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Onstage there’s a teenager on crutches singing “Can’t Fight This Feeling” and, as Rufus would say, he’s absolutely killing it. There are a couple people dancing behind him—friends, strangers, who knows, who cares—and this energy elevates me. I guess I could call this energy freedom. No one will be around to judge me tomorrow. No one will send messages to friends about the lame kid who had no rhythm. And in this moment, how stupid it was to care hits me like a punch to the face.
I wasted time and missed fun because I cared about the wrong things.
“Got a song in mind?”
“Nope,” I say. There are plenty of songs I love: “Vienna” by Billy Joel; “Tomorrow, Tomorrow” by Elliott Smith. “Born to Run” by Bruce Springsteen is one of Dad’s favorites. All these songs have notes I have no chance of hitting, but that’s not what’s stopping me. I just want the song to be right.
The menu above the bar is illustrated with a skull and crossbones, and it’s striking to see the skull smiling. Last Day to Smile, it reads. The drinks are all alcohol-free, which makes sense since dying isn’t an excuse to sell alcohol to minors. There was a huge debate a couple years ago about whether or not Deckers eighteen and up should be allowed to purchase drinks. When lawyers presented percentages about teenagers dying from alcohol poisoning and drunk driving, it was ruled things would remain as they have been—legally. It’s still really easy to get liquor and beer, is my understanding; always has been, always will be.
“Let’s grab a drink,” I say.
We push past the crowd, strangers dancing against us as we try to clear a path. The deejay calls up a bearded guy named David to the stage. David rolls onto the stage and announces he’s singing “A Fond Farewell” by Elliott Smith; I don’t know if he’s a Decker or singing for a friend, but it’s beautiful.
We reach the bar.
I’m not in the mood for a GrapeYard Mocktail. Definitely not Death’s Spring.
Lidia orders a Terminator, this ruby-red mocktail. They serve her quickly. She takes a sip, scrunching her face like she’s eaten a handful of sour candy. “Do you want?”
“I’m good,” I say.
“I wish this had some kick to it,” Lidia says. “I can’t be sober when I lose you.”
Rufus orders a soda and I do the same.
Once we have our drinks, I raise my glass. “To smiling while we can.” We clink glasses and Lidia is biting her quivering lower lip while Rufus, like me, is smiling.
Rufus cuts through our circle and he’s so close his shoulder is pressed against mine. He talks directly into my ear since the music and cheers are so loud. “This is your night, Mateo. Seriously. You sang to your dad earlier and stopped when I came in. No one is judging you. You’re holding yourself back and you have to go for it.” That David guy finishes his song and everyone applauds, and it’s not some faint applause either; you would think there’s a rock legend performing up there.
“See? They just wanna see you having fun, living it up.”
I smile and lean in to his ear. “You have to sing with me. You choose the song.”
Rufus nods and his head leans against mine. “Okay. ‘American Pie.’ Can we make that happen?”
I love that song. “It’s happening.”
I ask Lidia to watch our drinks as Rufus and I run up to put in a request with the deejay. Before we reach the deejay, a Turkish girl named Jasmine sings “Because the Night” by Patti Smith and it’s amazing how someone so tiny can demand such attention and ignite this level of excitement. A brunette girl with a wide smile—a smile you don’t expect to find on someone dying—requests a song and steps away. I tell DJ LouOw our song and he compliments our choice. I sway a little to Jasmine’s performance, bopping my head when I feel it’s appropriate. Rufus is smiling, watching me, and I stop, embarrassed.
I shrug and pick it all up again.
I like being visible this time.
“The time of my life, Rufus,” I say. “I’m having it. Right now.”
“Me too, dude. Thanks for reaching out to me over Last Friend,” Rufus says.
“Thanks for being the best Last Friend a closet case could ask for.”
The brunette from earlier, Becky, is called to the stage and she performs Otis Redding’s “Try a Little Tenderness.” We’re next in the queue and we wait by the stage’s sticky steps. When Becky’s song is reaching its close, the nerves finally hit me—the next-ness of it all. But nothing prepares me for the moment when DJ LouOw says, “Rufus and Matthew to the stage.” Yes, he gets my name wrong, much like Andrea from Death-Cast so many hours ago it feels like it could’ve been a different day—I’ve lived a lifetime today and this moment is my encore.
Rufus rushes up the steps and I chase after him. Becky wishes me luck with the sweetest smile; I pray she’s not a Decker, and if she is, I hope she passes without any regrets. I shout back, “Great job, Becky!” before turning around. Rufus drags two stools center stage for our pretty lengthy song. Good call because my knees are trembling as I walk across the stage, spotlight in my eyes and a buzzing in my ears. I sit down beside him and DJ LouOw sends someone over to hand us microphones, which makes me feel mighty, like I’ve been handed Excalibur in a battle my army was losing.
“American Pie” begins to play and the crowd cheers, like it’s our own song, like they know who we are. Rufus squeezes my hand and lets go.
“A long, long time ago . . . ,” Rufus begins, “I can still remember . . .”
“How that music used to make me smile,” I join in. My eyes are tearing up. My face is warm—no, hot. I find Lidia swaying. A dream couldn’t possibly capture the intensity of this moment.
