(no subject)
The tent is still warm inside, holding onto the heat from the sunny afternoon. The generator outside is humming softly. The kingpoles creak every so often in the breeze. It smells of grass and summer, and faintly of warm vinyl and popcorn. I am lying on my back in the middle of the stage. The stage that I put together. The stage that I performed on half a dozen times this week in front of hundreds of people. The seats are empty now, and I am lying on the stage, looking up at the trapeze above me. The first time you work backstage in a real production, it feels like being part of an exclusive club. You are getting to be a part of something, an insider. But lying on the empty stage in the middle of the night is another level altogether. I feel like this is my home. Other people come and visit, but I belong here. This is mine.
I will remember this summer. For the heartbreak, surely. For whatever the outcome of that turns out to be. For the loss of my job that I have had for a decade. For the ridiculous and statistically impossible string of stolen bikes and breaks ins. For the pain of working so closely with the woman I love so much, and seeing her in pain, and not being able to comfort her. For the injuries that constantly threaten to take away the last thing I have. But also for this moment. Right now. With the smell of grass and the stage cool under my back. Home, while it lasts.
I will remember this summer. For the heartbreak, surely. For whatever the outcome of that turns out to be. For the loss of my job that I have had for a decade. For the ridiculous and statistically impossible string of stolen bikes and breaks ins. For the pain of working so closely with the woman I love so much, and seeing her in pain, and not being able to comfort her. For the injuries that constantly threaten to take away the last thing I have. But also for this moment. Right now. With the smell of grass and the stage cool under my back. Home, while it lasts.