Beth rushes down the steps of the 5th Avenue-59th Street Station, trying her best not to slip. She makes it to the dark, dank subway, panting frantically. She approaches the metal gate and slides her yellow card. She prematurely steps through the gate, only for the turnstile to smack her stomach.
She turns to the bored MTA officer. "Excuse me, ma'am? My card isn't working."
"Is it loaded?" the woman responds, her eyes glazed over.
"Loaded?" Beth blinks. "I thought you just got it and used it every time you take the train. Like a credit card."
"No, sweetie, you gotta come over here with some cash, and I'll refill it." The officer gestures to the booth, and Beth walks over to her.
The small teen meekly slides her card and a few bucks through the slot to the officer. "I'm so sorry to bother you," she says, "I'm not from here. I'm meeting a friend to see Hamilton, and–" She's interrupted by a harsh screeching, hissing sound. "Oh gosh! That's my train!"
The officer slides the card back. "It should work now. Hurry up."
Beth races to the turnstile and slides her card again. She tries to move through the turnstile, but it doesn't budge.
"It might've been too fast, dearie, try again," the officer clarifies. Beth very slowly moves the card through, but once again fails to activate the turnstile. "Too slow," the officer sighs.
"The next stop is…" the automated voice announces from the train, "...57th Street, 7th Avenue."
"Ah!" Beth tries one more time. The turnstile beeps, and Beth rushes over to the downtown train as it warns, "Stand clear of the closing door, please." She jams her kids-size-four shoe into the door as it closes, forcing it back open so she can squeeze into the densely-packed train. The vehicle lurches forward, causing Beth to flop over into a well-groomed woman's expensive-looking coat. The woman glares at her. "Sorry, sorry!" Beth cries, and digs into her bag. She pulls out a bracelet. "Friendship bracelet? I didn't make it, I bought it from a nice lady in Central Park, but it's pretty and…" She trails off as she sees the woman has stopped talking to her.
At the next stop, Beth stumbles through the train until she finds an empty seat next to a sleeping disheveled homeless man. She sits down and holds her breath, and drops a dollar on his face.
Eventually, Beth hears the automated voice again: "This is… Times Square, 42nd Street." She grins widely and runs out of the train. The 42nd Street Station is vast and full of art and music that Beth has never seen before. She digs through her purse, but sadly can't find much more change. Regardless, she makes sure to show her enthusiasm by dancing along to the saxophone and waving at the man selling robotic toy dogs. And of course, she takes a dozen pictures with her smartphone.
Right after she takes a photo of a strangely defaced and charred poster on the wall, she gets a call and answers it. "Linds, hey!" She makes her way up the steps as she talks. "You should've come to Central Park! It was gorgeous! There were so many cute dogs, and I bought you a bracelet!" As she approaches the surface of 42nd Street, Beth squints at all the glittering signs. "Wait, Lindsay, how did you end up on Wall Street?" Beth asks into the phone, passing restaurants and museums and trying her best not to get too distracted. "Okay, maybe you shouldn't talk to those guys, even if they have nice suits. Just try to get here in…" Beth looks at the time on her phone. "...a half hour. And call back if you need help! We're going to the Richard Rodgers Theater."
Beth hangs up her phone and stands on the corner, drinking in the city sights. It's so overwhelming for the small-town farm girl that she almost chokes. It doesn't help that a nearby booth is making some fantastic art with some noxious spray paint.
Waiting for the light to change, Beth crosses through Times Square. It takes about ten minutes as she takes a photo with every character she can meet. Elsa, Elmo, Spider-Man, and a very cute guy wearing nothing but a cowboy hat and a guitar. She takes several photos with him.
Finally, after carefully following the street signs and acquiring three more souvenirs, plus a pretzel for good measure, Beth makes it to the line at the Richard Rodgers Theatre, that famous star logo right outside the door. She jumps up and down with so much thrill she almost drops her pretzel. "Ah, I'm so excited!" she says to herself. She turns to another young woman in front of her and says, "I've wanted to see this show for a gazillion years! Lin Manuel Miranda is such a dreamboat! This is my first time in the city, is it yours?" Rather than respond, the young woman moves up in line. Beth frowns and takes a bite of pretzel.
Beth finally makes it to the doors. The security guard sifts through her bag. Beth holds up her arms as if to prove her innocence. The guard tells her, "You gotta finish that pretzel before you head inside." Beth takes another half-minute to chew and swallow the whole pretzel.
Beth waltzes through the lobby and gets one ticket scanned. "Can you hold the other one for a friend?" she says. "Her name is Lindsay. She'll come in a while." After sorting that out, Beth finds her way to her seat. It's all the way up in the balcony, and everybody below her looks like ants. Her legs are tired from all the walking (Central Park is big!) and she's happy to be in her seat, but every other minute, she looks up from her Playbill and hopes her best friend will be with her.
At 7:35pm, Beth realizes how dry her mouth is. She goes to the concession stand and asks for water. "It's five dollars?!" she gasps when the usher offers it to her. "Isn't this just bottled water?" Beth sifts through her pockets and can't find any more change.
At 7:40pm, after waiting in line for a bit, Beth goes to the bathroom. After washing her hands, she looks at the water in the sink. She's so thirsty… and water is water… She cups her hands under the faucet and takes a slurp. It doesn't taste fresh, but her taste buds have been fried since she was sixteen. Anything is better than Chef Hatchet's cooking.
Finally, at 8:05pm, an actor speaks over the loudspeaker to turn off your cell phone. Ironically, Beth's cell phone rings right on cue. Beth picks it up and quietly asks, "Hello?"
"Beth, it's Lindsay! Where are our seats again?"
"Lindsay! You're okay!" Beth tries to contain her excitement, so as to not disturb the other patrons. "Don't you have your ticket?"
"Yeah but it's got a number and a letter on it. I don't know how I'm supposed to count it."
"Just ask one of the people by the door. They'll help you up here. See ya soon!" Beth hangs up and bounces in her seat as the first seven notes play.
Beth is so transfixed by the events happening onstage that the tap on her shoulder nearly makes her jump. She turns to see her blonde BFF at last!
"Hey, sorry I'm late!" Lindsay says at normal volume, prompting shushes from other patrons.
"That's okay!" Beth whispers and pats the seat next to her. "Sit down!"
Lindsay sits and pulls something out of her bag. "While I was on Wall Street, I got this in case I was, like, lost for a long time." She hands Beth a bottle of water. "I figured you might want it instead since the show's so long."
"OMG! That's so nice!" Beth opens the cap. "How'd you get it past security?"
"I just kept it in my bag." She shrugs. "The security guard just looked at me and let me in for some reason."
Beth takes a huge gulp of water and watches the historical hip-hop musical unfold before her eyes, her best friend by her side.