Our coach bus travelled through the dark tunnel, and I held my breath. Once even a glimpse of light spilled through the long-awaited hole at the end of the tunnel, everyone on the bus shrieked in exhilaration. We finally reached the end, and the first thing I did was look up. Tall, towering buildings pierced the bright sky. The sun sent shimmers of light that glared on the silver walls of skyscrapers. We continued to drive through the traffic-infested city. I beamed at how perfect everything looked through the window, and my heart raced in excitement to see what it would feel like outside. Not having been to New York City since first grade, I was beyond excited to return for a theatre field trip to see the musical Aladdin and wander around the crowded streets.

Finally, we parked next to the New Amsterdam Theater, where we would be watching our show later. For now, however, our goal was to get to the restaurant, Ellen’s Stardust Diner, before our reservations at 11:30am. Stepping off the bus, I breathed in the New York City air: bitter, tainted with April frost, cigarette exhaust, and smoky sunlight. My eyes lit up at the billboards that added a burst of electricity to the town. Advertisements for musicals and restaurants surrounded me, plastered on monster-sized towers. The sky was colored a bright, cerulean blue, with glowing clouds. I could only enjoy the city’s beauty for a moment though, as all students were directed to run as fast as they could to make it to lunch on time – six blocks in 11 minutes. In my flats, I dashed on the cement sidewalk littered with people. My ruffled dress twirled and danced with the chilling wind as I worked my way through the maze-like crowd. As my heart pounded through my ribs, a wide smile formed on my face without even thinking. In the distance, Ellen’s Stardust Diner awaited. Three minutes ticked on the imaginary clock, and to no one’s surprise, we made it.

My friends and I stood outside the diner, and a burning rage burst through my body, sparking each one of my nerves. Once we arrived and sat down inside, I could sense that the diner’s atmosphere would be just like the one outside. Waiters and waitresses carried trays of burgers and milkshakes while singing iconic songs from “Don’t Stop Believing” to “Alexander Hamilton.” A disco in the center of the restaurant spun, painting neon blue and violet glimmers of light on the walls, ceiling, and floor. I took a bite of my breaded chicken tenders, dipping it in the light honey mustard; a mix of sweet and savory thrummed in my mouth, pouncing on my taste buds. The old-fashioned, retro diner contained vintage photographs, worn-out dishware, and unborn dreams. After finishing off my lunch with vanilla ice cream, everyone left the restaurant with full stomachs and melodic hearts. The city greeted us again, and this time we walked back to the theater. Somehow, the liveliness in the city was even more electrifying and thrilling. The walk back was full of crazy encounters, from the naked cowboy strumming his guitar and a dressed-up Elmo taking pictures with tourists.

At the theater, we received our tickets and entered the beautiful building. The show began promptly at 1:00pm; we sat down at 12:57. Our seats were up so high that one thrust forward could have caused us to fall. The playbill was a dark, soothing violet with endless pages of actor biographies and advertisements, but the yellow “playbill” title on the cover thrilled me enough. Finally, the show began; the pit orchestra played the overture so flawlessly that it could have been mistaken as a recording. Aladdin’s voice sounded rickety and burly, filling up the large theater, as Jasmine’s was smooth like silk, colored a gold and lavender tinge. The genie, on the other hand, had a rubbery voice with an unbelievable range. But the best part was the set; the lights glowed orange, pink, and purple hues. Outfits of shimmering glitter sparkled in the light, and during “A Whole New World,” I was breathless. Violet fog filled the stage as Aladdin and Jasmine soared in the air while remaining seated on the carpet, their voices together like dark gold. Each performance deserved a standing ovation.

I tucked the playbill in my Aladdin tote-bag along with my $40 shirt. Once we were back out in the city, the refreshing air greeted us with an afternoon glow of the sun. My friends and I raced to Times Square for photo opportunities. I gazed in amazement at the red steps right in the middle – the same steps that Rachel Berry and Finn Hudson sat on in Glee, one of my favorite TV shows. Stepping on them connected me back to the first time I watched the episode, and I felt beyond happy. We snapped a few group pictures, and I enjoyed one last view of New York City: the vibrant magenta electricity surging on each billboard and sign; the floods of people moving and moving without a care under the brisk sun; the silver buildings carving the blue sky and towering above us all. I absorbed the exhilaration one last time before boarding the bus.

The engine revved. I plugged in my earplugs, drained out the excited chatter with classic rock music, and watched the city get smaller and smaller. We drove through the tunnel again; darkness infused the bus. Once we were on the other side, the beauty, magic, color, music, amazement, and wonder of New York City disappeared, leaving a bunch of highway roads in front of us. I looked up, smiled to myself, and thought about how the sky seemed a bit brighter painted by the city lights.