Page 17 of Rock Candy

“You are too talented,” I argued.

Something in his face softened. “I’m afraid.”

I took a step toward him. “You don’t have to be. Alice is right. You were so good at Snowbound.”

“It’s not the same,” he said, still not moving. He glanced at the floor before quietly mumbling, “I’m alone.”

I hurt him a lot. And I hated myself for it. My voice shook when I said, “You’re not alone. If you still want me, you’ll never be alone again. I’m not afraid anymore. We can just sing together and write music or have everything. You make the rules this time. Let me regain your trust.”

“Will you sing with me tonight?” he asked. “As friends?”

I scowled, hating the word friends more than I could possibly have imagined, but I nodded yes. Then I qualified my response, “But only ‘Keeping Tomorrow.’ This show needs to be about you, not me.”

He laughed. “You just said I could make the rules.”

Trying to be jovial, I joked, “It’s possible that I’m going to be really bad at that, but I’ll be trustworthy, I promise.”

He smiled at me and my heart did a somersault.

I thoughtHenry would want to sing “Keeping Tomorrow” first, but he didn’t. Instead, he chose to close with our song, and he asked Alice and me to stand in the wings in case he needed us while he performed. His first five minutes were rough. He couldn’t seem to find his groove and his discomfort was visceral.

Taking a deep breath, he held his hand up and signaled to his band to stop playing. He walked to the center of the stage, and letting his guitar hang loose, he spoke directly to the audience. “Okay, I am trying to take a lesson from a performer I know, someone who just commands the stage like she owns the universe. I think she does it by being the most raw and honest version of herself for y’all.” He huffed out a breath and it echoed in his microphone, startling him. “Fuck,” he said, laughing. He had a genuine quality that made him hard not to like, so the audience laughed with him. Growing serious, he pushed his hand through his hair and said, “I have anxiety. I get nervous onstage, but I promise I’m good at this. Can y’all give a minute where I play with my back to you?” There were some whistles and some murmuring from the crowd. “I think if I can just get going, you’re going to like what you hear, but if I keep looking at this football field of nameless faces, I’m gonna puke.”

Someone yelled, “You got this, man.”

Another person screamed, “We’re rooting for you.”

And then someone called out, “Show us your ass.”

Then Henry was laughing for them again.

Turning around, he shook his booty for a second before signaling to the band to play. Then he closed his eyes and when it was time for him to sing, he was magic. Halfway through his second song, he faced them again and the theater erupted in applause.

“He’s going to be famous,” Alice said.

Absolutely. I had no doubt.

Since he nailed it,I wasn’t sure that Henry was still going to want to sing “Keeping Tomorrow,” but he did. When he got to the end of his set, he took a moment to talk to the audience again.

“So? What did you think?” He grinned, asking, “Was it worth looking at my butt for a while?” They responded with fervor, cheering and hooting, making it clear to me that his honesty and transparency had only endeared him to them.

His confidence and adrenaline surging, he flipped his hand at them and said, “Awww, you guys.” He was himself, goofy, dorky, and manly, all the things at once. He was also a natural performer, easily building intimacy with six hundred strangers.

He cupped the microphone to his mouth when he said, “Do you want to know a secret?”

Of course, they cheered. “Do you remember me mentioning my friend, the one who commands the stage like she owns the universe?” He waited for their affirmative chatter, and then he said, “She’s here.” More applause. “She’s not exactly as famous as I am, but I don’t know. What do you guys think? Should we call her out and hear her sing?” Cheers. Tons of cheers because that’s what happens when you offer a warm audience a treat.

But when I stepped out onto the stage, the room went silent.

And then there was a noisy flood of whispers as the recognition dawned.

Henry laughed. He cackled joyously, a deep resonant sound that made my center ache.

“Weren’t expecting her, were you?” he teased. Then, holding his arm out in my direction, he called to them. “Give me a round of applause for the oh so incredibly talented Ms. Eddy Meyer.” The audience went wild. The surprise nature of my presence pushed them into a frenzy. It was like they were a gaggle of teenage girls and we were the Beatles.

But for me, when I sang with Henry, there was no one in the room but him. And on that stage in Taos, NM, we sang. I poured every feeling, every desperation, every ounce of love I could muster into the lyrics of “Keeping tomorrow.” I was apologizing in the best way I knew how and vocally praying that someday he would forgive me and let me love him.

When the last note sounded, Henry and I were face-to-face, inches apart, panting. Even if I couldn’t have him, just being close felt like a relief. The crowd was on their feet, cheering their appreciation, when Henry wrapped his arms around me and pulled me against his chest. It was just a friendly hug, innocent to onlookers. He didn’t say a thing because if he had, our mics would have picked it up.

---