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“That’s why I suggested it.” He pulls away and motions to somewhere behind me.
I turn around and sure enough, there’s a stage across the way. Equipment is set up, and a band is taking its place in front of a small crowd. A sign perched on the corner of the stage reads Dancing: FREE Karaoke: $1 per song.
“Let’s do it.”
Trevor tucks the cotton candy under his arm so he can take my hand. “I’ll dance, but you’re not getting me on that stage to sing.”
For over an hour, we watch people climb onstage. Some sing perfectly, some off key, and others can’t sing to save their lives, but it doesn’t matter how they sound because Trevor and I are having the time of our lives. We’ve danced and laughed and when the middle-aged woman in a crop top and far too much makeup steps off the stage, we collapse onto a bench.
“That was fun,” I say, blowing my hair out of my face. “I didn’t know you could dance.”
“There’s a lot about me you don’t know.”
“Isn’t it weird that we’ve known each other our whole lives, but there’s still so much we don’t know about the other?”
“Tell me something about yourself that I don’t know,” Trevor says. “Wait, tell me something no one else knows.”
“Like a secret?”
“A secret, a hidden talent, a fear, anything. I want a piece of you that no one else is privy to.”
“Okay.” I look around, trying to come up with something I can tell him, when my eyes land on the microphone.
Singing was a thing between me and Dad—something I cherished and loved. He would twirl me around the house, and we would belt out tunes while Mom cooked dinner. Most people don’t even know I can sing, or that I love to sing. I haven’t so much as a hummed a tune in front of another person since my father’s death—not even Mom or Mo—but I find myself wanting to sing for Trevor.
“Wait here.”
I leave him sitting on the bench. I walk up to the young girl sitting at a table beside the stage, hand her my dollar bill, and give her my song request. The band members wave me on stage, and that’s when the panic sets in.
My heart is pounding, my palms sweating, and there’s a good chance my entire funnel cake will end up on the floor at my feet.
“You okay, darlin’?” the guitarist asks.
“Just feeling a little uneasy,” I say, looking out at the small crowd. Most of them aren’t even paying attention, but Trevor is, and his smile is about as wide as it can get.
“You don’t have to sing. We’ll even give you your dollar back.”
I smile up at the man. “No, I want to.”
He nods. “Just relax and have fun. That’s what this is all about.”
“What if I mess up?”
He chuckles, his belly bouncing in the process. “No one’s gonna care.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better.”
The man covers the microphone with his hand and leans in close. He smells of Old Spice and cigars, and a wave of nostalgia washes over me. “You did hear the last woman sing, right? You can’t be any worse than her.”
I shouldn’t laugh, but I do.
“You ready?”
I nod. He hands me the microphone, and I take a deep breath. Trevor wanted to learn something about me that no one else knew, and this is about as big as it gets.
The band beings to play. I listen to the opening chords, and when I hear the familiar tune, I lift the microphone and begin to sing. The melody flows through me as I close my eyes and sing the old country ballad. It’s about a man who loses the woman of his dreams and battles his way through addiction to get her back. It was one of my dad’s favorites, and when I find myself alone or in the shower, it’s this song that finds its way to my lips.
My legs are shaking, but my voice doesn’t waver. I pour every ounce of energy I have into the lyrics, and when the song ends and I hear thunderous applause, I force myself to look up. There are only about twenty people surrounding the stage, but they’re all standing up and clapping, including Trevor.
