She waits in the dark with a flashlight in her mouth. He bolts through the double doors stage left, already taking off his tunic. She throws him a fresh puff blouse. Quickly, quietly, she works the laces on his doublet as he feathers his arms through the new sleeves. “My wig feels loose,” he whispers. She snatches a bobby pin from her apron and sticks it through his wig lace. “There. You’re good.” The evening marine layer curling between the Eucalyptus Trees over the Balboa Park Festival Stage gives them both gooseflesh. It’s the classic story of boy-meets-girl during a backstage quick change. In the Summer of 2010 Kristin and Christian worked the Shakespeare Festival at The Old Globe in San Diego. She, as a Wig Assistant; He, as an actor. But just as the San Diego Zoo displayed signs which read “don’t feed the animals” Kristin held fast to her own wisdom: don’t date the actors. They both observed that rule for the next two years, neither eager to complicate the work they loved. And in the autumn of 2011, Christian moved to Los Angeles for work. The following year Kristin moved to Austin for Grad School. They stayed in touch on and off through the years as friends with life updates. She started work in User Experience and earned her yoga teaching certificate. He wrote plays and sold screenplays. The Dodgers would make it to the playoffs, and they’d exchange hopes that this year would finally be their year. Then in the Spring of 2019 she planned a last minute trip to Los Angeles to visit a friend. She organized a group outing to Dodger Stadium. She asked Christian if he’d be interested in joining and if so, how many tickets she should reserve. “Just one.” he replied. Her eyebrows went up. She asked him if he’d be interested in getting coffee before the game. He rode his bike to Woodcat Coffee in Echo Park. She wore a Justin Turner jersey and a pink jacket. He hugged her and said, “Has it been eight years?” That night, as LA struggled to keep a lead over the Phillies, they caught up on the finer details of their lives. By the ninth inning it was clear that neither were in committed relationships. Then rookie Will Smith hit his first major league walk-off home run. The celebration was roaring. Christian biked downtown and met Kristin at the bar Seven Grand where they talked for an hour. As he said goodbye in the lobby of the Standard Hotel she kissed him. Or he kissed her. The story changes depending on who you ask. (She kissed him) When he went to get his bike, he found the seat and the carrying case missing. The bike was banged up from where thieves tried to wrestle it from the frame. He didn’t care. Nothing could break the spell he was under. He rode uphill for three miles without a bike seat. Sweating and pedaling, he remembers singing as he rode. They started talking on the phone and agreed that he should visit. Later that summer he flew to Austin. They watched Donnie Darko three times in four days and ate tacos and threw axes and went stand up paddle boarding in a thunderstorm on Lady Bird Lake. He visited her on a work trip in San Francisco. She visited him in Los Angeles later that autumn. They racked up Delta miles, and just when they weren’t quite sure what to make of this budding long distance relationship the pandemic hit. With ample time to spend on the phone he asked, “Do you want to get Nintendos and play Mario Kart?” “Hell yes I do!” She replied. Within the hour they both ordered game consoles. By the weekend Princess Peach was bombing red shells at Yoshi on Rainbow Road. He thinks maybe that’s when he knew. In October of that year Christian packed two suitcases and moved to Austin for the month. He rented an office where he could work and they gave their lives a trial run. They both worked, and did yoga on the weekends, and negotiated meals. They drove to Arlington and watched the Dodgers win Game 3 of the World Series.

Walking the streets in Clarksville, the homes decorated for Halloween, he told her he’d move to Austin if she wanted him to. She said not a chance, she would be moving back to California as she’d always planned. By winter Kristin moved to a new job that would allow her to work fully remote. Then by spring, Christian booked a one way ticket to Austin. They loaded her things onto a moving van and put Zoë and her boxes of kitty litter in the back seat of Kristin’s blue Mini Cooper and they drove west. On the last day of their drive they woke up in Palm Springs. The next one hundred miles would bring them both to Los Angeles. The next one hundred miles would bring them into the same life. As they pulled onto Highway 10 West, past the desert windmills, they looked ahead. They did not know that soon they would foster a rescue dog. That they would each get promotions and new opportunities. They did not know that within the year they would come back to this same desert with an engagement ring in his pocket, and return with it on her finger. They speed west, even now… Up ahead we will watch the crow gracefully land on the sides of our faces— slowly, over the course of decades— touching its toes, then finally its feet, into our skin, there to sing for the rest of our days. Ahead is silver strands of hair and the brilliant ore each one brings. Behind us are the ones who loved us well, and those we loved in return. Below us our mothers and fathers and sisters, below us, there’s that little boy or girl, running through the house, learning to tie his first tie, or raising a bow to a violin resting on her chin. The grey ahead, and the blue, the waving waters of distant bays, the sand that will make its way into our shoes. Ahead the laundry and the stacking mail, the dusty shelves, and the sheets where we will grieve more tears than we knew we could hold, and give each other the arms which will help hold more. Ahead the laughter, ahead the wild smile, even as the gums recede. Ahead the cardboard boxes sealed with packing tape, the doors to new homes opening like a flower, the crack of a baseball bat in summers, the returns to the mat, ahead wet footprints from the tub, the blinking eyes of animals looking to us for warmth, small hands or paws reaching to be steadied. And one day he or she may need help removing a piece of clothing. Or getting into another. They are on their way there even now, to maybe set the teeth, or straighten a wig. There. You’re good. We should all be so lucky. Be there with us, won’t you?