Chapter 11 Austin - The Final Countdown
Chapter 11
Austin - The Final Countdown
E ven before I took my finals, I knew graduation was a go. I’d kept my grades respectable over the past four years, mostly Bs across the board. My jewelry box earned me an A for woodworking. The scrollwork and staining gave it dimension, and I was finally pleased with my details on the lid. Mom got all teary-eyed when I gave it to her for Mother’s Day.
She opened the wrapped gift and cried. “Oh my! Austin, it’s beautiful. Did you make this yourself?”
I nodded, startled by her tears. My mom never cried. At least not in front of me. I didn’t know what to say.
She ran her hand over the decorative top, admiring the handiwork. “I will put this on my dresser. Thank you, my love bug.”
She grabbed me and hugged me tight. I didn’t let go. She called me love bug as a little kid because I liked to cuddle. It hit me in a sentimental spot, causing me to get choked up myself. “I love you, Mom.”
She pulled back and touched her hand against my two-day stubble. “You’re my greatest treasure. I am proud of you, and the man I’ve watched you become. ”
My emotions overwhelmed me, and I squeezed her tightly again. I didn’t want her to see the tear that escaped down my cheek. My plans after college were not solidified, but I could pick up extra hours at Burger Burger until something better came along.
Now, with just three days left before Showcase, Sydney and I squeezed in one last rehearsal in one of the practice rooms. She transcribed the music onto blank staff paper while I played the notes slower than a tortoise. Our Showcase performance would be my last project, and I couldn’t wait to be finished.
“Once you transcribe it, we need to divide up the singing. I think we should sing the chorus together and I’ll sing the harmonies for that.”
“I’m not singing,” she announced. “You’re the one in Show Choir, not me. I sing in my car. I don’t sing in public.” She twirled her pencil through her fingers before writing down the next chord.
I cocked my head. “Sydney, that’s part of the requirements.”
She rolled her eyes at me. “No, it’s not. I’m not a nincompoop.”
“You must have missed that part of the rubric. We both must be part of the performance. I’m already the one playing the piano.”
“You’re crazy. I won’t do it.”
“In that case, you’re going to be watching me and Danny collect our degrees from the grandstands.”
She hopped off the bench and started walking away.
“Where are you going? We’re not finished.”
“I’m getting the project specs out of my binder. I need to read it for myself.”
“Fine. But I know I’m right.” Good grief. How did Danny put up with her? I plunked around with some chords while I waited.
She held the rubric in her hand, reading the requirements. “No! No! No!” she exclaimed. “How did I miss this? I’m going to be sick now.” She plopped down on the bench next to me, the paper hanging from her limp hand. Her thigh brushed up against mine, and I felt an electric tingle shoot up my leg and land in my crotch. I shivered.
“It’s no big deal, Sydney. You don’t have to sing the whole thing. It’s only four minutes. You’ve given speeches longer than that.”
“It’s not a fair comparison. I give a speech in front of less than thirty people. Showcase is performing in front of thousands of people in a gigantic auditorium. I’m going to yak on stage and embarrass myself. You’re the performer, not me.”
“Let’s get the harmonies figured out now and worry about the audience later.”
She whimpered.
“Are you tone deaf? Do you have a terrible singing voice? What’s the problem exactly?”
She shook her head. “No. I can carry a tune. I prefer to sing by myself in my car. I don’t do it in front of others.”
I began playing the intro. “Trust me. We will figure this out.”
After Sydney left, I pondered our dilemma. We needed a way to get her onstage and singing without her stage fright interfering. I wished I’d known about this earlier. Since it was Wednesday, I drove over to the farm to wash my clothes and make dinner. Mom had prepped the chicken breasts before she left for work this morning. I fired up the outside grill, then shucked the ears of corn Mom picked up at the farmer’s market yesterday. Once the grill heated up, I placed the corn on the upper rack and chicken on the lower rack. The smell of the BBQ sauce caused my stomach to rumble
Mom’s car pulled into the driveway as I plated the chicken and corn. I called to her as she emerged from the car. “I have everything but drinks.” I’d set the table, folding the napkins as always.
She changed into her comfy pajamas instead of her stifling work clothes, and we tucked into our plates, not talking.
I could have eaten a dozen ears of corn, but I stopped at three. The BBQ marinade on the chicken complemented the corn perfectly. I wandered off mentally, and I forced myself to refocus on the performance dilemma for Showcase.
Mom interrupted my thoughts. “You seem to have something on your mind.”
“The song for Showcase is locked and loaded. But when I reminded Sydney that she has to sing too, she freaked out about it. I want to do well, but I can’t do it by myself. She’s petrified of singing in public. Aside from giving her a tranquilizer or a cloak of invisibility, I’m not sure what to do.” I put my head in my hands.
Mom took her time pondering this. Finally: “How is the stage arranged?”
“There is a piano and microphones,” I answered. “We could have props or lighting effects, but I wanted to keep it simple. It’s such a powerful song and I want the focus to be on that.”
“I can’t wait to hear it on Saturday. That worked out well that Sydney gave you permission to use her lyrics.”
I shook my head. “I felt excited until Sydney dropped that bomb today.” We picked up our empty plates and headed back into the house.
“I know you two will figure this out, sweetie.”
While I waited for my last load of laundry to finish drying, I hung out in my room, listening to the radio. Mom knocked on my half open door. “Are you decent? Can I come in for a minute?”
“Yes, that’s fine.” I propped myself up on my elbows.
She pushed the door open and stood in the doorway. “I might have a solution for your dilemma. Have Sydney stand behind the piano and face you instead of the audience. That will give her a physical barrier between her and the audience. It might relieve her stage fright enough to get through the song.”
“I think that’s worth a shot. Thanks!”
“I’m going out to the barn to check on the cats. I think the little orange one that showed up a few days ago is pregnant. Text me tomorrow and let me know how it goes.”
Before I left for the frat house, I mulled over that idea in the shower. If Sydney didn’t have to face the audience directly, maybe this would be the push she needed.
When Music Composition rolled around the next day, the entire class congregated in the auditorium. Professor Nelson reminded us that this performance, without an audience, would determine our grade. Dress rehearsal for all Showcase performers would begin tomorrow at 6:00 p.m.
Sydney and I sat together and watched the other acts. Our classmates had come up with creative choices: some contest-worthy, and some not. I told her about my mom’s idea, and she agreed to try it. Twenty-five classmates shouldn’t scare her.
When he called our names, Sydney handed Professor Nelson a copy of our sheet music. We walked up the steps to the stage. A member of the stage crew clipped a microphone to the piano for me, and another one brought out a mic stand for Sydney. The color in her face paled. I steered her around to the back side of the piano and planted her near the bench.
I put my hand over the hot microphone. “You’re going to be fine. Breathe and look at me. Only me. You’ve got this.”
Her glassy eyes didn’t focus on me. She breathed in short gasps and her wooden posture concerned me. I didn’t want her to pass out. I touched my hands against her shoulders and held them there. “Close your eyes and listen to me. When it’s time, sing.”
I sat down and held my hands over the keys. Chords and melody wafted from the piano as I sang about the wishful thinking and regret that comes when things don’t end the way we want them to. The powerful emotion of her words overwhelmed me, and my chest grew tight. Sydney stood there with her eyes closed, waiting. Her verse came next. If she didn’t start singing, I would cover for her and handle the fallout later. I came to the end of my solo and held my breath. I hit the key change and prayed.
Sydney opened her eyes and focused on me. Even though she barely breathed the words of her verse, the raw vulnerability in her voice came through. I never asked her about the meaning of the song because I knew that it bore her soul in an intimate way. I’d already pried enough as it was.
The longer she sang, the stronger and clearer her voice became. At the chorus, she held the mic in her hand and her eyes met mine while we sang together. The blending of our voices created an electric moment I had never experienced. The energy between us unnerved me, but I didn’t want it to end. I reached the last chord and sat there, stunned by the moment we had experienced. The flush in her cheeks told me Sydney felt it, too.
Professor Nelson started clapping, and the rest of the class joined him. I pulled Sydney in front of the piano with me to hear the results. “Well done, Mr. Mitchell and Ms. Campbell. I’m sufficiently impressed. Who wrote the song, out of curiosity?”
I spoke up since I wasn’t sure Sydney could speak. “Sydney wrote the words, and I added the music. ”
“Well done. I didn’t know which way your project would go. Kudos to pulling one out of your Ashtabula. Now get off the stage so I can torture my next victims.”
I guided Sydney off the stage and back to our seats. “We did it! It sounded amazing once we started the duet part. What did you think?” She appeared a little pale, and her jaw hung open slightly. “You in there? I feel like I’m the ventriloquist talking to the dummy.”
“Yes, I’m here,” she confessed. “It sounded great. But you can have the spotlight. I don’t want it.”
I touched her arm. This was just the rehearsal. We had to make this magic happen one more time. “After Saturday night, you can do whatever you like. I promise.”
She didn’t respond. I watched the next act, and my promise faded from my memory.