My pulse races, my throat tightens, but beneath all the tension lies a spark that’s wild, reckless, and alive. It’s the same elusive spark I’ve been searching for—the one I thought I’d lost for good.
It was here all along, hiding somewhere between fear and exhilaration.
And even though I’m out of practice, and nervous, and don’t even have a song prepared…
And even if I crash and burn…
At least this way, the questions gnawing at me will finally be answered:
Do I still belong on stage?
Can I really do this without Toby?
And, heart-wrenchingly,Is music still mine?
I need to know.
I take out my guitar and sling the strap over my shoulder.
Brandon told me to wait until I feel like playing.
But I can’t keep waiting. I can’t keep second-guessing and holding back.
Not anymore.
So, even if this is a shot in the dark…
Here goes.
19
Don’t Stop Dancing
Lily-Anne
I plug the lead in, exhaling a shaky breath as I survey the room.
I’m amazed the café hasn’t emptied, but people seem content to stick around for my performance. I think Willoughby has something to do with it.
He keeps the crowd entertained with light chat and a late happy-hour deal.
“We’ve saved the best for last,” he tells the crowd. “Newcomer Lily hails from the land of kangaroos, Vegemite, and poisonous wildlife. Just kidding. I’m told it’s mostly thevenomousones you have to watch for—snakes, jellyfish, the odd creepy-crawly. And stingrays—don’t forget those. No wonder she fled to Kent.” Laughter ripples. He dips the mic and murmurs to me, “You okay?”
“I think so,” I respond. “Nervous, but okay.”
“Don’t worry—you’ve got this.” He adjusts the mic stand to my height, giving me an encouraging smile that would probably make my heart skip if it wasn’t currently clattering around my chest like a trapped bird. “Just have fun with it. You’ll smash it.” To the audience: “I’m afraid that’s all the stereotypes I can think of. I’d better go Google some more. In the meantime, please give it up for Lily!”
He strides away, leaving me standing alone, consumed by stage lights.
The room grows quiet, as if holding its breath.
My mouth’s gone dry, and I wet my lips as I lean into the mic.
“Hi, everyone.” My voice rings back from the speakers. “Thanks for staying back. This is a song my dad and I used to play.”
I didn’t plan to share that private detail.
I’ll just have to trust myself and hope muscle memory is enough to seeme through. And I’m not completely out of practice. I’ve still performed this year, but it’s mostly been classical pieces for the orchestra, safe behind sheet music. Throwing myself in without preparation like this isn’t me. I never wing it.
