Chapter 8
Alara - One Month Later
M y life is a continuous series of changing and adapting.
I thought things would stay consistent after moving here, but that proved to be wrong.
The doctors tried to tell me that there was always a chance something could trigger more memories and to not lose hope, but for a while, I did.
The fact that something as simple as a poem brought on multiple new memories is. .. I don't really have the words.
I've written poems before. Numerous times. There must have been something specific about what I wrote in Whispered Words to set my brain off like, Oh, hey, it's time to wake up a little. Stupid amnesia is so confusing.
"Alara," Gabby calls, pulling me from my thoughts. "Go ahead and grab your guitar to get ready. You've got two people ahead of you before you're on. I’ll cover the bar until you get back."
"Thank you," I smile politely, placing the dish towel from my shoulder on the bar sink.
I’ve been working at the bar for a month now, and it’s been fairly easy to fall into the routine of these late evening shifts. Sometimes I find my eyes growing a bit heavier toward the end of the night.
Gabby made sure that even if I’m working, I’m always on the list for open mic night.
I don’t know if her initial reasoning was because she genuinely liked my voice.
Rayne likes to come in to flirt with her while I’m working, which has been fun to see.
Those two still haven’t made anything official, but seeing my friend happy makes me happy.
Tonight is the fourth Saturday in a row that I’ll sing on stage, and it’s safe to say I get more comfortable with it every week.
There haven’t been any new memories since that first night, but I’ve grown more confident in my performance.
It’s perfect timing since Gabby wants me to start the paid singing nights next week.
Whispered Words brought a new opportunity to my life when things were looking bleak. My rent is paid, and even though it may not be the job I thought I was looking for, it's the one that found me.
I smile from the thought while making my way to the employee room to grab my guitar, well, Rayne’s guitar. I’m still saving money to buy one for myself, but she told me I’m welcome to use hers for as long as I need it. I should buy my own, though. Hopefully, soon.
Once the instrument is in hand, that familiar anxiety begins to take hold.
Part of me is worried another memory will shine through, and another part secretly craves one.
The only real thing that matters is that I can get through the song without messing up.
Something about making myself look like a fool in front of a room full of people feels more intimidating than it should.
None of them would likely care, but that kind of embarrassment would stick with me.
I pace back and forth, trying to expel some of this nervous energy while the people ahead of me finish up.
"Next up is Alara Grey. If you've been here the last couple of weekends, then you already know how amazing her voice is. If you weren’t, you’re in for a special treat. Come on out, Alara," Marvin says.
The beating of my heart begins to quicken as I wrap the guitar strap over my shoulder. I wonder if Marvin's only job here is announcing the people who go on stage. I don't remember seeing him anywhere else when I’m working at night. It doesn't matter. Come on, Alara, focus. Breathe.
One foot at a time, I walk to the center of the stage and stand in front of the microphone.
My eyes fall closed, and I strum the strings on the guitar to get a feel for it.
After a few seconds, they pop open, and I lean in to sing the very first line of the song that I now have memorized.
My body sways naturally to the beat to help keep me on pace, and I gaze out toward engaging faces.
One set of eyes catches me off guard, and I almost mess up the words.
It’s the familiar pair I found comfort in when singing here on that very first night.
He's sitting closer this time, watching me intently with a heated gaze. He feels safe, and the whole room disappears, and it’s like I’m singing directly to him .
It’s like there’s this invisible string connecting the two of us, emanating a cracking electricity.
The feeling is overwhelming, so I let my eyes flicker closed, hoping that when I open them again, I’ll have more clarity and composure.
Blinking them open, I search for him, but come up empty, leaving me confused.
Just like the first night, he slipped away, disappearing like there was never anyone there in the first place.
Does he not like my voice?
Why do I care?
The song ends, and the crowd erupts, clapping and screaming their praise. I should be happy as I bow, but all I can think about is the green eyes behind dark glasses and the overwhelming feeling of rejection.