“I love touring. I’m so lucky to work here,” is the mantra you repeat in your head as you scurry around backstage. Going from what feels like days of sitting around on tour buses and airplanes to the sudden onslaught of a show day gives you emotional whiplash. Being your usual perfectionist self, you feel the need to help in any way possible. Which means every department suddenly needs something. And you can’t say no, right?
At the moment, you are hauling sound equipment from the trucks to the stage. As you hurry along, panting from the effort of moving quickly while carrying something so heavy, you nearly run over Alex.
“Where’s the fire?” he chuckles, shifting to the side to give you room. Instead of coming back with a witty retort, or at least apologizing, you glare at Alex. His face falls as he watches you disappear around the corner. Shit.
You set down the equipment in its appropriate spot, and pause to surreptitiously wipe away the sweat forming on your upper lip. You put your hands on your hips, taking a moment to catch your breath. Crew members flit around, making the stage resemble the set the audience has come to love. Guilt gnaws at you, pulling your eyebrows and corners of your mouth down into a grimace. With a heavy sigh, you wind your way through the back of the arena, intent on finding Alex and apologizing.
You find him in one of the dressing rooms, sitting on the couch and plucking away at one of his acoustic guitars. You hesitate in the doorway, biting your lip. He looks so content, shoulders hunched as he concentrates. He makes those little emotive expressions you love, the ones he only makes when he’s playing his guitar. You start to back out of the doorway, but he looks up suddenly.
“Hey kiddo,” he smiles warmly at you. He stops playing, the last note ringing out as he rests his arms on the side of his guitar. “How’s it going?”
“Alright,” you shrug, wishing you could get this stupid frown off of your face. “I, um, I wanted to apologize for earlier. I snapped at you when I shouldn’t have, it was really-”
“Say no more,” Alex waved his hand. He shifted on the couch, and indicated the empty spot next to him with a nod of his head. “C’mon, have a seat. You’ve been working yourself to death.”
“Just about,” you huff a big sigh and collapse onto the couch. You can feel him looking at you, but you focus your gaze on the top of the door. You lean your head back, some of the tension easing out of your body. But you’re anxiety manifests itself in your right foot, which begins to tap quickly on the cement floor. You listen as Alex begins to strum mindlessly on the guitar. At first it sounds like random chords, but then you realize he’s playing along to the shapeless beat of your tapping foot. Embarrassed, you pull your legs up and rest your feet on the coffee table. You and Alex exchange a glance, grinning. He continues to play, and you close your eyes. The melody is slow and calming, and more tension oozes out from your body. But that damn frown is still there, and you can feel your forehead crease from worry lines.
The notes change to a familiar tune. Alex is playing the opening chords of Tom Sawyer, but still at a slow pace, maintaining the calm atmosphere in the room. Suddenly, his serene expression contorts into the most ridiculous look you’ve seen on his face, which is saying something.
“TODAY’S TOM SAWYEE MEAN MEAN PRIDE,” Alex screeches, mimicking Geddy’s high voice, “TOM SAWYEE MEAN FUCKING GUY. FUCK HIM, THAT FUCKING SON OF A-”
You double over with laughter, the sound even louder than the chords Alex had just played. He barks out a laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners. He watches as you gasp for breath.
“What the fuck?” you manage to squeak out, which doubles both of your laughter. Alex nearly drops his guitar, but manages to set it down gently on the coffee table. You subside into a few giggles, wiping away the happy tears that started spilling from your eyes.
“Feel better?” Alex asks, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. You lean your head against him, shaking both of you as you let out a few more giggles.
“Yes, you dork,” you pat his knee. Geddy and Neil appear in the doorway, wearing twin looks of confusion on their faces.
“Are you skinning cats in here?” Geddy asks. This makes you and Alex erupt into laughter again. Neil shakes his head.
“I don’t even want to know,” he mutters, but he’s grinning as he and Geddy leave you and Alex, now collapsed on the couch in silent fits of laughter.
