When I was 17 and a senior in high school I decided to do this play called The Music Man. I sang in Glee Club and chorale and I didn't want to audition because I was terrified to solo, but Sister Jeanette, the director, told me I could just read lines. She said, "Kristen, be as funny as I know you are." I was cast as the mayor's Balzac-busting wife, Eulalie Mackechnie Shinn, the least sexy role in the history of unsexy roles, but a funny one, so it felt like a big victory. I got to make over-the-top ridiculous choices, sing off-key, and just generally play the anti-ingénue at every turn. As I've mentioned, I went to an all-girls' high school, so we'd borrow boys from the area all-boys' schools for the male roles. Rehearsals were already underway when Brian got cast in the barbershop quartet. I'd had a distant crush on him for years but when he strode in with his patchworked jeans and his rainbow guitar strap and his ultra-kinetic eyebrows it was game over. It's a very particular thing, to fall in love in a theater, high school or not, over weeks and months of rehearsals. Theater people will know what I'm saying. Ours was not a straight and narrow path, as most love cannot be--we went to different colleges and did our best to stay together, but we met and loved other people, and we continued to love each other, and we fought our way through so many strange lands. I can't write it all, one day I will write it all. The thing that's nice about being from the same place, calling the same place home, is that we have it wherever we go. I was home in Philly and I was home in Georgia and I'm home in Alabama. Loving is a home, being loved is a home. We started from the catacombs of Merion Mercy and now we're here.