Ten days before opening night Theo Reeves does something that makes me understand exactly who he is underneath the warmth and the easy smile and the coffee appearing from nowhere. He finds me crying in the equipment room. Not the dramatic version of crying. The specific private version I have been doing every morning for a week when the session ends and the company disperses and I have approximately seven minutes before the next thing begins. The version I have been hiding from everyone including Zane because Zane sees everything and I am not ready for him to see this specific thing yet. It is six forty in the morning. The equipment room is empty. I am sitting on the floor behind the second equipment rack with my knees pulled up and my chalk bag beside me and the specific quality of s

