On A Gigantic Stepladder

I could write some fluffy, alliterative piece about today, but it’s Friday of an exhausting, caustic week. One of those weeks. Instead, I’m keeping it short and snarky and attaching a Snapchat picture—captions and all—because I like it better than the other photo option. Salty Friday attitude, I guess.

Today I started working on lights, my strength and favorite part of any show. I’m not sure I’ve done lights at The Phoenix Opera House, our venue for this show, without Cooper. Cooper, who was five or six inches taller than I am. Cooper, who “walked” the giant stepladder across the room instead of climbing up and down. Cooper. My light guy.

I’m also not sure I’d ever been to the top of that ladder; I’d never had to climb that one. Not until today. I’m not afraid of giant stepladders, but when I get to the last two steps, I get a little nervous. This is where some extra height would’ve helped. Those long arms of Cooper’s could reach the outlets. I have to climb so high that everything from the knees up is above the ladder.

So there I am, a little bit of Tonya pressed against the ladder, a whole lot of Tonya in the air, and one arm wrapped around a light bar for stability.

And that’s when the chanting and cussing started. “I’m not afraid. I’m not afraid. I can do this. I am not afraid. Dammit anyway, Cooper. You could reach that outlet. Yes I am too afraid. Shithead. I am not afraid. This is nothing. I can do this. I do NOT like this.”

I got the light plugged in. I’ll get the others configured, too. I even walked the ladder a few feet and smiled at how Coop used to scare me by doing the same. It seems so silly now; I worried about the wrong stuff.

I wonder if he’d be proud of me for getting up there today, or if he’d just think it was about damn time.