Chapter 47 An Inevitable Encore #2
Ren gives me an incredulous look, his eyebrows raise, eyes wide. “For fucking sure, man. I was significantly outnumbered. They could’ve just yanked me inside and choked me out and no one would’ve been the wiser.”
The crowd is silent but for the occasional sniffle, a quiet sob. “But you got me out?”
“Yes,” he answers and then laughs quietly. “And it was no easy feat cause you’re a heavy fucker for sure.”
Relieved for the change in tone I chuckle, nod. “Yeah, started lifting weights as a teenager. Had to put on the muscle with my brother and his friends or else I’da had my ass handed to me on the regular.”
“I managed to rouse you enough to give me minimal effort,” he adds, his expression once again turning serious. “But once I got you in the room, it was lights out, but for the occasional rambling and ghost fighting.”
“Ghost fighting?”
He shrugs, his gaze flitting back to the crowd as he explains, “It’s difficult to explain, but it was almost like you were fighting yourself in your drugged up dreams. I learned to just stay back until it passed.”
I watch him for a moment, knowing full well this conversation cost him, even before I learned his own very personal experience with the topic.
Leaning over, I put my hand over the top of his where it’s resting on the arm of the chair.
He looks over at me and I say, quietly, “See, this is why I’ve always said I will never be able to repay you for stepping in.
I truly believe if you had not been there, I would’ve vanished completely, sucked into the dark abyss of evil. ”
He pats the back of my hand a few times with his free hand, nods then looks back out over the auditorium.
With a final squeeze of his hand I also look back to the audience, all waiting in various stages of emotional upheaval.
“I know many of you are wondering why I’m bringing this up.
” I stand, walk the length of the stage, turn back and stop in the middle.
“With everything going on in this country, I think it’s difficult to remember that we’re not alone in so many of our trials and tribulations.
“I mean, this right here is a prime example of what I’m talking about.
After all these years, I had no idea one of my closest friends lived a similar trauma.
We discussed what happened to me at length, and still, I had no idea.
” I turn back to Ren and ask, “Do you mind sharing why you never told me?”
He shrugs. “A few reasons, really,” he sighs, shakes his head then goes on, “First, I didn’t want to take away from what happened to you by interjecting my own story.”
“But you know that I would not have been upset if you had?”
“Of course I do now, but not in the moment. And then, as time went on, it just never really came up.”
I nod, “That makes sense.”
“Second, I was embarrassed that it even happened. Then questioned if it truly did happen. And then became embarrassed all over again when I had to accept that it did indeed happen.
“Because, unlike women who, sadly, constantly feel they have to look over their shoulder, men have this false sense of security that this shit doesn’t happen to them,” Ren explains, his expression and tone becoming increasingly angry.
“We’re fed this false narrative that men can’t be assaulted, men can’t be raped, men can’t be abu—,” he cuts off his own words, looks away, nostrils flared, jaw clenched.
He inhales audibly, the sound cutting through the auditorium like the silent scream it is.
He continues to look away, his jaw working as I interject, “And then men become less than because of what happened to them?”
He nods, swallows. Whispers, “Yes.”
I turn back to the audience, suddenly feeling incredibly heavy in that moment.
They’re all looking on, some with anger, other with tears, and the silence extends.
Then, a light pops up in the middle of the audience.
Then another and another, until, the auditorium is filled with tiny little beacons of solidarity.
Ren looks out of the crowd, also realizing what it symbolizes. I fall back into my chair, allowing the moment to wrap around me, the sheer emotion of it all enough to remind me that we truly are not alone.
After a while the lights go out, a hush falling over the room.
“Now that we’ve got that whole mess out of the way,” I begin, brushing nonexistent dirt from the front of my shirt. “We can end the night with a bit of hope.”
The tension in the air eases, the crowd shifts back into anticipatory electricity. Ren looks at me and asks, “Now what?” and I chuckle as I look to the crowd and say, “Did you hear that Ren retired from hockey?”
The crowd cheers and jeers, then falls silent again.
“Well, it turns out he’s gonna retire from hockey the same way I retired from music.
” I stand, walk to the edge of the stage, hands outstretched in front of me.
“He’s gonna work harder than he ever has in his entire life to make money for someone other than himself,” I turn back to Ren and grin as I add, “Cause if you think this gig is a nice easy retirement, you are greatly mistaken.
“As you all know, we’ve spent the last year collecting funds for a variety of charities.
We’ve done quite a bit to fight food insecurity, illiteracy, and gaps in adequate healthcare coverage.
Programs that will enrich and educate American children, help American families get ahead, maybe feel less alone in their struggles. ”
I fall silent, staring out at a crowd much like the countless crowds I’ve entertained throughout my career, but, for some reason, this one feel different.
“Do y’all like hockey?” I ask then pause allowing the crowd to voice their excitement. “Well, Ren has decided he wants to start his own charity hockey foundation which means you may be getting more exhibition type games similar to my charity concert showcases. Ain’t that right, Rafferty?”
Ren laughs, sliding to the edge of his chair as he states, “Dec may be getting a little ahead of himself here, but yes, that is my intent. But it’s just a fledgling idea at this point.”
I wave my hand and roll my eyes. “What do y’all think? Can we maybe help turn Ren’s fledgling dream into a reality?”
The audience goes wild, screaming and clapping, shouting and stomping. I look over to Ren who’s staring out at them, wide-eyed, a look of pure amazement on his face. Touching his arm lightly with my finger I wait for him to look at me and then say, “If you want it, then we do it.”
He nods and I give him another pat on the arm before jumping to my feet. “Men, women and children are subjected to violence every second of every day. Whether it’s at home by someone we trust or out in public by strangers, the percentage of people affected by violence increases every year.
“And even after they manage to break-free from the violence, the pain remains, the scars, the agony. These deeply hurt people are out there trying to survive the aftermath of their trauma with no resources, no attainable pathway to recovery. They’re just left to pick up the shattered remnants of their lives as if they haven’t already survived their own personal war. ”
Again, the lights pop up until it’s a sea of light before me. Because they know. They all know.
“I said it just last year that we need to keep our wits about us,” I go on, pacing the stage like a caged animal.
“Foolishly, I had no idea at the time how truly bad it would get, but now—now—I fully understand that things are going to get a lot worse.
Our government wants everyone to take on a ‘me-or-them’ mentality.
Our government wants society to turn inward, to place blame around them and pass judgment on everyone.
Our government wants to dumb us down, they want us to become so absorbed in the surface level outrage that we lose sight of the fact that we actually can do something if we all work together.
“That was the entire point of setting up the foundations when I did. To provide support, to take the edge off the desperation, to remind everyone that there is help out there, you are not alone in your fear or your suffering, and, above all else, you are not alone in your hope because once we lose hope, all is truly lost.”
The lights are back, the shouts and foot stomps. I move back to my seat, flopping into the large chair as I give myself a moment to soak in the energy of the crowd.
Ren, no newbie to the enthusiasm of fans, looks on, appearing rather shell-shocked. I smile, enjoying the familiarity of the stage, the heat of the lights, the din of the crowd. Eventually, they quiet naturally, then go back to waiting for the big event that they know is coming.
“Ren thinks I’ve done lost my damn mind, but you all know better than that, don’t you?” The crowd laughs, and Ren flips me a middle finger, sending off an even louder round of laughter.
Ren slaps me on the shoulder and asks, “Can I go now?”
I nod, waving him off as I turn to the back of the stage and ask, “Where’s my wife?”
The crowd roars their approval. The curtains move, as if someone is either trying to get through or trying to keep them closed, but then, after a minor scuffle, the curtain opens. And out from the shadows steps Issa.
“Hey, darlin’,” I croon, motioning to the chair Ren just vacated. “Please. Make yourself comfortable.”
She glares at me, manages to sit as awkwardly as possible. I pat her on the knee, knowing her grouchy demeanor is mostly for show. Then I address the audience, “Y’all ready for my unfinished, half-ass attempt at writing a song on the fly cause you’re gonna get the beginning of it either way.”
The crowd cheers. A mic stand appears to my left, and I yank the mic off my collar, handing it off with a nod of thanks. Connor comes out with my guitar, and I strap it on, sitting forward in my chair.
Issa continues to watch me, though her expression is now more thoughtful than annoyed. I strum a few chords, get my bearings, clear my throat. Then I sing,
All these demons lurk in the dark,
but they’re lost to the light I hold for you
Close your eyes and see the truth
hidden beneath the pain that proves you live
I’ll be your torchlight, spotlight,
flickering candle in the dead of night
Through storm clouds, lightning bolts
You’ll find me waiting at the end of your rope
Arms open, reaching, voice broken, screaming,
I see you…take my hand.
I sing the last lines staring at my wife, knowing she’s already ahead of my cues. She looks away, her focus moving to the audience as she lifts her mic, releases the words, a cacophony of spoken poetry.
Pain, proof of life when all hope has left you
When you’re out of time and the knife twists too deep
And you’re desperate to escape the demons, the dark,
the never-ending abyss of circumstance
That has you closing your eyes on a freefall.
You come out the other side, invisible,
To find the dark swallowed whole
that torchlight, lightning bolt
The flickering candle in the dead of night,
Gone, extinguished, but for the billow of smoke,
Shadows reveal that steady glow of hope
Where you’ll find me at the end of your rope
Because I see you, now take my hand…
Issa stops speaking abruptly, picking up the harmony on my words without so much as a hitch as I take over,
I’ll be your torchlight, spotlight,
flickering candle in the dead of night
Through storm clouds, lightning bolts
You’ll find me waiting at the end of your rope
Arms open, reaching, voice broken, screaming,
I see you…take my hand.
I see you. (Take my hand)
I see you. (Take my hand)
Take my hand.
As the last notes fade into silence, I stand, remove my guitar, set it on the chair. I reach for Issa, but instead of going for my typical end of set kiss, I pull her in, bury my face in her neck, hold her tight against me.
The audience goes from silent to uproarious, an ever-increasing din of overflowing emotion reverberating off the rafters. I let it settle around me, warming me, rejuvenating me for the continued fight.
As quickly as the din increased, it stops, the new silence echoing in contrast as the familiar sound of lighting being extinguished grabs my attention.
Releasing Issa, I step back, turn slowly toward what is now a sea of torchlight in the abyss of dark before me. Issa’s hand grips my forearm briefly, then releases as she steps away.
I walk back to the front of the stage, gripping the microphone for dear life.
My eyes burn, and I don’t bother trying to squash how the moment makes me feel as I whisper, “Remember, to look out for your family, your neighbor is not your enemy and for the love of fuck, keep your eye on the future. It’s not over. I love you.”
I walk back to Issa, who’s standing just on the other side of my makeshift living room, hand outstretched. Gripping her tightly I allow her to tug me toward the curtains at the back of the stage.
And, once again, I don’t look back.