“Hey, all, thanks for coming out,” I said, taking a seat and adjusting the mic stand. “I’m going to play one song—”
Boos and catcalls.
“You want me to sing, or do you want to drink?”
They laughed and one guy called out, “When you put it that way…”
I smiled and settled into the guitar, letting my fingers feel the strings. The song I’d chosen wasn’t easy.
“This one is from Mumford and Sons,” I said. “It’s called ‘Beloved.’”
The crowd quieted down, and the room became still. The spotlight over me created a curtain of light. I was alone with Thea. Just her and me. I strummed the guitar and began to play.
For three and a half minutes, I sang to her, asked her to remember I was with her. And she was loved. Always.
The last note wavered and the crowd stayed still and hushed.
I leaned into the mic a final time. “That was for Thea.”
Every person in that room lifted their glass or bottle. “For Thea!”
They all knew our story. When people spoke to me now, I talked back. Behind the bar, at the art supply store or just passing on the street. I was a voice in the world, not a mute observer watching from afar.
The crowd erupted into huge applause as I left the stage.
“Brilliant, Jim,” Laura said in my ear. “Just beautiful.”
I un-looped the guitar strap. “I’m glad because I’m nervous as hell.”
“You? Nervous?”
“Not for this,” I said and gestured to the crowd.
Laura’s eyes widened. “Oh shit, is tomorrow the big day?”
“Day after.”
“I knew it was coming up. So exciting and just in time for Christmas.” She gave me a short hug. “I’m so happy for you, Jim. We all are.”
“Thanks, Laura,” I said. “It helps. It helps a lot.”
Having someone—a lot of someones—on our side, even if Thea never knew it, had gotten me through many long days. But then again, if she’d taught me anything, it was you didn’t have to know something was real in order to feel it.
The following morning, I drove over to Roanoke Speech, Language, and Learning Services. Jason Taylor was already in the therapy room, waiting for me. This was Sunday, so the room was empty. But the tenacious Jason wanted to put in as many hours of therapy as possible, and I needed as many practical hours as I could get for my clinical requirements at Roanoke University. So we made our own schedule.
“Where’s your mom?” I said, shaking out of my coat and hat and taking a seat across from him.
Jason grabbed his iPad off the table and typed, Getting coffee
“Cool. You ready to start?”
He shook his head and looked away. His blond hair was neatly brushed, and he wore nice pants and a shirt. As if he’d come back from church. Jason was always neat and put together. He’d once told me it was so that no one could find some other reason to make fun of him.
I leaned over the table, arms folded. “What’s up, buddy?”
He looked at me warily, then his ten-year-old fingers flew over the iPad with the agility of an adult who’d been typing his whole life.
Mom says this program is almost done