Being Henry David - By Cal Armistead Page 0,75

song in my sleep, even knew it in the strange sleep of amnesia when I didn’t know my own name.

The lights come up, and it’s time for me to play. The crowd is quiet, expectant, a blur of faces. So many faces waiting for me to do something. Anything. My fingers are cramped, curled like claws above the guitar. Can’t play a note. Can’t do it. Can’t move. A dark wave threatens to take me under.

The crowd is silent, holding its breath. They don’t realize it’s me who’s falling apart in front of them. Instead, they’re probably wondering if Hailey’s going to have an insulin reaction and pass out again. I imagine Ms. Coleman with her cell phone in hand, ready to dial 9-1-1.

Heart thundering in my ears, I screw my eyes tight, try to concentrate, try to move my frozen fingers and conjure music that won’t come. I’m failing Hailey and I can’t do a thing about it.

But then, the silence is broken by the sound of a voice. A girl’s silky alto voice. At first, I’m so lost in my own head that I don’t recognize the voice or the song. But it cuts through my panic and I recognize that it’s Hailey. Singing “Blackbird,” a cappella, without me. Her voice soars to the rafters, so beautiful.

I’m mesmerized along with the rest of the audience, just listening, until she reaches the end of the first verse. Then, as if they have finally come to life, my fingers relax and start to move. They form chords across the frets, hover above the strings, and then come in perfectly for the intro of the second verse. The music consumes me and the magic takes over at last, transcending my fear. Hailey joins in and starts singing the second verse like this is exactly how we planned it all along. Whatever fear had a hold on her for the past year has completely loosened its grip. I look over the crowd and see people’s astonished faces. See them talking to each other, and I know what they’re saying. She’s doing it this time. She’s doing it. And damn, she’s good.

I glance over at Hailey and her eyes say, you and me, me and you. I knew we could do it.

We get to the end of the ballad verse, blackbird fly, into the light of a dark black night, and then, with an explosive crash of cymbals, the band comes to life and we launch through the song a second time, rocking it hard. Colored lights burst onto the stage with that first crash, and the crowd goes nuts, screaming and whistling and hooting. Hailey wails out the vocals, Sam plays the hell out of the skins, and even Ryan plays almost every note perfectly. By the time we finish, people are on their feet, pumping their arms and shouting.

I glance at Hailey, at her pink cheeks and shining eyes. The girl is glowing, the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life. She blows me a kiss and a smile takes up my entire face. I want to capture this amazing moment like a photograph to tuck into my heart and brain forever. Remember every single detail. Carpe Diem. Seize the day, this moment. Trap it. Keep it. I wish it would never end.

But it has to. The lights go off on our half of the stage and up on the next band, some folkie guitar-and-fiddle group that assaults my ears. For me, this is the beginning of the end. But what a way to go. What a rush.

Backstage, Sam, Ryan, and I congratulate one another. None of us even care about winning anymore. The fact that we got through it was victory enough.

“I told you losers I could do it,” Ryan says to nobody in particular and throws his fedora in the air. Sam snatches it and runs away, making Ryan chase him with a whoop.

“You were incredible,” I whisper in Hailey’s ear.

“You too,” she says and gives me a kiss that almost knocks me over.

God, there’s so much I want to tell Hailey. So many lies I need to straighten out. I want to tell her how scared I’ve been this whole time, how scared I still am, and how much I need her. Tell her how I feel like I’ve always known her, like maybe we were lovers in a previous life, maybe several past lives. That’s how I feel about this girl. But how can I