I haven't caught the train since 2019(?) and on the day that I do, Metro decides to do maintenance rail work.
Of course.
So what should've been a straightforward 50-minute trip turned into a stressful detour from Hallam Station to Dandenong Station where Raven and I got on a replacement bus to Westall Station to board the train that would finally take us to the city to meet up with Gayle and my sister so we could all watch Wicked at The Regent Theatre.
I like train rides. I like to just sit against the window and watch buildings and suburbs whiz by; cars and people becoming miniature characters of a busy life going somewhere I don't know about.
Except that I didn't really get to do all that romantic stuff on this particular journey. I was too busy keeping one eye on Raven and the other eye on the dodgy bloke sitting on the other side behind us who was either high or was simply in the habit of talking to himself when he wasn't arguing with himself.
He got off at Caulfield Station. Where the announcement said you should get off if you want to continue to the Frankston line.
Of course.
And it kind of made me wonder how people get from point A to point B when they're high as a kite. Don't get me wrong. I was impressed. That takes a certain level of navigational skill I find hard to even master sober. You know what I mean? Like, I planned and studied my trip the night before, made sure our mykis were well and truly topped up, and low-key got anticipatory anxiety leading up to the fucking surprise that buses replaced trains that day.
Anyways....
Wicked was awesome. Although, on a side note, not as awesome as Miss Saigon because that was, hands down, the best play I've watched in my whole entire life of not having watched any big-production plays prior to even if I sat all the way at the back with a sometimes limited viewing. It was... spectacular.
What can I say, deep down inside I'm a hopeless romantic. I have a very soft spot for prostitutes finding true love even if it means dying in its arms.
The things you do for a visa, hey?
Wicked... It was great, too. And before you get all confused like I did, it's actually not a spin-off of The Wizard of Oz. Nor is it a prequel either. It's just one of those fantastical stories inspired by the characters of the book. It was a story of friendship and black propaganda. How the Wicked Witch of the West was actually good and how politics fucks those with the best intentions when it doesn't align with the agenda. All the while singing in soprano and cavorting with the cute bad boy.
I bought the tickets in the hopes of exposing Raven to performance art and find appreciation for it. It was interesting to see how her young mind was taking in the experience.
"How do they make the stage so different so fast?" she asked. The same question I asked myself as I took in the swift and smooth scenery transitions that worked more like magic than mechanics.
She might have gotten a bit bored halfway in and I can't blame her. At least she was patient enough to sit through all two hours and forty-five minutes of the show. Appreciation for these things are like oysters and durians. It takes time.
I'm playing the long game.
*Raven at 8 years old
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