Well Played, стр. 20
You sound like you feel trapped, and it’s totally understandable. I can also relate. Not just because this particular stop is a much smaller Faire that doesn’t provide hotel rooms. And that’s fine: we have an RV that we can camp in, and in a pinch I sleep in the back of my truck. But this part of North Carolina had an unexpected cold front, so camping wasn’t as pleasant as it usually is. It’s the last weekend here, though, before we move further south, so I’ll survive.
But for how much longer? Like you, I’ve been thinking more and more about the passage of time lately. And wondering how much longer I can live this lifestyle. I’m not twenty-one anymore, when traveling the country and sleeping in the back of a pickup was an adventure. But now that I’m thirty-one (hitting thirty wasn’t as painful as I anticipated, BTW, you’ll do just fine), I’m more likely to wake up with a backache, and insist on contracts at festivals that include hotel rooms. No more of these small-time places that want us to just work for tips. We’ve been doing this too long for that.
And then my mind circles back to How Much Longer? I know guys, performers on this circuit, who’ve been doing the same gigs for years. Decades. Is that how we’re going to end up? Are all of the guys going to want to keep this going that long? I mean, at some point, we’re going to have to make a real living, right? At least one of us is going to get married and want to stop traveling. And it’s not like we have health insurance, or any kind of retirement savings. Or a roof over our heads that doesn’t belong to family. This nomadic life can be great, but sometimes it feels like I’m speeding toward a cliff that’s just getting closer and closer. Sometimes I wish I had a safety net.
Hmm. That got kind of deep, and kind of down, which isn’t how I want to feel when I write to you. So it’s up to you, Anastasia. Cheer me up. Tell me what you’re doing on this lazy Sunday.
To: Dex MacLean
From: Stacey Lindholm
Date: November 16, 1:43 p.m.
Subject: Re: Re: PSL Final Tally!
Lazy Sundays are my favorite thing in the world, actually. Right now I’m on my laptop in my parents’ living room, about to watch a movie with my mother. She has a weakness for romantic comedies. If this is part of being in that cage, I don’t mind it so much.
Shut your mouth about PSLs. They make me happy. No support group needed, thank you very much.
Obligation, huh? You may be on to something there. You’re right, it’s tricky when it comes to family. Sometimes I wish
“Stacey?”
I jumped at the sound of Mom’s voice and closed my laptop. “Yeah, Mom.” I put my laptop on the coffee table and got off the living room couch. “You need me to get the popcorn bowl?”
“You know it. Come in here, Tall Girl.”
I had to laugh. I’d outgrown my mother by about an inch when I hit the tenth grade, but I’d stopped growing not long after that, topping out around five foot five. In no way did that make me a tall girl.
But I went into the kitchen anyway. “You could put the bowl somewhere else, you know.” I stretched on my toes to tease at the edge of it until I’d moved it far enough off the top of the fridge for it to tumble into my hands. “Somewhere you can reach.”
She shrugged and got the bag of popcorn out of the microwave. “Why do I need do that when I have you?”
“True.” I nodded slowly, trying to keep my expression neutral. There it was. She didn’t mean anything by it. She didn’t know about the email conversation I’d just been having. But just the same I felt myself nudging against the bars of that golden cage. “But you might not always.”
“What do you mean?” Mom raised her eyebrows. “You going somewhere?”
She had me there. “No . . .” I hated how heavy my heart felt in my chest when I said that. “But I might, you know.” It was a small thing: the tiniest of pushes against those golden bars. At least it was a start.
“Of course. But no rush, honey. Take your time. And until then, you can get the popcorn bowl down for me.” She patted my cheek as only a mother could as she took the bowl from my hands.
Take my time. Right. What did I expect?
Back in the living room, I moved my laptop off the coffee table while Mom picked up the remote. “Working on anything important?” She nodded toward my laptop as she pointed the remote at the television.
“That? No.” I glanced at my laptop. “Just some wedding stuff for Emily.” The lie slipped easily from my mouth, and my heart pounded. I didn’t lie to my mother. I never had. But what was I supposed to say? I’m bitching about you to a guy I used to bang but who is now a long-distance pen pal that I spill my secrets to?
If she noticed my lie, she didn’t say. “She’s so on top of everything, isn’t she?” She settled back onto the couch next to me, scrolling through the movie selections. “She runs that book club of hers with an iron fist.”
The thought of Emily distracted me from my anxiety and even made me laugh. “That’s