On the Road: The Best Band the World

People say it’s like Almost Famous. You’re touring with a band? It’s like Almost Famous. I say that it is like Almost Famous but not.

In the fall in New England the leaves turn fiery orange and red in a way different from the Midwest, different from the South. The breeze is cool and soft and even can be cold so you wear a sweatshirt or at least a cardigan, and you wander through the streets of Northampton, Massachusetts and buy a cup of coffee.

I remember being in Northampton with Kit and Jessica. I remember getting to her house and Kit and I sitting on the couch, Kit opening a bottle of wine, at noon, and I returning an hour later to Kit asleep and then sitting on the couch and reading, and Kit waking and it Sunday and us watching football on the couch. I remember Jessica coming in with crackers and honey-crisp apple and cheese. I remember Kit sharing the good, red, Spanish wine with me. I remember how well the wine went with the cheese. I remember Jess making dinner for us. I remember sitting down with her and Kit and having a second glass of the Spanish wine. I remember trying to make them laugh and I remember saying things about nicknames that you’ll find out when you read the book.

I remember never having better hospitality.

I remember being called family.

It’s not like Almost Famous.

I don’t remember trying cocaine. I don’t remember bare breasts from groupies. I don’t remember night after night of drunkenness. I don’t remember eating grand meals or being waited upon.

I remember playing Barbies with Sophia and Adeline.

I remember eating pizza.

I remember staying at Tyrone Wells’ house and the beds made up for us throughout the house. I remember getting to his house and the cookies and snacks and breakfast the next morning.

I remember Boots and I taking the Subway to Manhattan and watching a movie. I remember Cousin and I laughing until we could not breathe properly. I remember Skunk and I eating sushi—I remember a few of these. I remember eating Pop-Tarts and drinking whole milk and crafting emails with Kit. I remember going to a concert with Sam for the concert and realizing quickly that being with Sam was far better then the concert.

I remember feeling alone in Montana.

In Carrboro.

In Southern California.

In Austin.

In New York.

I remember that when you are on the road you often feel alone and hollow, but it often isn’t a depressing sort of loneliness, more of a tired, exhausted loneliness. I remember the price you pay for being on the road. I remember the price you pay for the thrill of the road. I remember that a few times the feeling of being alone is very powerful and in the van you feel like you are the only one in the world.

I remember figuring out that my faith carries me. I remember discovering that I might life would have ended, undoubtedly, in suicide if it had not been for the grace of Jesus Christ. I remember seeing that loving Jesus leads to a deeper love for people. I remember that we love because He first loved us.

On the road, I remember the day-by-day growing sureness of my faith.

Drunk in New York, feeling like shit, I remember: my God still loves me.

I remember loving Stephen, and Jess, and Kit, and Boots, and Sam.

I remember loving them because Jesus loved them and I see His face in them.

I remember praying for them every day.

With love,
h