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“It’s a great privilege for me to take a moment to address you tonight,” she says. “Autumn always feels like a season of shifting and change. Sometimes that simply means marking a new school year. Growing a little older—and hopefully wiser.”
She waits for the polite laughter she knows will follow any small joke. When an audience loves you, they’ll laugh.
“If you haven’t considered this season a new beginning, I invite you to do so now. To think about the person you want to be this time next year. To imagine the possibilities. Some of us will always do what we’ve always done. And some of us will try to be who we’ve always been. Some will be constant, persisting along their lovely chosen paths. Some will make adjustments, and life will become a new, beautiful surprise. Changes come, sometimes without our permission, and sometimes because we relentlessly chase them down. And some things are going to stay familiar and wonderfully comfortable, at least for a while.”
I think of Wanda’s challenging health, the idea that her age will soon force her into a new path. I hate the idea, and I think she does, too.
Glancing at Sage, I see her leaning forward in her seat, getting as close as she can to Wanda as she speaks. It’s the visual expression of how we all feel around here. Wanda Chamberlain is the epitome of beloved.
“And during these life shifts, we are permitted moments like this one. An evening of transcendent beauty. Unparalleled art. Performance that amuses, entertains, and educates. Ladies and gentlemen, friends, my darlings, please help me welcome to the Chamberlain stage everyone’s favorite performer, Mr. Theodore B. Halverson.”
The room erupts in applause again, and I don’t know if they’re clapping for the act to come or for Wanda. My brain is full as I process her words. Maybe she just wanted to talk about the season’s change, or maybe not. Something might be coming. A proclamation. A declaration.
If such a thing is on the horizon, I’m grateful for the warning.
The singer walks on stage, and I recognize him. I’m not super into theater, so I never went down to New York to see his always-sold-out show on Broadway, but he’s performed in enough places that I’ve seen clips of him online. And he did that funny mystery film last year. He’s got a magnetic smile, and as he passes Wanda on the stage, he takes both her hands in his, goes down on his knee, and kisses her fingers. Like he’s bowing to the queen. That would make us all love him even if he can’t sing. Then he turns to the audience and flashes that smile, gifting us with a view of his astounding teeth. He’s probably the most handsome man I’ve ever been in a room with, and he definitely knows how to wear a suit. I’m not even jealous. I’m just fascinated. He’s electrifying, and he hasn’t even made a sound yet.
I turn my head to check out Sage’s reaction, but when I look at her, she’s watching me.
I point to the stage. She nods. She mouths words at me. “I know, right? I’ve seen him.”
I lean in close and whisper in her ear. “You’ve seen me, too.”
Her nose tracks the space between my ear and my jaw. Escaping curls trace along my neck. The only thing you can really call it is a nuzzle. I’ve never been nuzzled like this before. I don’t want to shift. I don’t want to move away from her. I’m never leaving this room. I live here now.
Sage whispers, “Yep. I’ve seen you. But you’re different. I want to see you every day.”
“And this guy’s only for special occasions?”
She kisses my cheek. “You’re for special occasions, too. All the occasions.”
“I’m going to remember that you said that.”
“I hope so,” she says.
The orchestra begins, and Halverson starts to sing. Impressive. It’s not necessarily my kind of music (I mean, he’s not going to do the Superbowl halftime show), but I can’t deny it’s a masterful performance.
There’s a lot of clapping after every number, and some of the audience sings along with some of the songs. It’s unlike any concert I’ve been to, and it’s pretty cool, really. And then, before I’m ready for her to move, Sage squeezes my hand and whispers, “It’s my turn soon.” She steps over my legs and trails her fingers along my shoulder as she rounds our row.
Halverson sings a song I recognize from going to church when I was a kid, and I feel the hair lift at the back of my neck as the whole audience seems to join in. This room was made for performance, and the ceiling seems to roll the sound around and send it back in magnified waves. It’s connective. Even though I’m not singing along, I feel like I’m celebrating with all these people in a way I’ve never known I needed. Like a new room opened up inside me just to be filled up like this tonight.
At the end of that song, he puts the microphone back into the stand and places his hands in his pockets.
“Every now and then,” he says, “a musician writes a song that expresses exactly what they want to say how they want to say it. This has happened to me only once.”
Somehow, the audience knows what he’s talking about. I hear at least half the crowd cheering “Fire! Fire at Night!” It’s a roar of excitement.
He does a little half-bow and they quiet down. “That’s right. I wrote precisely the song I wanted to sing. And then something even more magical happened. Along came another musician who added a layer to make the song even better. Will you please welcome back to the Chamberlain stage, for the first ever performance of ‘Fire at Night’ with the ‘Smoky Mountain Lullaby’ accompaniment, the incredible Sage Whitney.”
I’m on my feet, clapping and cheering. Even if I was the only one, I wouldn’t care. I’m thrilled about this chance for Sage. So happy that she rediscovered some small sense of the joy she used to feel in performance. And let’s be real: she’s the best part of this evening. Watching her walk out there, the spotlight making her hair blaze into a halo, grin on her face as Theodore B. Halverson gives her a hug and kisses her cheek, I can’t stop the cheering. I don’t want to stop.
And the room cheers with me.
When we finally quiet down, Halverson takes a step back from his microphone stand and turns toward Sage. She glances down at the conductor, and I see him lift his baton. She puts her instrument to her shoulder and transforms.
I’ve seen beauty. I’ve heard eloquence. But I’ve never seen anything like my Sage Whitney on that stage. There’s a haunting, aching beauty to her first notes. She sways in the stage lights like the boards were laid at her feet only for her. This whole room seems like it was waiting for this moment to realize why it was built.
The lights flicker and I realize the tech crew has somehow created a forest full of fireflies on the stage. Blinking lights dance around Sage as she plays her notes, and the whole effect is completely magical.
