Mile 800-something, still sheltering in urban Colorado: last night I went to Boulder for Local Theater Company’s production of Discount Ghost Stories. Four Colorado ghosts sing you their lives in folk-rock and of course each one of them is a tragedy. The old west has never been America’s best look, but I suppose that’s why we’ve needed to mythologize it.
The venue is outside so you have beautiful evening air and a wall of roses to one side (the producer told me they had just bloomed this week). The actors’ subtle makeup reads as a shadow skull imposed over their faces, saving them from caricature. The cast never had a moment without an instrument in hand and they were flawless. No slips or flat notes meant that I was with the ghosts in the bardo until that final round of applause broke the spell.
The one song that just gutted me had incorporated part of the cowboy song O Bury Me Not on the Lone Prairie. When I was younger, my dad would torture us kids with his terrible music, but the joke’s on me because I’ve come to love the Sons of the Pioneers (weird, huh?) and O Bury Me Not in particular. Being on this trip, my first as a solo traveler, on a motorcycle, and with the luxury of so much time is giving me all the feels, so I never stood a chance. The allusion to Bury Me Not made within a song already so mournful – I hoped the tears it jerked out of me wouldn’t leave my eyes too red.
What made the special show even more so was the producer Alison. I had called earlier that day to see if I could buy tickets at the door. I didn’t want to commit yet. The plan was that I’d take the bike to Boulder from Denver but the idea of all that traffic gave me doubts, along with the problem of lodging and the fact that I wouldn’t get back to Denver until Thursday morning. But to miss this would be me passing up something I dearly wanted, a play that promised to be something I hadn’t seen before, something I hadn’t been able to get since settling in South Dakota. The Flatiron Flyer was the solution – a bus to Boulder with late night runs.
I had spent the day wandering the touristy part of Boulder before meeting my good friend Laura for drinks. We updated each other on life – she left Boston around the same time a bunch of us did. There’s never enough time, even when you have four months of it, so my plans seem to be curling back around Denver when September hits.
Back to Alison. I went to Trident bookseller and cafe where the show was being held. (Seems like this Trident is the same kind of thing as the one in Boston? Minus the stage, that is.) I asked to buy my ticket and one of the women manning the door asked if I had called earlier. I had. “You were the one who called me back?” She said she was.
“I was going to text, but you said you wanted a phone call.” Of course I didn’t pick up when she called, we joked, because hers was a California number I didn’t recognize. I regret I didn’t ask her about that. There’s always a good story behind a far flung area code settled somewhere new.
She said she was so glad I was able to make it and generously seated me with her friends who she thought I would enjoy meeting. I did, immensely. I probably talked too much about myself, but the kind of trip I’m making is an irresistible object of reflection for nearly everyone I’ve encountered. By the end of the evening I had two more guardian spirits invested in my travels. It’s almost shocking how easily such care can be given and accepted, something I hope I’ll remember off the road.
The biggest epiphany for me was how Alison’s friend Blythe, upon hearing about my trip asked where in my thirties I was. She was so incisive and wanted to know how she knew. I have a lot of thoughts about that but I want to sit with them a while longer.
After the show I talked to Alison about the production and about the company and then we parted ways. On the way back to the bus station I swore I would remember some of the songs to sing to myself later, but of course I didn’t. This morning I’m singing O Bury Me Not which isn’t the worst way to go into Thursday.
Go, Haley, Go! 