Act One:

Five days before I flew away, Laura and I performed The Last Five Years.

It took five minutes and a handshake to reserve the Arctic Bar patio. Tom Thompson donated the equipment. Brooke & Cyrus helped run the event, making announcements and collecting donations. Our friends came.

The Arctic Bar patio is in the center of town, perched above the Pacific Ocean to watch the tide roll in and retreat. As we performed, the rain fell around us and darkness hugged us close: water from the sky met the water of the ocean with petite but constant drip, drip, drips.

We didn’t sing perfectly, we didn’t get every lyric verbatim. I had a cold and Laura had a cry before we started. But we sang ourselves silly.

The music of Jason Robert Brown transported me to the small screen of my iPod classic: Christmas in Seattle, 2006. I listened to the opening song, “Still Hurting,” as I lay on the bottom bunk in the basement of a house in Lynnwood, Washington. The music of The Last Five Years serenaded me through college and post-college. I knew every lyric, every lick of Sherie René Scott and Norbert Leo Butz as they traversed the melodies of Jason Robert Brown.

I met The Last Five Years soundtrack in Birmingham, AL, in 2006. I sang it on a deck of Arctic Bar in Ketchikan, AK, in 2016.

The Last Five Years accompanied me through the last ten poignant, poetic, tragic years.

Folks donated ~$600 to support the charity WISH (Women in Safe Houses). Friends came out and clapped at the end of each song. Some people pointed their phones at us, snapchatting or instagram? Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves. One guy rang the bell and bought everyone in the bar a free drink.

The Last Five Years is my favorite musical, Ketchikan is my favorite summer (so far), and dreams do realize.

– – – – –

Act Two:

On my last day in Ketchikan, I participated in Stories from Latitude 56.

The title makes me think of Farenheit 451, it sounds serious.
But Latitude 56 is simply Ketchikan’s spot on the map, latitudinally speaking.

Jack from SAIL invited me to share an 8 minute story, the theme being: Tools of Trade.

I heard the theme, Tools of Trade, and I knew my story. Coffee. Executive Assistant. Depression. Happiness. Coffee.

If I could do 15 minutes at Laughing Skull for STAND-UP, I could do 8 minutes of storytelling. I tell stories all the time, right? We all do.

The day before, I practiced on the mic at the art gallery. It was weird because it was just for Jack, sitting in a room that was hot with white can lights, hotter than a dutch oven, and the piled-up thoughts stockpiling out of my brainmouth* as if I’m hearing them for the first time. *Brainmouth is a term I just invented, with my brainmouth.
The rehearsal felt like a performance, I felt awkward. In a very Jack-Director way, he offered feedback: “How does the middle relate to the beginning and end? I don’t see how they connect.” I care what Jack from SAIL thinks. I want him to be impressed. My tendency is to seize up as I receive suggestions, saying “this is the first time I’ve run through it, etc.” But I try to accept the feedback, not to seize up.

Did I mention it was hot as an Arabian rug shop in there?

On Sunday, I feel unrehearsed. I’ve been packing, throwing things out, cleaning, returning library books and saying goodbyes. Walking back and forth the Ohashi galley like I’m a guard on rotation. My last day of work was Saturday (the day before). I didn’t have time to mold the story into, well, a rehearsed thing. A piece of art. Oh well, it will not be a sculpture, it will just have to be a story. So, I get to the cafe an hour early and I sit in Amanda’s car, repeating the story, mentally rearranging and repeating the same line same line same line until I have it. “In Order to Be Successful, You Must Have the Perfect Cup of Coffee. In Order to Have a Successful Cup of Coffee, It Requires the Following..”

I’ve never been in a storytelling event, I haven’t even attended one. I mean I’ve been to a million but not under that cover.

Negotiating with my nerves, “Hey this is just storytelling, this doesn’t have to be an Tony-winning performance. In fact, it doesn’t have to be a performance period,” I walk into the coffee shop. I see green-sweatered Jack from SAIL, THE Heidi Poet, Permasmiling Jeff Fitzwater and others.
I’m glad I don’t have to do a mic check, that way it will just come out like I’m telling it for the first time in this space.

Bill runs through his, and I see that he is flipping through his memories like a rolodex; he has not molded or crafted a story with elements. He is recounting details. He is an important man about town, he co-owns the local grocery store where I shop. He recounts memories about floods and burglars and new roofs.

I order a chai latte, the event starts. Heidi goes first. I knew her speech also involved java. She mentions being from Ketchikan, her family’s expectations, her departure from those expectations. She was never interested in a job that made her a lot of money. She came back to Ketchikan and got her dream job of being a barista.
She goes into great detail about the machine that roasts the beans. I can’t remember the name. I am entranced by the timbre of her voice, I lose track of what she is saying. But I am nonetheless under her spell. Her name is Heidi Poet for God’s sake.

Naturally, the storytellers will be compared to each other. So I compare and feel assured that my story will be strong, interesting. I don’t feel nervous about going up. I notice how casually everyone is dressed. But I’m still anxious at the same time.

Heidi finishes her story, being romanced by the coffee bean. Joey goes: Bartender. Bartender stories. Bill goes: Grocery Store Stories (remember: tools of trade) (Remember- I do not have a trade).
So I approach the microphone, maybe that’s my “tool of trade”? A Microphone? Nevermind, I start.
I’m hugged by the eyes of many friends throughout the L-shaped room, myself at the elbow.

Colleen, Julie, Jazmin and Claire on the floor. Ria, and Brie, straight back, Jack somewhere near the coffee. Cyrus and Laura to the right, sitting on stools by the window. I’m lucky to know these people. I’m lucky that they came, some from just seeing the poster and me not even mentioning.

They’re like floating speech bubbles of comfort in my periphery, anchoring me as I aim and shoot each sentence rapid fire.

The landscape of Alaska is peacocking behind us as we speak. 8 months of downpour for 4 months of glory.

I think my plight echoes that struggle, the uphill climb of downpour until you reach summer.

The story I tell is of a 26 year who got a job as an Executive Assistant (EA) because she needed health insurance and makes politically correct coffee everyday for her politically incorrect boss. Grind the beans 5 2-tbsp scoops, wet the filter, heat the metal bar, heat the carafe, load the machine with chlorine-free filtered water, heat the cup, heat the cream in the cup, pour half a packet of splenda in the cup, froth the cream, stir the brewed coffee to distribute the strength of the brew, pour the coffee over the cream, hand-deliver it to your boss. Pandering to suits, managing calendars, wearing a smiling face and work pants with no training, no interaction, no direction. 
But before that time, she was not having a fun go. She got her degree in theatre, tried teaching, starting an interior design business, taught theatre, worked children’s science camps, all the while being underscored by a depression that felt like watching Eugene O’Neill’s Long Day’s Journey Into Night. It just keeps going and going, monologue after monologue. This bottomed out to intensive treatment for depression, sitting in art therapy classes with hallucinating clients. She quit, went to Europe as a bucket list trip and had dinner with a friend in Istanbul. That friend said: Work in Alaska! It will be a great experience. She applied to all three branches of one company and heard back from the Ketchikan Port.

This summer was not easy: she lost her Grandmother, her intravenous honey drip. But something surprised her this summer: not only did she feel normal, which she didn’t think was possible, she felt happy. (a few people in the audience even started to clap!)

She is not insured. She is still searching. Her old boss has a private plane now, she has floatplanes, bitches! And even though she doesn’t work in that company anymore, she still appreciates the perfect cup of coffee.

This was my story. I sat down with my friends, the event ended.

There’s another story being told: it’s that I am at a storytelling event in little Ketchikan on my last day. I leave tomorrow. It’s been 8 years since I graduated college. I’ve been at some kind of ‘trade’ for those 8 years. This is the first summer it came together into a glorious crescendo of joy.

If I could start this summer over and relive it, I would jump at the chance. (Except for Nana’s passing).
And I’ve never said that about anything.

One friend walked up to me with tears, told me she would miss me. She was moved. She was emotional. I was touched by her emotion, I think she is such a wonderful lady and embracing that beauty as she finds herself. It punctuated my story to see her emotion. I was emotional about my story, but felt all of the things too much to cry.

I hugged my precious friends, several locals chatted with me and wished me well. I told Jack from SAIL I had a present for him, a coffee grinder as his machine broke.

I was so grateful for the story wider than this storytelling event, the panorama, the trajectory, the beautiful landscape and what I’ve traversed not only this summer, but this decade.

– – – – – – –

Act Three:

Later that evening, I sang a song for a Fisherman Friend. It was my farewell.

Our connection evolved from a crush to a friendship during the season. He has a kid. His kid called me his mom once in public. WOMB DROP. Like a mic drop, but it’s your womb. Show over.

I couldn’t say “I cared about you very much, ya weirdo.” Well I could. But I wanted to sing him a song.

I chose Stars and the Moon which is also, oddly enough, by Jason Robert Brown. I promise I love other composers.

I first met Stars and the Moon in Atlanta at Westminster’s Theatre Intensive in the summer of 2003, the year before my high school graduation. The chorus was one of my “senior quotes” in the yearbook. That was 13 years ago.

I went through each verse, each story:

“I Met a Man Who Had No Dollar to His Name/Who Had No Trace of Any Value But His Smile… ”

“I Met a Man Who Lived His Life Out on the Road/Who Left a Wife and Kids in Portland, on a Whim.. ”

“I Met a Man Who Had a Fortune in the Bank/Who Had Retired at Age 30, Set for Life.. ”

The song ends: ” And I Thought ‘My God,’ I’ll Never Have – – – the Moon.”

– – – – –

I HAVE THE MOON. I HAVE THE SUN THE MOON AND THE STARS.

I HAD MY SUMMER IN KETCHIKAN. I FELT ALIVE, I FELT HAPPY. I CUDDLED A FISHERMAN. I CAUGHT HALIBUT. I WATCHED WHALES. I LOVED MY JOB. I HIKED MOUNTAINS FOR PETE’S SAKE. I DREAMED IN COLOR. I LIVED IN SONG.

What is it the stories say? Beauty happens in threes.

– – – – – –

The Encore:

After a most eventful day, both task-y and art-y and snuggle-y, friends congregated at Julie and Colleen’s. For my last day in Ketchikan, I wouldn’t have wanted to spend it anywhere else.

We did Love Museum and I shared with them the events of the day. The “Thank you for the Dance” note, the t-shirt. The Song. My departure. Peace Corps.

We went around the room toasting to our Love Museums, our personal triumphs and losses in the way of love, stopping at the exhibits constructed through story to gaze, laugh, ooo and aaaa. One friend in particular racked up quite the filofax of experience over the summer. Another is in a committed relationship across the country. Another is married to her love, Rudy Romaine (such a good story). Another is engaged to a man in Hawaii. And Julie and Colleen, they met in Ketchikan and they are engaged. Jazmin just got a glorious tattoo. Glorious.

As we left, Colleen stuck a note in my cheese bag (that’s a bag of cheese, yes). She said “I know you won’t lose it this way!”

We giggled ourselves into the wee morning hours (something I rarely did this summer- early work hours!) and went home for sleep, which I did not do, until it was time to leave the next morning. Jazmin and I shared my twin bed. I was comforted by her presence, more than I can say.

This post is dedicated to my Claire. She gave me a Wm Spear pin on the day before I left. Her heart and spirit will elevate me in an entirely new latitude.