“Thanks,” I murmured.
He nodded once and returned to the sound board as if nothing had happened.
The crowd quieted as the lights shifted, letting them know that the show was about to begin. Mr. Humphrey stepped forward again, this time waiting for my nod.
I gave it.
“Welcome,” he boomed, voice echoing through the square. “To the Maple Ridge Talent Show. I hope you all enjoy tonight as local talent steps onto the stage. Please remember that each member of the show is at a different level of their talent journey so be kind and liberal with your applause.”
Applause erupted, warm and enthusiastic.
The first act stepped onto the stage.
A young girl sang with earnest confidence, missing a note but never her momentum. The crowd applauded loudly,generous and proud. Dad leaned forward, delightedly clapping as Mom smiled.
Great Aunt Cathy tapped her pen sharply against her clipboard.
The second act was a dance routine that started late and ended early when one dancer slipped and dragged the others with her. The recovery earned even louder applause than the performance itself.
I checked my clipboard, smiled at the performers as they exited, and motioned for the next act.
The evening was moving along. It wasn’t perfect but people were happy and entertained which I felt was a personal victory.
The young boy with the violin ended to thunderous applause, his smile wide now that his part of the show was complete. I smiled as he hurried offstage, ushered the next group forward, and made a quick note on my clipboard to adjust the timing. We were running a few minutes behind, but nothing irreparable. We could make the intermission a little shorter if necessary.
The next act involved three boys, one acoustic guitar, and a shared microphone. They launched into their song with enthusiasm and very little agreement on tempo. The guitar sped up. The singing lagged. One boy panicked and skipped an entire verse.
I caught Caleb’s eye.
He adjusted the sound just enough to soften the edges, turning chaos into something almost charming. The audience clapped along, amused rather than critical. When the boys finished, breathless and grinning, the applause was loud and genuine.
Dad scribbled notes enthusiastically. Mom leaned toward Anne, talking about the act.
Cathy crossed her arms, frowning. As the next performer took the stage, Cathy rose from her seat.
“I still don’t understand,” she said sharply, her voice carrying farther than she likely intended, “why the evening is proceeding without any professional element.”
A ripple of murmurs passed through the front rows.
I quickly stepped forward to the judges table.
“This is a community talent show,” I said, keeping my tone calm. “Everyone here is a professional at being brave enough to get on stage. It’s not meant to be for top acts but for people starting out. I think they are doing a great job.”
A beat of silence followed.
Then someone clapped. Another joined in. Applause spread outward, not thunderous, but firm.
Cathy sat back down, lips pressed thin.
Anne stared straight ahead, cheeks flushed.
The next act was announced by Mr. Humphrey, and the moment passed.
I moved through the side of the stage, checking in with performers, offering a quiet word here, a steadying smile there. My throat felt rough now, each word scraping slightly, but I ignored it. I could deal with that later.
A dancer froze mid-routine when her music skipped. For half a second, she looked terrified.
Her mom stepped closer to the stage and caught her eye, exaggerating the next movement just enough to jog her memory. She recovered, laughing softly, and finished strong. The applause was immediate and warm.
