That night the bus rolled toward the next city.
Most everyone else talked.
Laughed.
Played cards.
I found a seat by the window. Watching the highway disappear into the darkness.
I couldn't stop smiling.
Twenty-four hours earlier...
I was sitting at home wondering what this was all going to be like.
Now...
I was riding a tour bus to another city.
It didn't seem real.

I think that was the first time I realized music could open doors I'd never even imagined.
Some of those doors led exactly where I'd hoped...
into my dreams.
Others...
I'd learn to wish I'd never opened. Nobody tells you that success changes people.
Not all at once.
Little by little.
One standing ovation.
One autograph.
One compliment.
One opportunity.
Until one day...
you look back...
and realize you're no longer the same kid who climbed onto the bus.

By the second concert...
things didn't feel quite so overwhelming. I still got butterflies before I walked on stage.
I hope I always do.
But once I stepped into the lights...
it started feeling familiar.

Every city was different.
The routine wasn't.
Load in.
Sound check.
A little time to kill.
The concert.
Meet people afterward.
Load out.
Drive through the night.
Wake up somewhere new.
Then do it all over again.

Funny thing is...
it didn't take long before it all started feeling normal. That probably should have scared me a little.
It didn't.
I loved every minute of it.

The guys treated me like one of the band.
They joked with me.
Picked on me.
Taught me little things that had nothing to do with music.
How to pack quicker.
How to stay organized.
How to be ready before somebody had to ask. Nobody ever sat me down and gave me a lecture.
They just lived it.
And I watched.
I learned as much from watching those men as I did from listening to them.

Every night...
people waited after the concert.
Some wanted to talk about the music.
Some wanted an autograph.
Some just wanted to shake my hand.
And yes...
there were always girls.
Quite a few of them.
At first...
it all felt unbelievable.
Then...
without even realizing it...
it began to feel expected.
That's the dangerous part.
Not because I suddenly thought I was somebody special. Because extraordinary things quietly started feeling ordinary. Nobody wakes up one morning and decides to become arrogant. It happens one "Great show" at a time. One standing ovation at a time.
One autograph at a time.
One pretty girl at a time. I don't think success changed me overnight.
It whispered to me.
Night after night.
City after city.
Until one day...
I stopped hearing the whisper.
Because it had become my own voice. The biggest changes weren't happening where anybody else could see them.
They were happening inside me.
And at fifteen...
I didn't recognize them.

Just like that...
it was over.
Five concerts.
A couple of weeks that felt more like a lifetime.
One last load out.
One last ride on the bus.
One last hotel.
One last breakfast with the guys. Funny how quickly people can start feeling like family.
The goodbyes weren't long.
Musicians aren't very good at long goodbyes.
There were handshakes.
A few hugs.
A lot of smiles.
One of the guys slapped me on the shoulder.
"Keep playing."
Another one grinned.
"We'll be seeing you."
At fifteen...
I never doubted that for a second.

Dad met me where we'd agreed. I tossed my overnight bag into the back seat.
Laid my guitar beside it.
Then climbed in.
"Well?" he asked with a grin.
I smiled.
"It went pretty good."
He laughed.
"That's it?"
I shrugged.
"Well..."
"What all do you want to hear about?"

That was apparently all the invitation he needed.
For the next hour...
the car became my audience.
I told him everything.
The concerts.
The crowds.
The bus.
The hotels.
The music.
The people.
The applause.
The girls.
Everything.
I talked...
and Dad listened.

Funny...
I don't remember much about the rest of the drive home. I remember looking out the window. I remember how tired I suddenly felt. I slept most of the way home. I've often wondered what Dad was thinking while I slept. He'd just watched his fifteen-year-old son step into a world neither of us had ever imagined.
Maybe he was proud.
Maybe he was excited.
Maybe he was worried.
Maybe...
he was all three.
I never asked.
I wish I had.

When we finally pulled into the driveway...
everything looked exactly the way I'd left it.
The house.
The yard.
The garden.
Willow Creek.
Nothing had changed.
At least...
nothing I could see.
The biggest changes...
were happening inside me.
I just didn't know it yet.

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