and over
They're still not going to be reality ever again

I can still see Emily and I
Sneaking out of set construction on Saturday mornings
To walk through the field to the convenience store for lunch
I can hear the sound of people practicing their lines in the lunch room
As Mrs. Haley directs them and
As Kevin, Andrew, and I mess with the video camera in the hallways
And the sound of walkie-talkies in the dark
As the behind-the-scenes crew would chill outside
While waiting for the play to end
I can feel the cold air while playing sardines in the night
And the fear when you were all alone in the graveyard
Looking for someone to hide with
I can feel the monotony of sitting around a table
And designing every little detail of a costume or set
I can still feel the excitement of opening night though too
People rushing everywhere
Hearing them running up and down the stairs
Running to get things in place and alter costumes last minute
The smell of make-up and hairspray in the background
The feel of burnt hands and fingers from trying to curl hair much too fast
The laughter from messing around with the make-up to waste time
The sound of that old metal door under the stairs
That always had to be taped so it wouldn't lock us out
And the sound of us banging on it when it did
The smell of the boys changing room, errrgh
The sound of people singing and nervously running lines
The sound of Kevin and Andrew interviewing us
The creak of wood from sneaking up the stairs
To watch from the sides of the stage
The constant "Shhh" from the stage crew
Mrs. Haley chugging a bottle of sparkling cider
As she'd give her last speech in the basement
And on the final night of the play,
Being able to walk out onto the stage as our names were called
And knowing that the applause truly was sincere
And that we had worked hard for it

Sometimes I think, how can those times be over?
Weren't they just yesterday?
I'll just get everyone back together and we can do it all again
But it doesn't work like that
Why?
Maybe if it did I wouldn't appreciate it as much as I do now
I don't think I'd mind not appreciating it as much though
I just want it back