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“So, do you have family coming later to see your big performance?” my partner asks out of the blue in his same bored, monotonous tone.
I shake my head. “Nope, it’s just me today.”
His light eyebrows scrunch together, forming a crease between them, and he lets out a long, disapproving breath. “You won a competition to sing theNational Anthemin a stadium filled with thousands, and no one will be here to see it?”
Why does he have to say it like that?I don’t like his patronizing tone or know how to answer this.
I don’t want to, but given that we are stuck together, I decide to just put it out there, trying not to sound defensive. “This was a surprise. I didn’t know I was entered into the competition, and honestly, I wasn’t even going to come, but my best friend replied and said I’d do it. She thinks…” I stop but realize I’ll likely never see this man again after we leave this little box on a cable, so I continue. “She thinks it will help me move past some things and be the start of something new.”
I shake my head and find him listening intently. “That probably doesn’t make any sense to someone like you. The truth is I’m only here singing for one person, so no matter the reason and whether it’s just me or thousands are listening, the one that matters will be.”
He returns to his normal state of phone-focused silence while his fingers tap on his thigh. One. At. A. Time. Repeat. I’mbeginning to think he wasn’t really listening, but after a minute, he surprises me.
“You’re the only one who gets to decide when it’s enough. You know, when it’s time to move on and find out what else might be out there waiting.”
I’m shocked by this lug's insight and how much it seems like he might understand. “Huh. I’m impressed. It sounds like you might have a soul in there somewhere.”
His chest rises with a long inhale and then falls. “Don’t read too far into it.”
Ok. There we go. I was worried for a second we might become friends through our time stuck together.
“Don’t worry. I won’t. There’s also the little thing of not wanting to embarrass anyone.” That earns me a heavy dose of side-eye.
Interestingly, this joker seems to have given me the permission I was looking for. Today can be about whatever I want it to be. Maybe that’s why we’re stuck here together because it sure wasn’t for the good company. I needed to hear that, even if it had to come from a giant egotistical jerk.
This doesn’t have to be the end, or it can be the start of something new. Either way, I get to decide.
______
The sounds of Mariah Carey’sMake It Happenfill my earbuds, and my pump-up song is working. Every part of me wants to jump up and dance, letting it all out. But one, this temperamental turd doesn’t deserve the greatness of what is the best just-do-it songs of all time. And two, and more importantly, the thought of shifting the elevator even the slightest bit freaks me the hell out. Just the idea almost takes me to level seven on the anxiety scale.
I check my watch. We’ve been in our little dangling cocoon for just over an hour, and the air is starting to feel stale. My trapped companion has been busying himself with a nap or meditation for the past few minutes while I’ve been enjoying the sounds of the queen herself.
I stretch my feet out towards the middle, and they come close to reaching his legs, which are seriously the size of tree trunks, but I don’t care that we’re almost touching. I may be on the shorter side, but I shouldn’t have to stay tucked into a ball because he’s a space hog, even if he can’t help it. I’ve sat curled up for an hour and can’t do it any longer.
Moving slightly with the beat, I open my eyes again to find him staring at me.
“Do you have to have that so loud? It’s bad for your hearing.”
I pull one earbud out, and even though I heard him, I can’t help myself. “Eh?”
He rolls those pale blue eyes, full of irritation, and repeats himself.
I tip my head to the side. “Is it bothering you? I’m trying to get pumped, you know, for my performance. Isn’t that what you big-time football players do to get in the zone?”
Is there an award for looking most bored with life and emotionally unavailable? Because folks, we have a winner.
“I like quiet.” He rests his head back against the wall, staring at the lights like he’s hoping to catch some rays from the horrible twin fluorescent lights that shine dimly down on us.
“You also look like you could stand to let loose a little. Maybe if you found a pump-up song, you’d look a little less…constipated.” He sighs, long and slow, the toe-tapping thing starting again. “I know! Since we have time, we should find you the perfect song.”
I start scrolling my phone, thinking, not being able to help pushing his buttons. “I know! I know! How about a little jazz? Soft and smooth with the spice of the sax.”
He peels his eyes away from the ceiling to look at me but doesn’t move his head. “Jazz,” he repeats matter-of-factly.
“No? Ok, let’s see. Something calm and quiet. Ocean sounds. No, you don’t need anything more snoozy. You have enough of that going on.”
He makes some kind of throaty noise.
