Where is he? He said he’d be here and I’m not doing this by myself. It’s karaoke night at the Palm Frond and I’m sitting at a table for two waiting for Martin, or maybe a meteor to crash through the ceiling and save us all from this terrible idea. Actually, I begin hoping more for the meteor than Martin when I see him coming from the back of the bar. Strange. He must be coming from the restroom. Everything in the room has a blue and pink glow from the lights. I wave a pink arm so he knows I’m here. I find myself feeling incredibly warm inside and glad to see him, but also terrified and tiny. He waves back in blue.
“Thank you for coming,” I tell him, standing up and throwing my arm around him in a rough hug. Does he notice I just might be shaking a little? I feel his back muscle clench against my wrist as he pulls me in. I try to speak so he can hear me over the two guys on-stage singing, or should I say, trying to sing. It’s a song I don’t recognize, which isn’t saying much.
“Sure thing,” he says, taking a seat.
“I ordered you a beer,” I tell him just as a waitress appears with two glasses and a smile. She sets the beers down in front of us. I stare at mine. He sips lightly on his.
“So,” he sighs, looking around the room. “You think your secret person is here? You think they’ve come to watch you do this?”
I scan the room looking for, I don’t know what. If they are here, would they try to make eye contact? Would they try to stayhidden? Each table is crowded with people laughing and talking and occasionally cheering for the music. Nobody looks my way. Nobody is hiding behind their newspaper or something creepy. It’s just a room full of people laughing and drinking enough alcohol to enjoy the artistry that is karaoke night.
“I don’t know. Maybe.” We both look around the room again.
“You know you got this, right?” he says. He looks at his beer and then back at me. “I gotta say I’m really proud of you for risking this. It’s brave, or vulnerable, or…” he laughs, “maybe totally stupid, but regardless, I’m a little inspired by your fear-conquering mode.”
I laugh nervously because, well, the alternative is to run out the door without looking back. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. This is just phase one: justbeingat a karaoke bar. Phase two or three or whatever is still a long way off.”
“I’m glad to be a part of every phase,” he says warmly, smiles at me, and then turns his attention to the stage.
My heart is beating through my shirt and I keep trying to push away the memory of the time I was in 5th grade and had to speak in front of a crowd at school. My left knee kept shaking so much I thought for sure I’d fall over, and I actually think a line of drool ran down my chin and dripped on my shirt.Stop it!I keep running my newfound mantra through my head: “Nobody cares.” I know it sounds terrible, but I try to keep reminding myself that there's not a single person in this room who will give me a second thought tomorrow or the next day. Except, of course, maybe my secret person. But after tonight, they will either see the error of their ways, or, well, who knows. One thing is for certain: I will not let this moment, this one opportunity, become a regret tattooed on the backside of my life. I’m seizing the moment.
As if reading my mind, Martin raises his glass almost ceremoniously and says, “Ichi-go Ichi-e.” I raise my glass too as I get one of those full-body surges of joy, or maybe it’s dread, and I clink our glasses together. Martin smiles with his eyes and nods, and the warmness stirs my joy surge, or dread, and we both tilt back our glasses as if chugging a beer will make everything right. Actually, I’m not thinking it doesn’t.
“So how does this work? How do you get on stage?” he says, trying to hype me up. He claps his hands together, rubbing them in a let’s-do-this way.
“I gave the KJ my name, requested a song, and he’ll announce when it’s my turn. I guess he’s like a DJ, but for karaoke. I think the queue is posted on that screen.” I point to a monitor that we can barely see near the KJ end of the stage. “I think I’m better if I just don’t think about it and take the surprise when they call my name.”
“Wow. You know a lot about this.”
“I Googled it. How to karaoke.” I laugh nervously, orbiting my finger around the rim of my glass.
Suddenly I feel a brute force from behind which shoves me into the table, sloshing our glasses.
“Sorry,” a voice says, laughing.
I turn to find a lady, or beautiful woman I should say, laughing with her friends as they push their way through the tables and she must have tripped. She places a soft hand on my forearm, apologizes, and laughs again.
I’m not sure what my face expresses, but I freeze inside. Is this my secret person? I think I smile really big. She is beautiful, and I’ve never seen someone trip and fall so gracefully. “You can trip over me any time.” I hear the words spoken before I realize it’s me who is saying them.
She laughs and pats my forearm again. Her delicate fingers, well, she has delicate fingers. I can’t stop looking at her. I can’t stop feeling her delicate fingers on my arm. They are so delicate.
She takes her hand back, picks up her purse or bag or satchel or whatever from the floor where it had fallen, tucks it under her arm and smiles as she continues on her way, gently waving her delicate fingers at me. I watch her go.
Looking back at Martin, I can’t tell if what I am seeing on his face is horror, or glee, or disappointment. He has one eyebrow raised. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Can’t be.”
“So that’s just a coincidence? And look at you, giving out one-liners!” He beams at me like he is my proud mom.
“I can be suave,” I declare.
“Suave, huh,” he glares. “Are you French now, or from the eighties?”
I turn, scanning the room for the delicate-fingered woman. She is lost in the blues and pinks of the room.
“Do you want it to be her?” Martin asks, almost hesitantly.
I spot her and her friends, clutch-bag tucked under her arm, heading out the door. She is leaving. Of course she is leaving. I feel a delicate ghost finger press on my forearm, then vanish. I turn back to Martin. “What do you mean?”
