Ian and I join the growing crowd of ticket holders that cluster at the doors. An older woman wearing a black vest and Aronoff Center nametag guards the entrance. “Seating begins in ten minutes,” she says pressing her back against the heavy wood door to steady herself against the onslaught of excited theater lovers.
It’s the last day of spring break and Ian has begged me to “do something fun” as if I’ve been making him sit at his desk and study flash cards for the past week instead of planning day trips and inviting friends over to play.
That’s how we got here. Half-price tickets in hand, we wait. And wait.
“How many more minutes?” Ian asks.
“The lady just said ten.”
Ian turns my wrist and looks at my watch. “How many minutes now?”
With each passing minute, people press themselves closer to the door. Ian tugs on my hand to pull me into the crowd.
“We have assigned seats. Let them go ahead. The play won’t start without us.”
Ian reluctantly agrees and steps back out of the crowd.
I take his hand in mine and settle in to wait another eight minutes.