On The Light Guy’s Handwriting

I’ve made countless trips up and down the gigantic ladder since Friday; the lights for the show are coming along, one trip at a time. They aren’t perfect or finished, but what (or who) is?

From my very first show in Rushville, way back in the spring of 2006, I’ve loved the lights. I hung at the fringes of light programming (read: looked over Mark’s shoulder) for several years, fascinated. Things clicked.

Things clicked for Cooper, too. Unlike Logan and Cass, Coop had NO desire to be on stage, but enjoyed being involved. He stuck with lights all through school and could usually be coerced into coming back to help me in the post-Mark days when I was in charge of lights.

It’s not been uncommon to find gels with Coop’s handwriting in my collection of gels, but I hadn’t touched those gels since spring of 2020, when Coop was still alive. Today, I fished out a handful of R04–trusty ole Medium Bastard Amber—and there it was. Cooper’s handwriting, in my hand.

It left me breathless. For a moment, I turned away from the students working onstage and clutched that silly orange scrap of plastic to my heart. A few deep breaths, some “I can do this, I can do this” talking to myself, a couple Etch-a-Sketch-clearing head shakes, and I pulled it together. I did not come undone. Could’ve. Didn’t.

Honestly, it was a bittersweet flash, a happy memory colliding with this unwelcome reality.

Handwriting is just so personal, so individual.

At the top of the gym from cafe-gym-atorium fame, on the beam above the light bar, there’s a small scrawled signature. In true Cooper fashion, the signature is understated. Unless you know it’s there, you wouldn’t notice the writing from the gym floor, but it’s there. I know it’s there, and I looked for it every year.

Realistically, I’ll never be face-to-beam again. I know that signature is there, but I’ll never again spot Cooper’s signature on the beam and laugh at his farewell to the space. I hope nobody paints over his single attempt at graffiti, but one day they will.

So, I hope I come across more gels with that handwriting, more connections to Cooper and this task we shared.

This week, I feel his presence and his absence all at once. I keep climbing that crazily tall stepladder. I’ve had to repeat Friday’s foray to the next-to-last step several times now, and I’ve cussed Cooper every single time. And every single time, I’ve reminded myself I can do this; I’ve already done this.

Each trip to the top is scary, but not as terrifying as that first trip. I think the cussing probably helps, right?

I just miss my light guy.