every night of Band in Seattle is like going through a relationship.
you start out aflutter and determined. you rush into every task with boundless energy. you take them out to eat and you laugh and laugh at inside jokes. you work hard to prepare everything, and it takes blood sweat and tears to do it right. you have to learn and relearn lessons you learned from your stories in books or on TV. you tentatively tell them, “I like you a lot” and, “I would really miss you if you went away.” you’re setting up mics, chairs, the band, the bar.
and then. then it begins, for real, that first “I love you” (or, perhaps, the cue). YES. INTOXICATION. you’re riding high, edgy and nervous and exhilarated, hitting your marks. you fumble sometimes; you didn’t get much of a chance to warm up, or maybe it’s been a little while. you get handsy. and oh, the music is right, and oh, you’re a little sweaty, and the climax of the show washes over you.
intermission. maybe you’re apart for a few days (or just twenty-some minutes). a deep weariness overcomes you. you can’t imagine doing all of that again, riding the emotional roller coaster, staying on your feet for another whole journey. you gulp something down, shiver in the cold for a smoke. you commiserate with your friends and peers. why am I doing this? you wonder. is this right for me? is this really what I’m destined to do?
you trudge back to them, because you have to. you’ve come this far, haven’t you?
it’s grueling. the doubts keep coming. but there’s a light, many lights, lots of them. shining on you, and shining on them. there are gleams and melodies of hope that this could be – this could be special. this could be something really great. you might be in the right place, at the right time, with the right reasons and rationales. and now you know, one way or the other. this is it, or this is not it.
you shake hands or you embrace. you walk with them or you go your separate ways without much to say. just like that, the long night is over.
in the end, it works or it fails, but you’ve run the gauntlet. you’ve experienced much of the range of human emotions, learned a little something, made compromises, grown for it.
and now all you want to do is fall into bed.