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I hadn’t run my speech past him then. I still haven’t.
We didn’t change the set.
And now, on top of everything, the rain.
It’s so crazy, because they say it rarely rains in Athens this late in May. But a gentle, sudden rain begins to pitter-patter and the fans roar with happiness, lapping it up. I look at Miki, worried that the rain will distract him, but he looks happy—this is his first rain concert. He tips his head up, his black hair glistening with raindrops. I know how he must feel. Rain shows are such a unique, magical experience.
But this time, for me, it just adds to the nightmare. I try to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other, but the stage is slippery with rain, and my hair flops down in my eyes, dripping water. The rain is drowning me instead of lifting me up.
A few minutes after the rain starts, it’s time to singSaint Hope.
I honestly don’t know how I will survive singing this song right now. I just want to curl up and not think about hope anymore. But somehow, with the Greeks standing on either side of me, I get through it. The crowd loves the hopelessness in my voice, and they yell the lyrics along, crying with me.
As soon as I’m done, I feel empty. Lost.
I tell the crowd I needed some help today, and that these dudes saved me. I say Dimitris’ and Yiannis’ names again and, after the deafening applause and the whistling, the Greeks walk backstage once more, shaking with elation. I’m bending down to gulp some water because I’m sweating like a pig, when my earpiece pings.
“Isaiah.” It’s Skye. “Look down.”
I do. And I see her.
Eden.
She’s here. She came, right at the moment I thought all hope was lost.
She’s standing in front of me, in the pit, at almost the exact spot she was standing in New York. She’s surrounded by four guards, and a few more dudes stand nearby who I am almost sure are not fans, but more security. Our eyes meet, and my entire body is struck by a jolt of electricity.
She looks away. I don’t.
Isaiah’s phone
Isaiah: Hey mom, I’m going in for the first show in two minutes. I’m writing this in the car, I don’t know when you’ll see it but mom… can you please pray for me?
Mom: I always do, sweetheart. But this is the first time you’ve ever asked me to.
Isaiah: Oh, you’re here. Wait, I’ll call you, I don’t want you to keep typing on your phone.
Mom: My hands are ok, Zay, I can type a text or two to my son.
Isaiah: I just don’t want your hands to hurt.
Mom: I am fine, Zay.
Isaiah: You always pray for my shows?
Mom: You knew this.
Isaiah: You never said.
Mom: Why say what you already know?
Isaiah: Crap, I need to go.
Mom: Your dad would be so proud of you, Zay. Is so proud of you. Your grandfather too.
Isaiah: …
Mom: Any particular reason why you need help in this show?
