The next song is acoustic. I’m normally amped up and ready to give the best show of my life. And I’ve tried to bring that same energy today, even though I doubted I’d be able to get up here at all. The wild part of the night is over, and I’m glad. I’m hovering around theholy fuck, I’m probably going to run out of energy soon and fall flat on my facemark.
Changing out my electric guitar for my worn-in acoustic, I’m thankful for the slower pace. I’m rich enough to afford expensive, gorgeous guitars, but I love this one. It’s old and familiar, battered all along the pick guard, the frets raised so high that it’s painful to play. She’s warped and twisted with age, but she still sounds as hauntingly beautiful as when I first picked her up. Even then, she was rough. I don’t play my first guitar anymore. That one is safely mounted on the wall in my house. This one, though, I bought on the spur of the moment when I saw it in a pawn shop window in New York.
I glance to the left side of the stage as I secure the guitar’s embroidered leather strap over my shoulder. Carissa isn’t normally there, but tonight, she’s anxiously standing in the shadows with her arms crossed over her chest. Her big black medical duffel bag rests at her feet. She’s stoic, her eyes big andworried but sparkling just a little bit too. If she smiled, I have no doubt she’d light up the whole stage.
But she doesn’t. She’s too professional for that.
I’m not.
I cast her a lopsidedI’m going to make it after all, who would have thunk itsmile and whip around, strumming the first chords of the song I’m about to play.
I extend my arm in the air as I step up to the microphone on the stand, center stage. “I wrote this song when I was at the lowest of the low.” The crowd roars, and I wait for the echo of their voices to still. “The night was dark, and I wasn’t sure there’d ever be a morning coming. But it did. That sun dawned bright and clear, and I have never been more thankful that I was there to see it. For every single one of you who’s felt like the lights are going dim, who can’t find the surface to break through, who’s afraid that there won’t be sun ever again, hold on tight. Find one single reason to take the next breath, and cling to it. There is breath. There is goodness in this world. There is light. There’s more than just existing. There’s beauty in this life and in living it.” I make a fist and thump my chest over my heart three times. “Thank you for making this life possible. Thank you for taking my songs and giving them new meaning. Thank you all for being my family when I had none left. You’re my heart and soul. I do this to feel, and when I’m up here, I feeleverything. So thank you, San Diego. Thank you so much!”
The crowd bursts into a frenzy of screams. I can hear theI love yousand my name falling from thousands of lips.
I know what song I’m going to play.
They know it.
The whole world knows this is my intro toSave Me A Lullaby So Our Hearts Can Slow Dance.
It’s not a love song. It’s not sappy. We don’t do those. It’s not even a ballad. The lullaby is sad and depressing. It’s aboutexactly what I just said. Being at the lowest of lows and finding your way out. The lullaby is the words of hope you whisper to yourself when you need them most.
At least, that’s what I mean to play, but when I start, it’s the wrong chords.
The wrong lyrics fall from my lips.
The crowd goes deadly quiet as I play a song they’ve never heard before. No one’s heard it ever. No one but me and Carissa.
It’s the first song I’ve ever played that I haven’t written.
“There’s a broken path, crumbling beneath my feet. A forest in the distance, a mountain behind me. The skies a lake of fire, and the flames dance in my eyes. My heart’s a wretched thing, so tired of soldiering, but in this world, we can’t talk peace. I don’t know how to rest. I don’t know what to do to keep it from raining torn scarlet roses in my chest.”
I heard the song only once, but something of this magnitude stays with you. I’ve also been writing and playing music for just about my whole life, so once is all I need for the music to get caught up in the pitted holes of my soul and live inside me.
The song unfolds and comes alive, branching into the chorus.
I’m so awed, humbled, and honored to be given a song like this and have the opportunity to bring it to life. Carissa didn’t just give me music. She gave me a bleeding sacrifice of her own heart, her thoughts, her memories, and her experiences, all wrapped up into one five and a half minute package.
I play through every single second, and when I’m finished, the eeriest silence I’ve ever heard descends on the crowd. For just a few seconds, people stand, breathing in the emotion, soaking in the sensations, and glorying in the transformative power of song.
And then the screams come. The cheers. The deafening roar that fills the amphitheater backs up and rises past all theglistening lights, up into the atmosphere for all the stars and maybe even beyond to hear.
I’m the only one on stage, but when the band joins me again, I don’t miss the puzzled, hostile looks.
Of course you’d do something like this,Matt’s frown says.
Fuck you, and if you had a dog, I’d say fuck it too,Jameson’s eyes snap.
Luke shakes his head.What the fuck was that, man?
I whip around and quickly launch into the correct song. It’s meant to be acoustic at first, with the band joining in later. They pick it up flawlessly, even though they’re stunned and no doubt pissed. I didn’t mean to do that, but they’ll never believe it. It’s not like I could start and just stop.
We play through the rest of the set, turning on the energy in a slower-paced way. I let the crowd fuel me so I can give them the best performance of my life, just like I vowed to do for every performance I ever give. It’s only fair. It’s right. Every single night, every single time, every single show, no matter what.
The night comes to an end, we leave the stage for a few minutes without looking at each other, and then come back for a four-song encore. After it’s over, I stand, sweating and trembling, my heart so damn full from being given new life on this stage.
I raise my arms high and shout, “Thank you so much, San Diego. This has been one of the best nights I’ve ever known.” My throat closes for a second, hot and prickling, when I consider that this might be thelasttimeI’m ever up here. ThelastshowI ever do. Certainly, it’s looking that way for the band. We can’t hold it together any longer.
