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I’m Darcy, I am Heathcliff
I’m freaking Mr. Knightley
Struggling for words
Yeah, I’m full-on Captain Wentworth
Writing letters, writing songs,
giving you my soul
I’m begging you to pierce me
Pierce me
Pierce my armor
Pierce my soul
Rip me open
Take my heart
What’s left of it anyway
It’s yours
It’s yours
It’s yours
It’s yours
It’s all yours
They are all singing it with me.
Man, these people pick up music quickly. But what else did I expect? This is Greece. I don’t know who knows who Rochester or Heathcliff is in this crowd, but they sing it anyway. Some might know Mr. Darcy. No one knows Tess of the D’Urbervilles, that’s for sure. But Eden knows.
She knows. And I bet that she remembers.
As my voice rises an octave in the fermata, the music and the emotions running through me are so powerful that everything goes black for a split second. When I can see again, I’m on my knees on the floor of the stage, gasping for breath, tears pouring down my face, into my mouth, down my chin.
I’m shaking all over, unable to move, but the crowd sees none of that.
They shower me in applause as I kneel there on the ground with rain splattering around me, whistling and yelling stuff in Greek. The standing ovation lasts for more than seven minutes. Then it suddenly stops.
Really suddenly. Crowds never stop applauding like that; it always peters out, sometimes more quickly than you’d expect, but never all at once, with a huge, collective gasp. Something has happened. I feel so depleted of energy, it takes effort to lift my head and breathe, let along look around to see what’s happened.
But in the end, I don’t need to. A hand is on my shoulder, and someone kneels next to me, taking my shaking hands in theirs.
Soft, slender fingers grasp mine warmly. They are shaking too, but they are steadier than mine. Then suddenly, I find myself face to face with Eden. It’s her. She has walked on stage and is kneeling next to me, reaching for my hands, looking like the sun and the moon. There are droplets on her hair, her cheeks, her lips.
“Are you ok?” I ask her, immediately. “I’m sorr… I can’t breathe.” I gasp and sit back down. I feel that I’m going to pass out.
“It’s ok, I’m here,” she says, helping me sit back properly. “Put your head between your knees.”
“You came back,” I keep repeating over and over. I can’t say anything else. “You came back.”
