“Do y’all like hockey?” I ask then pause allowing the crowd to voice their excitement. “Well, Ren has decided he wants to start his own charity hockey foundation which means you may begetting more exhibition type games similar to my charity concert showcases. Ain’t that right, Rafferty?”
Ren laughs, sliding to the edge of his chair as he states, “Dec may be getting a little ahead of himself here, but yes, that is my intent. But it’s just a fledgling idea at this point.”
I wave my hand and roll my eyes. “What do y’all think? Can we maybe help turn Ren’s fledgling dream into a reality?”
The audience goes wild, screaming and clapping, shouting and stomping. I look over to Ren who’s staring out at them, wide-eyed, a look of pure amazement on his face. Touching his arm lightly with my finger I wait for him to look at me and then say, “If you want it, then we do it.”
He nods and I give him another pat on the arm before jumping to my feet. “Men, women and children are subjected to violence every second of every day. Whether it’s at home by someone we trust or out in public by strangers, the percentage of people affected by violence increases every year.
“And even after they manage to break-free from the violence, the pain remains, the scars, the agony. These deeply hurt people are out there trying to survive the aftermath of their trauma with no resources, no attainable pathway to recovery. They’re just left to pick up the shattered remnants of their lives as if they haven’t already survived their own personal war.”
Again, the lights pop up until it’s a sea of light before me. Because they know. They all know.
“I said it just last year that we need to keep our wits about us,” I go on, pacing the stage like a caged animal. “Foolishly, I had no idea at the time how truly bad it would get, but now—now—I fully understand that things are going to get a lot worse. Our government wants everyone to take on a ‘me-or-them’ mentality. Our government wants society to turn inward, to place blame around them and pass judgment on everyone. Our government wants to dumb us down, they want us to become soabsorbed in the surface level outrage that we lose sight of the fact that we actually can do something if we all work together.
“That was the entire point of setting up the foundations when I did. To provide support, to take the edge off the desperation, to remind everyone that there is help out there, you are not alone in your fear or your suffering, and, above all else, you are not alone in your hope because once we lose hope, all is truly lost.”
The lights are back, the shouts and foot stomps. I move back to my seat, flopping into the large chair as I give myself a moment to soak in the energy of the crowd.
Ren, no newbie to the enthusiasm of fans, looks on, appearing rather shell-shocked. I smile, enjoying the familiarity of the stage, the heat of the lights, the din of the crowd. Eventually, they quiet naturally, then go back to waiting for the big event that they know is coming.
“Ren thinks I’ve done lost my damn mind, but you all know better than that, don’t you?” The crowd laughs, and Ren flips me a middle finger, sending off an even louder round of laughter.
Ren slaps me on the shoulder and asks, “Can I go now?”
I nod, waving him off as I turn to the back of the stage and ask, “Where’s my wife?”
The crowd roars their approval. The curtains move, as if someone is either trying to get through or trying to keep them closed, but then, after a minor scuffle, the curtain opens. And out from the shadows steps Issa.
“Hey, darlin’,” I croon, motioning to the chair Ren just vacated. “Please. Make yourself comfortable.”
She glares at me, manages to sit as awkwardly as possible. I pat her on the knee, knowing her grouchy demeanor is mostly for show. Then I address the audience, “Y’all ready for my unfinished, half-ass attempt at writing a song on the fly cause you’re gonna get the beginning of it either way.”
The crowd cheers. A mic stand appears to my left, and I yank the mic off my collar, handing it off with a nod of thanks. Connor comes out with my guitar, and I strap it on, sitting forward in my chair.
Issa continues to watch me, though her expression is now more thoughtful than annoyed. I strum a few chords, get my bearings, clear my throat. Then I sing,
All these demons lurk in the dark,
but they’re lost to the light I hold for you
Close your eyes and see the truth
hidden beneath the pain that proves you live
I’ll be your torchlight, spotlight,
flickering candle in the dead of night
Through storm clouds, lightning bolts
You’ll find me waiting at the end of your rope
Arms open, reaching, voice broken, screaming,
I see you…take my hand.
I sing the last lines staring at my wife, knowing she’s already ahead of my cues. She looks away, her focus moving to the audience as she lifts her mic, releases the words, a cacophony of spoken poetry.
