Last night, all 7 of us, the cast and crew, curled up in the front lounge of the bus and cried over “Dead Poets’ Society”.
We have less than a week left on tour and shit gets emotional.
Our friendship started when we were walking along cobblestone streets built five centuries before.
We were searching for the oldest inn in England.
We carried abandoned see-through umbrellas and talked about life.
She’s on this tour to get away.
To walk away from the past.
To start anew.
And in the history and the lands we walk each day,
everything is new.
She turned to me and said:
“I always know that in the end – everything will be okay, so if things aren’t going well – then that means that it just isn’t over.
Touring is emotional.
You can’t hide when you tour.
You are living in close quarters with 8 to 10 people, sleeping behind a curtain, and then getting in front of an open curtain every night on stage to put it all out there.
It’s a beautiful life.
And it is very raw life.
Most days are incredible, but there are days when it’s pouring rain, and the roads were full of potholes all night, and no one’s slept and the crew have got to carry heavy boxes and gear up four flights of steps, and stuff got messed up somehow and I misplaced a piece of my costume and I’m running with a flashlight to try and find it in a trunk, and everyone’s starting to get sick and we might have lice and the front lounge smells like pee because there’s something wrong with the bus bathroom.
On one of those days, two weeks ago, Karlee just walked into our dressing room, while I was standing on a towel to keep my feet from touching the very rock and roll floor. I was dripping wet and half naked and hungry and I just scrubbed my whole body with dish detergent from the club’s kitchen because I left my nice soap behind in one of many random backstage showers.
And she said: “Write your troubles in sand and your gratitude on stone.”
Then she walked out of the dressing room.