“The closing night of a show is always so heartbreaking,” I sighed mournfully.

My close friend and fellow actress Noelle nodded in agreement as my mom pulled the car into the parking lot of the theatre. Our imminent final performance of Elton John’s “Aida” had been the elephant in the backseat for the entire forty-five minute drive, and I could no longer keep my grief silent.

“I know,” Noelle agreed, stepping out of the car. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without seeing everyone every day.”

I mulled over this as we began our slog to the dressing rooms, the gravel crunching under our feet. We walked slowly, as if in a funeral procession, toward the theatre. The TriArts Sharon Playhouse was not the most ornate theatre in all of Connecticut, but it certainly stood as the dearest in our hearts. After all, we had been there every day for two months, rehearsing until sweat dripped from our brows and soaked the wooden floors of the Bok rehearsal room. Indisputably, it could be called our home during the summer of 2008.

The typical hustle and bustle of the dressing rooms was amplified by the flashing of cameras and the growing frequency of group hugs. Laughter and delighted shrieks bounced off the walls and into my ears. The actors clustered at the mirrors, chatting happily as they prepared for the show.

I, of course, participated in the festivities despite my sadness. I did not want to be a downer; still, the joyousness of my castmates confused me. Why were they all so cheerful? Closing night was the epitome of melancholy and loss! Here I was, internally wallowing as I applied my stage make-up, and the rest of the cast was giving each other piggyback rides. Deciding that I would worry about it later, I scrambled up the stairs to get into position for the opening number.

The show went without a hitch until the final song of Act One, “The Gods Love Nubia.” In the song, the princess of Nubia, Aida, comforts her people after their king is captured by the Egyptians. It is a heartbreaking scene, and when we started the run, I decided that it would be appropriate to cry a little while I sang to make my grief look authentic. The problem was that no matter how hard I tried, I could never will any tears to spill. As I walked into the wings for that scene, I knew that tonight would be different.

Stepping onto the stage, I transformed from Monica Wright, chorus girl, into a Nubian slave, beaten and oppressed. I reacted with horror as I discovered the fate of our leader, my hand covering my mouth in shock. Somewhere next to me, Mariah crumpled inconsolably to the floor. As my body hunched over in despair, I allowed myself to break character and peek at the people around me. Marilyn and Jordan were clinging to each other upstage. Tyler had Jessica cradled in his arms. Peter was holding Jenn-Elle’s hand.

It was then, as I took in all of their faces, that it hit me: after tonight, I might never see these people again.

“…Nubia lives in our hearts,” Aida said to us. “And therefore, it lives.”

At this, I cried. I was careful to keep my face down and my sobs silent – drawing focus from the main character is never a good idea – but I cried. My shoulders shook violently and tears fell straight from my eyes and onto my skirt, leaving dark circles on the navy fabric. I can only imagine how I looked to the audience.

I recognized the change in the music – the cue to start singing. Opening my mouth to release the melody, my voice cracked with emotion and upset me further. Luckily, I kept my tears under control and walked downstage, casting my gaze and my hands to the rafters just as I had rehearsed. I contorted my face into an expression of prayerful hope as I sang. Portraying my character had once again taken precedence over my emotions. The voices of the ensemble meshed into a lovely four-part harmony that could rival even the greatest gospel choir.

Carly came and touched my shoulder, as I expected, to pull me out of my reverie. When I turned to hug her, I saw that her eyes were red and her cheeks shone with tears, displaying the sadness that mirrored my own. And yet… she was smiling. Flabbergasted, I looked around me, and saw the same teary-eyed yet lightsome look on my castmates’ faces as they exchanged embraces.

Another wave of realization overwhelmed me, but unlike the previous one it left me feeling quite positive. I wasn’t saying good-bye to these people. We had spent too much time together and learned too much about each other to simply part ways. We were all best friends, and the end of a production was not enough to tear us apart. I recalled an adage I read once: “Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened.” Knowing this, I grinned, and turning toward the audience, I raised my voice to match my friends in the last line of the song.

“Take me in my dreams recurring, one more longing backward glance…”