“Will do, honey. Love you.”
We end the call, and I drop down onto my bed, head spinning.
When I leave my dorm again in the evening, I move through campus in silence, joining the others on their way to tonight’s event. The Phoenix Auditorium is dark and already full of people when I get inside. At the front of the room, the large stage is lit with soft, amber lighting.
Tonight’s event is an extension of the art showcase this morning, with a live music night calledWe’ll Sing the Revolution. The words are printed on a sign that’s being projected on the wall behind the stage. Below it sits a row of mismatched stools and a piano covered in what I suspect are flameless candles, though it’s hard to tell from here.
For everyone else, I assume it feels intimate. Sacred, even. But I just feel strange, as if the whole room is tilted and I’m the only one who notices we’re all slowly sliding sideways.
I scan the room for her. Ralston isn’t supposed to be here tonight. It’s the only reason I came. But we all know she isn’t opposed to making a surprise appearance every chance she gets.
When I don’t see her anywhere, my muscles relax. I sink down into a seat near the back and scan the crowd again. I don’t see Dani either, but she might just be running late. Surely, she’ll be here. She’s come to everything else I’ve attended.
At least that’s what I tell myself.
I’ve been telling myself a lot of things lately.
The showcase starts a few minutes later, kicking off with a songwriter named Kiara, who strums her guitar softly while she sings. Her voice is lullaby-soft and beautiful. She’s the type of singer I’d normally hear once then find on Apple Music anddownload all of her albums and EPs. The lyrics are about rising back up—slowly, painfully—after someone’s torn you down. I try to let myself feel it, let the words burrow in where the numbness has been building. But everything inside me is static. Dull. Empty.
Because of her.
Because of me, too. Because it took me this long to find my voice again—to fight for it.
I’m waiting for something. For Dani. For a sign. For an explosion, perhaps. But nothing comes.
I sit and watch as the other performers follow, each voice beautiful and awe-inspiring.
Each artist has prepared a piece meant to honor a woman who takes much more than she gives. Poetry set to piano, ballads sung with shaky, powerful truth in their voices. One woman sings a song in Spanish. Her voice starts gentle and breathy and grows to a passionate battle cry. It brings tears to my eyes, even if I don’t understand the words.
I want this to be real. Deep down, even now, I do. I want to believe in the Ralston they all still do. I want her to be everything I dreamed she was back then.
When the final song fades and the lights come up, applause fills the room, and for just a moment, it feels like maybe, just maybe, I can hold onto this moment.
That not every space Ralston touched is ruined.
Then time crashes to a halt. I hear her voice before I see her, instantly understanding why they’re clapping.
Jesus Christ.
“Well, that’s very kind of you. I know this wasn’t scheduled, so I do hope you’ll bear with me for just a moment longer.”
Ralston crosses the stage in a purple blazer, and she’s met in the middle by a woman with a silver pixie cut. It takes me a second to place her, but then I do.
Stella.
The documentary director.
Ralston passes her the mic.
Stella clears her throat, her legs tight together, spine stiff, clearly nervous. “Um, hi. We’re—er, well, um, I’m Stella Cameron. I’m the director working on the documentary you’ve been seeing us filming around campus. If you haven’t already heard, it’s going to be calledAlthea, and if you couldn’t guess, it’s about the woman we’re all here to celebrate this week.” She fans a hand toward Ralston, who gives a small bow and playfully rolls her eyes. “We want to honor her life and legacy and bring recognition to everything she has accomplished, not just for herself but for all of us. We also hope to, in small part, say thank you in what can be a thankless world.”
The room erupts with claps and cheers, and Stella waits for them to quiet before going on. “I’m so glad you agree. We are all here because of Dr. Ralston, and while the documentary won’t premier until next summer, we asked Dean Carlyle if it would be okay to share a few early clips here tonight as a surprise, and he has agreed. So, here’s just a taste of what’s coming. Come see it when it’s out, okay?”
With that, she dashes off the stage as the crowd begins to take their seats, the room filling with applause. Ralston is slow to leave the stage, in no hurry at all, even as a projector screen lowers and the film begins.
The screen is black at first, with just a single word in scripted font.
Althea
