I don’t stop waiting tables. I keep circling the room, avoiding his gaze as long as I can. While clearing a recently vacated table,my body moves on its own, and I start humming the same words Vincent is singing across the room.
Listen to the wind blow
Watch the sun rise
Run in the shadows
Damn your love, damn your lies
And if you don't love me now
You will never love me again
I can still hear you sayin'
You would never break the chain
(Never break the chain)
And if you don't love me now
(You don't love me now)
You will never love me again
I can still hear you sayin' (Still hear you saying)
You would never break the chain
(Never break the chain)
Dozens of images flash before my eyes: me carefree in the kitchen of the house across the street from where I grew up, laughing and dancing with the person I once thought was the most important in my life. I can almost feel the warmth of his hands around my hips, his chin resting on my head, my arms wrapped around him, the glow of phosphorescent stars above us.
Our eyes meet for the second time. The song is nearly over, and I’ve lost the battle against my tears. When I look into his eyes, I can’t help but smile. My heart is pounding so hard I’m afraid it will burst through my rib cage.
It hurts. I start clapping wildly, even jumping in place. “Go Cooper!”
The rest of the audience follows, rising from their tables to cheer him on. I hear voices praising how good he is, howbeautiful his voice sounds. And they’re right. He deserves every bit of it.
When Vincent realizes that the loudest fan is me, he nods toward me and flashes a soft smile. He sings the last verses while holding my gaze, never once looking away.
His eyes follow me across the room until the very last note, stretched out longer than it should be. When he finally strums all the guitar strings in one sweep, I freeze.
“This wasThe Chain! I hope you’re ready for the next one!”
The crowd erupts again, and I couldn’t be more proud.
Vincent’s fingers pluck the guitar strings, his voice slipping into the words of a Red Hot Chili Peppers song.
For the rest of my shift, I force myself not to look at him again, because if I do, I won’t be able to concentrate.
He keeps playing, song after song, until closing time.
I don’t know if he looked at me again during the night, and I don’t want to know. I just want to leave as quickly as possible.
I don’t want to clean with him. But I know I have no choice.
When he comes off stage, my coworkers welcome him with applause and pats on the back. He’s managed to win everyone over in minutes, and I can’t blame them.
