“You can do it. I believe in you, baby. You were meant for this.”
“I’ll go tell Mark.”
Dean gives me one last squeeze and leads me out of the bathroom, while I wipe my eyes.
Mark and Allison are still at the dining table, their food relatively untouched. They look up at us expectantly, storm clouds rolling out over the hills. “Is everything okay?” Mark asks.
“Yes,” I say, pretending like I didn’t just cry my eyes out and leave snotty tissues in his bathroom trash. At least I didn’t clog his toilet. “I’ll join you on stage tonight.”
“Excellent,” Mark claps his hands together. “Do you know what song you want to sing?”
“Yes,” I say.
15
Although there’s about a hundred lights shining in every direction on the stage at The Belladonna, I can’t see the crowd. But I can sure hear them. Bustling and loud, there’s a few dozen people talking and chatting. I sit on a stool off to the side while Mark and his band set up their instruments and gear. I’m ready to go on in the middle of the set.
There wasn’t enough room for Dean up here on the small stage, so he went to wait down below with the rest of the concert attendees. My phone buzzes with a grainy, zoomed in photo from Dean of me looking particularly grumpy and disheveled in the corner—my black dress wrinkled from being in the car and under my coat, my hair in a messy ponytail, and one boot with a lace untied—captionedI can see you.I reach down to tie the lace, when Mark starts strumming his guitar.
Lights dim, shining only on Mark, while the crowd settles. He adjusts the microphone on the stand, and it sets off a tiny bit of feedback. “Welcome everyone.” The drummer rattles then settles his snare drum. “I’m sure you know why we’re all here tonight.” The crowd gives an unrestrained cheer, buzzing with excitement—this isn’t a sad event. Everyone is looking forward to this.
Mark continues his opening speech. “My best friend died five years ago earlier this month. And today, we’re here to remember him the way he liked to be remembered. On stage, with a guitar, and a crowd. Let’s kick it off, guys.”
The opening riffs to LAST TIME sound insanely good on the electric guitar Mark plucks at. Although he was the bassist while Andy was still alive, and electric guitar isn’t usually used in Andy’s songs, he plays the guitar in this song like it’s second nature. It brings something fresh and riveting to Andy’s music. Mark really makes it his own. This isn’t an Andy McKinney song anymore. Maybe it never was.
Mark’s voice is strong and robust, like a true rockstar. I wonder why Mark stayed low, and why he wasn’t more famous. He certainly has the stage presence, with his tapping foot and fiery attitude. The rest of the band follows his lead, and it’s obvious they are well rehearsed by the way they seamlessly transition from one song to another. They play IF THE TIDE TAKES THE COAST next, and then MORE THAN THIS. Mark told me they weren’t sure of the set list, but I wonder if they’re playing the entire album.
I wait in the wings of the stage for another four songs, wringing my hands while I figure out what I’m going to say when I get on stage. Surely the crowd will expect me to address them. What would I say—that I miss him, that I’m sorry he died? That I’m more than a hypochondriac freak and to ignore the news?
I don’t know. I think about what I would say to Andy. That I’m sorry he had to go that way. That I miss him. That I’m okay. That the world might not have been kind to me at the start, but I’ve made it through.
I’m getting dizzy thinking about this.
Before I can react, there’s a spotlight shining on me. Mark is standing in front of me, holding out his hand. I hesitantly take it and hop down from my stool. He leads me to the frontof the stage, over wires and equipment, past the guitars and tambourines. I shield my eyes from the lights with my hand, and I can finally see the crowd, which is now eerily silent. I spot Dean, front and center. He looks at me like he sees the world in me. Mark releases my hand and picks up the microphone from the stand.
“We have a very special guest tonight,” He says, and I’m already starting to choke back a few tears. There are so many people, and they’re all looking at me like I’m naked or have three heads. Rather, they’re probably amazed that I’m standing out here, not freaking out like the hypochondriac I am. “Would you like to say anything, Madeline?”
“Yes,” I say, and Mark hands me the microphone. I pause for what must be an eternity, staring at every individual face in the crowd, my hand still covering my eyes. After what feels like an eternity, my gaze lands back on Dean, who nods his head, silently encouraging me to go on. I clear my throat into the microphone and move my hand from my face, and Dean, and the rest of the crowd, fades out of sight.
“Hi,” I start, and the crowd cheers. It takes a solid thirty seconds for it to die down so I can go on. “I miss Andy like hell.” Another round of cheers, that lasts doubly as long. “If…if there’s anything I’ve learned in the last week, it’s that we can go on loving Andy by loving others. So, be good to each other. So, this next song is for him, for me.”
Nervous, I slowly break into the first verse of MADELINE. Mark picks up his guitar and strums it. His drummer and violinist pick up their instruments as well. It’s been years since I’ve really sang, and my voice is throaty and rusty. I can barely hear myself over the excited roar of the crowd.
But this is my song. I know it by heart.
I think I’ve found you just in time
I’m waiting at your house, you fell asleep,
all I can see is your face, I know I’m
Almost there, almost home,
I weep at the sight of you
I finish the first verse, and close my eyes, swaying to the music. I’m transported back in time by the sound of the guitar strumming, to the very first time I heard this song. Andy sang it outside on a hot, humid summer day. We were fresh faced twenty-three-year-olds, newlywed, just moving into our house in York Falls. The garage out in the yard wasn’t even yet transformed into Andy’s studio where he would record the album. I was eating strawberries from the farmer’s market that weekend, and Andy had just picked up this guitar from a shop in Portland.
He told me he had a new song for me to hear. He wanted me to record him playing it. That video would later go viral online and land him his record deal. The rest was history.
