This is a story from a sum­mer in Duned­in in 1998 when the pos­sib­il­it­ies were end­less for Anya and her best friends. They have jobs at a cafe. They have their own space to share. The Back­street Boys are at their peak. Enriched with exquis­ite details about Duned­in and inter­cut with asides about the state of bicul­tur­al­ism in the deep south this is a beau­ti­ful show about friend­ship, belong­ing, hap­pi­ness and sor­row.

Anya Tate-Man­ning and co-cre­at­or and dir­ect­or Iso­bel MacKin­non, with dram­at­urgy by Jo Rander­son, have care­fully con­struc­ted a story that com­bines the dis­tant past and the past. It slips between laughter and tears, between the sub­lime and the mundane. It evokes the intense optim­ism of teen­agers along with the sense of deep rela­tion­ships that can be forged when there’s been a lot of time spent talk­ing stuff with each oth­er.

At the begin­ning Tate-Man­ning breath­lessly describes some of the back­ground to the story. Her speed talk­ing sweeps us up into her tight-knit group of friends. A chalk board (set and AV by Meg Rollandi) provides the sur­face for what becomes a recog­nis­ably Duned­in back­drop. The pacing slows once the back­story has been filled in which allows us to sink into the glor­i­ous and too real world Tate-Man­ning describes for us.

It’s an emo­tion­al story, with all of the attend­ing human foibles, told won­der­fully. Bring tis­sues.