Chapter 31 #3
Sucking in a breath, I took a slight pause and huffed.
He nodded at me in support, and I handed him my drink without thinking, groaning inwardly as I made my way to the stage.
Whispers quickly rose amongst the crowd, but someone cleared their throat loudly and a quiet hush fell upon the party.
The silence was worse. I was absolutely terrified.
I wasn’t a performer, not to a crowd of a few thousand anyway.
Deep down, I knew it wasn’t the thousands that scared me; it was one.
I reluctantly took the guitar the band leader handed me. A black Fender Stratocaster.
“David, by the way,” he said, introducing himself the rest of the band while I checked out the guitar and the mic.
“Well,” he asked, what’ll it be?”
I realized he was asking me to pick the next song.
I thought for a moment and then whispered the song to him and the rest of the band. He gave me a lopsided grin. “Lead. We’ll jump in once we pick it up.”
I nodded, gaining a little more confidence.
“All right, guys, you heard her.”
I strummed the pick along all six strings.
I hadn’t gotten Penelope a gift and hoped this birthday present would be worthy of the occasion.
It was the first song I had ever mastered, the first lyrics I memorized before I had even learned to talk properly.
My father had been so proud of his little rockstar princess as he called me.
It was his original composition, from a time before a wife and kids.
Some of it was in Armenian, some in Farsi. All of it was special.
Just before the lights dimmed, I looked at Pen, and she gave me the biggest smile, and I knew the humiliation was going to be worth it.
There’s a rule that when on stage, whether it’s performing a play, or poetry, or singing, that one should not close their eyes.
Instead, the objective is to find a focal point and perform to it, whatever it may be.
The idea behind it is to be exposed, vulnerable, and in this way establish a connection with those watching and strengthen it as the performance goes on.
I didn’t care about any of this and let them close.
For me, the connection had always been to the instrument: the pick, the keys, the strings and then to the words.
It was never about anything else. Especially tonight, with the weight of a thousand or more eyes on me, I needed the to feel myself layering the sounds, syncing the melodies, not performing the motions.
This was where I had always found my peace.
I wasn’t much for people or an audience, but music had gotten me through the toughest years of my life.
I had lost some of that passion but tonight, with my guitar complimenting David’s bass and the subtle baritone of his accompanying vocals, I felt some of that old magic every time I strummed a note or landed a riff.
We got to the last solo, and I played with a lightness I had forgotten. My eyes opened but faces were unimportant.
After a few moments, the audience blurred into nothing, the band disappeared, and it was just me and the guitar.
I played with every fiber in my soul. I began to relax, letting each strum take me further and further away.
I was in my safe space, my own world. Nothing and no one could hurt me while I was there.
I got brave enough to focus on the crowd, expecting to see an impression of faces.
A lone figure stood out. With one hand hitched in his pocket, he looked just as oblivious about those around him as I did.
He took a sip of my drink and raised his eyebrows at me, daring me to glance away.
But I didn’t. I held his eyes for the rest of the song and watched them grow darker and darker until they were nothing but glossy pools of blackest night.
I knew it was my mind being entranced by the rhythm, but it felt so real.
This singular moment, this connection… I didn’t want the spell to break, and I made the split-second decision to go off script.
Falling to my knees, I extended the riff where the song should have ended.
I held my guitar upright, beating the strings.
David and the band did not disappoint, keeping up with my improv, turning the concert into a jam session.
The lights dimmed even more, and a spotlight lit the two of us up until I hit the last chord with a final burst of ferocity.
An apoplectic finale of strobe lights and smoke brought our performance to a satisfying close.
I was out of breath when David helped me up.
“Epic!” His voice rang out. “Take a bow, Arax.”
And I did, feeling shockwaves from the uproarious applause of the audience.
It was an exhilarating experience, but I was spent, borderline nauseated.
I had gotten swept up in the excitement, the music, and in him, and I was crashing.
My heart was racing, so I quickly exited through the back of the stage and ran up the perimeter of the property, where there were fewer people. I needed a moment to collect myself.
I didn’t stop until I got to the deck, leaning on the railing to catch my breath. There was no one there but me, and I welcomed the chance for solitude.