I think I’d been crying for a good five minutes before I realised. I wiped away a stray tickle on my cheek, and the sleeve of my jumper came away damp. I looked down to see my friend’s hand on my arm. Are you okay? she whispered. I shook my head. I wasn’t.
I felt sick, and dizzy. She took me by the wrist to lead me up the stairs as I kept my head bowed low, eyes fixed to the ground, tears now freely gushing. We pushed past the crowds and crossed the road, nearly walking into the path of a black cab in our hurry. In an alleyway I threw my coat and bag and glasses down onto a plant pot, and let out a yelp, a huge gasp for air, for relief. My friend rubbed my back and told me I’d be okay as I stared at the sky and willed myself to stop sobbing. It didn’t work.
Dramatic is my middle name- after verbose and attention-hungry- and I know how it sounds to say that this, but the sobbing and the hiccups and the inability to breathe? It happened at the theatre.