I was in sixth grade, and it was almost time for Summer vacation. Mrs. Driscoll (who tragically passed away) was my school's beloved music teacher. She decided to spend the final two weeks of the school year teaching us the story of The Phantom, and playing the Original London Cast Recording for us to listen to.
My interest was immediately piqued. I had met The Phantom two times before.
The first time, I was very young, perhaps five or six years old. It was Halloween, and I was trick-or-treating. There was a man dressed in a full gorilla costume. However, none of us children understood that he was not really a gorilla man.
You may be wondering what a man in a gorilla costume has to do with The Phantom. Allow me to explain.
All the other children were afraid of the gorilla man. They clung to their parents' hands, buried their faces in their parents' coats.
But not me. I left my father and walked right over to the gorilla man. I felt so terrible for him, and I hated those mean children for screaming and crying in fear. I raised my tiny, chocolate-covered hand and stroked his furry mask/face. His paw/hand patted my cheek.
All the adults laughed. What an odd child!
I was nine years old the second time I met The Phantom. I met him only briefly, and his incarnation at that time was something quite repulsive to me, even now.
My family was homeless. On this night, however, we had the money to stay in some sort of inn. There was cable on the television, and my mother noticed that a movie from our favorite horror series (Halloween) was going to be on. First, however, the channel was showing The Phantom of the Opera starring Robert Englund (of Freddy Krueger fame).
I remember my mother saying: "This movie is sickening. Hide your faces in the blanket." My younger sister and I hid under the quilt, but I peeked out to steal occasional forbidden glances at the final scenes of the movie. I remember seeing The Phantom as a completely unsympathetic villain. I remember seeing a young woman running through an alley, her long dress trailing behind her.
I remember thinking: "I want to be her."
Which brings us back to me at age thirteen, sitting in Mrs. Driscoll's room. When she said "We're going to study The Phantom of the Opera," my heart surged with excitement. I listened with great interest to the recording. While everyone else used this time to do homework or sit chatting, I sat there in silent rapture.
I laughed at Carlotta, Meg, and Raoul. I fell in love with The Phantom. I desperately wanted to be Christine.
I was sure that despite the intrusive Raoul, Christine would end up with The Phantom in the end. Afterall, everything has a fairy tale ending! Christine and The Phantom would be married by the end of the second c.d.
When our final Phantom Day arrived, and I heard the words: "You alone can make my song take flight... It's over now, the music of the night...." I waited for something else to happen. I waited for the soprano voice of Christine to burst in with: "No, I'm going to stay!! No one could make me leave you!!" Then Mrs. Driscoll turned off the stereo.
I sat there slack-jawed and wide-eyed. I felt as if I'd been punched in the stomach. There had to be some mistake! She'd turned off the c.d. too quickly; maybe there was a third c.d., a third act, where Christine and The Phantom lived happily ever after.
My outrage turned to obsession. I am now 21 years old. I know nearly every bit of useless Phantom trivia. My obsession screams from the walls and bookcases of my apartment. I can sing every blessed word of the Andrew Lloyd Webber musical. I can recite from memory long passages from various Phantom books and movies.
I'm what they call "a phan."
And I wouldn't have it any other way.
