Then, at that precisemoment, the crowd of fifty-something people exploded, as though they’d beenwaiting for my existential epiphany to strike. The roar of applause was thepull I needed to turn from the gleaming black and stare out over their shadowedfaces. I caught the prismed gleam of tears streaking cheeks on the faces ofwomen. The working muscles in the throats of men.
None of my otheroriginals have ever elicited that type of reaction. Nothing quite like this.
I had pulled them intothe song, and tonight,Iwasthe Piano Man.
***
The United States National Anthem closedout my set for the night. Ditching the piano, I stood front and center on thestage and belted out the lyrics, pulling them from deep within my diaphragm. Inailed my falsetto, encouraging another round of applause from the crowd beforeI was even finished, and when I cut the note, I immediately bowed.
“Thank you,” I spokeinto the microphone, blown away by their unrelenting praise. I stood, grinningfrom ear to ear. “Thank you, guys. Seriously. You have given me one of the bestnights of my life. Happy Fourth of July, everybody, and God bless America.”
Jeff sprinted up thesteps to clap me on the back, his own grin wide and impressed, and he took themicrophone from me. “Please give it up one more time for my little brother, JonO’Dell. I don’t know about you, but he just blew myfreakin’mind.”
Another standingovation was granted to me, and I bowed my head, unable to contain my gratefulsmile.
With a hand on myshoulder, Jeff told the crowd, “Before you all leave for the night, there willbe a firework show in the parking lot, for anybody who’s interested. Hope tosee you out there, and if not, thanks for joining us tonight. Get home safe.”
Switching the mic offand putting it back on its stand, he turned to me with a bewildered expressionand the slightest shake of his head. “Jon, you were on fire tonight. And youwant toquit?”
I chuckled, knowing mycheeks were ablaze. “Not quitting, man. Just moving on.”
Leaving me with anunderstanding, albeit bittersweet, smile, he walked from the stage to beat thefunneling crowd out the door to the parking lot. I remained there, looking downfrom my perch, until my eyes fell upon a familiar face.
My friend. One of thebest.
With a smile and acoupling of surprise and gratitude swirling in my gut, I walked down thesteps—one, two—until I stood before her. With my hands in my pockets, Isuddenly felt like I was meeting her for the first time.
“Hey,” I managed tosay, finding the breathless quality of my tone horribly humiliating.
“Hi.” Tess pulled herpurse onto her shoulder and shrugged gently, displaying a similar degree ofembarrassment. “I had the nightoff, butforgot totell Tim not to come. So, I thought I’d still take the time away from GrandmaandRichard Dawson, andcome see you play. Much betteruse of my time, I’d say,” she laughed airily, brushing the shorter strands ofhair from her forehead.
My lungs choked andsqueezed around a breath of stale club air, and the awkwardness of the momentwedged between us like an unwelcome guest. She was different tonight, Tess thestranger. I quickly dropped my gaze to take in her clothes, her short denimskirt and skin-tight camisole as colorful as the tattoos sprawling the lengthof her arms.
My tongue wastiedand my feet were glued to the floor, while my legsbegged me to run. And my heart—oh, God, my heart …
My heart was in aperplexing state of traitorous confusion.
Because Tess,thisTess, was astonishingly beautiful,and I never thought I’d be able to admit that of another woman again.
I’mso sorry.
I worked at the knot inmy throat, trying to swallow it loose and grant myself the permission to speak.This wasn’t a silence of the comfortable variety. I knew she felt it, too, inthe way she diverted her eyes and fixated on something that wasn’t the bumblingidiot in front of her.
Then, she smilednervously. “I don’t know why this is so weird right now. I mean, I see youevery day. You’ve seen me in mypajamas,for crying out loud,” she laughed wildly, reminding me of a day a week or soago when she was running late and showed up wearing her threadbare pajama pantsand an old band t-shirt. “But this is …”
“Weird,” I completedher sentence.
“Yeah.” She releasedthe word on a slow exhale, lifting her eyes to mine. I pretended I didn’tnotice how her eyes took on a crystalline quality underneath the club lights. Ipretended that she wasn’t doing frightening things to my body and heart, and Iwished so badly I could pretend that I wasn’t betraying my wife.
“Andyou!” she gushed, thrusting a handtoward the stage. “Jon, if I knew you could do what you did up there, Ineverwould’ve encouraged you to findwork outside of music. My God, you are so phenomenally gifted!”
My eyes rolled,settling into a place of comfort as I gestured for her to follow me, and Iheaded toward the bar to grab my backpack.
“What? Can’t take acompliment?” she jabbed, leaning against the bar.
“Oh, I can take acompliment,” I assured her, stuffing my chord charts into the bag and zippingit up.Just not from a pretty girl.“And thank you, I appreciate it, but unless I found a better paying gig—”
“Oh, believe me,” shelaughed incredulously, “you could find one.”
