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He returned wearing his red glittery sneakers and an oversized rainbow tie-dyed hoodie, which was so long that it covered his shorts. Lark handed me another hoodie and told me, “It’s a little cold out, so I thought you might want this.”
I lifted the hood on the black and white jacket and saw it was decorated with eyes, a nose, and three-dimensional ears, to make it look like a panda. He seemed so enthusiastic that I didn’t have the heart to turn it down and tell him I had a jacket in my truck. Instead, I pulled it on and said, “Thank you. That was very thoughtful of you.” He beamed at me, and I indicated his bare legs and asked, “Won’t you be cold, too?”
“I’m trying to look cute for you, and my legs are my second-best feature, after my ass. Besides, all I have to do is run around for a minute, and then I’ll be perfectly warm.”
“You don’t have to try to look cute. You’re already adorable.” It probably sounded like I was just tossing out random compliments, but I really meant it.
The night was definitely on the cool side, so Lark did exactly what he’d said he was going to when we got outside. He raced ahead to the corner and swung around a street sign, then dashed back to me and took my hand.
It was a little before nine, and the neighborhood was pretty quiet. This part of the Mission was all residential, but in just a few blocks it shifted to small businesses with apartments on the second and third floors.
When we reached a neighborhood bar called Garcia’s, Lark pressed his hands and face to the picture window and exclaimed, “Oh wow, they’ve started doing karaoke! And look, no one’s up on the stage!” He turned to me with wide, pleading eyes and asked, “Can we go in, just for a few minutes? Pretty please?”
There was no way I was going to say no to that and crush his enthusiasm, so I said, “Sure. Why not?”
The bar’s attempt to boost business with weeknight karaoke seemed less than successful. Only about a third of the tables were filled, and as Lark had mentioned, the little stage stood empty. I told him I’d get us some drinks, and he kissed my cheek before dashing to the back of the bar, muttering, “Please have ABBA.” Then he began scanning the song list. Even from clear across the bar, I knew he’d found what he was looking for by his delighted squeal. That made me chuckle.
He tossed his hoodie on a chair at an empty table right in front of the stage. Then he picked up the mic and shifted excitedly from one foot to the other while he waited for me. Once I sat down at the table with a bottle of beer and Lark’s sprite and grenadine, he flashed me a big smile and pushed some buttons on the karaoke machine.
There were some groans from the other patrons when the first few notes of “Mamma Mia” began to play, so I made up for it by cheering enthusiastically. He began with his back to the audience, shaking his cute little ass through the instrumental, and then he whirled around and began belting out the lyrics.
Of course, being Lark, he didn’t just sing—he performed the hell out of that song, then two more. He was so fun and high energy that people began to take notice. By the time he launched into “Take a Chance On Me” in his trio of ABBA’s greatest hits, almost everyone was engaged. Some people were even singing along.
When he stepped from the stage onto our tabletop, I quickly grabbed the drinks so he didn’t kick them over. I laughed as I leaned back and looked up at him, just because his joy was contagious. I’d never seen anyone so radiant, so effervescent, so unapologetically themselves. It reminded me of what I already knew—that Lark was truly something special.
Once the song concluded, most of the bar gave him a standing ovation. He curtseyed, then bent down and planted a kiss on my lips. Now I felt special, too. Then he grinned and winked at me before jumping from the table to the stage and returning the microphone to its stand.
When Lark sat down with me, he was absolutely beaming. “That was so fun,” he gushed. “You need to do a number with me!”
“Maybe.” I handed him his drink and clinked my beer to it as I said, “Cheers, Lark. You killed it.”
It amazed me how he could turn from bold to shy in an instant. He lowered his gaze and tried to deflect the compliment by saying, “I’m not a very good singer.”
“Yes, you are, and you’re also a great performer. The crowd loved it, and look what you started.” Two women in their thirties were stepping onto the stage, and a straight couple lined up behind them and studied the song list.
Lark said, “Aw, that makes me happy,” and scooted his chair around so he was facing the stage. He polished off his drink, then fished out one of the extra cherries I’d asked for as he whispered, “Thank you for this, it’s exactly what I would have ordered.”
The two women on stage performed a drunken and off-pitch rendition of Britney’s “Baby One More Time,” and when they finished, we applauded and cheered. Then the bartender brought us a repeat of our drink order, introduced himself as the bar’s owner, and told Lark, “Thanks for getting the ball rolling. Any time you want to come back for mid-week karaoke, Shirley Temples are on me. Maybe don’t climb on the tables next time, because you almost gave me a heart attack and made my insurance premiums flash before my eyes. But I appreciate the positive energy.”
We ended up staying for close to two hours. Several people took the stage during that time, and whenever there was a lull, Lark would jump up and perform. He ran out of ABBA songs pretty quickly, so then he switched to late seventies disco. With each song, he put his all into it. Every other person who got up to sing just stood there, but that wasn’t in his nature.
Eventually, Lark convinced me to get up on the stage and sing a duet with him, and somehow we decided on “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart.” He sang Elton John’s parts and I took Kiki Dee’s, which made no sense in terms of my vocal range, but the crowd loved it. We also busted out some impromptu dance moves that completely broke down into campy pantomime. At one point I mimed casting a line and catching Lark like a fish, and he made it hilarious by exaggeratedly leaping into the air and wiggling around while I reeled him in. Throughout all of that, he didn’t miss a single lyric.
When the song concluded, we took a bow as the other patrons applauded. Then we made the unspoken decision to end on a high note, so we grabbed our hoodies and left the bar.
Once we were out on the sidewalk, Lark grabbed me in a hug and exclaimed, “That was so fun! Thank you!”
“I can’t quite believe I did that. I never thought anyone could get me to do karaoke, but I had a great time.”
“It’s awesome that you tried something new.”
“I need to do more of that—trying new things, I mean. I’ve been in a rut for a long time, and it feels good to shake things up a little.”
Lark flashed me a huge smile and said, “If your goal is to shake things up, I’m sure I can help you come up with some ideas.” I didn’t doubt it.
A few minutes later, we finally reached the bodega. While I collected some toiletries, a toothbrush, and stuff for breakfast, Lark grabbed a box of colorful cereal, gummy worms, a carton of fruit punch, and a multipack of bubblegum. When I joined him, he was staring at a row of piñatas strung across the ceiling. He muttered, probably to himself, “I don’t need that.”
I knew exactly what he was referring to when I looked up. There was one tiny, rainbow-fringed donkey piñata in among all the full-size ones, and I plucked it from its string and said, “Yes, you do.”
