We step up to the ticket counter. I buy two tickets, and we continue into the belly of the tent.
It’s some sort of a singing game, and my intention is to sing for Elise. I have no false modesty when I say I’m pretty good at it. Six years of training in my childhood at Mother’s insistence, a natural gift, and a perfect ear for music coalesced into undeniable mastery. I would’ve developed it more if I’d had the time.
But as things are, I mostly sing in the shower and sometimes at family gatherings. What I’m about to do now is highly unusual. I had no intention of signing up when I spied the tent earlier. But then, something unplanned happened. I strong-armed Elise into describing my face. Her portrait was unflattering as she compared me to a tomato omelet and a patchwork quilt. But my takeaway is that, regardless, she finds me hot.
And now, this mean ogre has only one goal in life. It is to make Elise find him even hotter.
“It’s quite simple,” the organizer declares, looking at Elise. “One of you serenades the other in front of an audience.”
Serenade, you say?
Following his gaze, I realize there are a couple dozen people in the tent, each holding a small plastic case with buttons.
“If your cumulative score is above one hundred,” the organizer says to Elise, “then you win a prize.”
She nods.
“Who will be serenading first?” he asks, still not looking at me. “You can take turns, too.”
“I can’t sing,” Elise says.
I step forward. “It’ll be me, then.”
My speaking voice is deeper than my singing voice, which is a baritonal tenor, close to that of Andrea Bocelli. And it’s one of his songs—Grandmother Gertrude’s favorite—that I choose to perform now.
The emcee hands me a mic. “Which song will you be singing?”
“Vivo per Lei.”
“Great choice!” He swivels toward a laptop on a stand behind him. “A cappella? Piano? Orchestra?”
I opt for a piano accompaniment.
He finds the track. “When you’re ready.”
“I’m ready.”
As the first notes of the famed romantic piece fill the tent, I draw in a deep breath and let the music transport me to a world where there are no lies, no fear, no disappointment, no frustration, and no anger. Only beauty.
I return to reality at the end of the song when the audience starts clapping. They’re raving, near ecstatic. I gaze at the blurry mass of people before turning to Elise. She’s clapping, too, her expressive hazel eyes filled with emotion.
The sight pleases me beyond measure. What am I so proud of? Moving her like this? Sharing a hidden facet that goes deeper than my “tomato omelet” skin?
The organizer walks over, smiling like he’s about to hand me a trophy. And, sure enough, he does. My prize is a box of artisanal chocolates and a harmonica.
“Congratulations!” he exclaims. “Yours is the highest score of the day. Your performance touched the hearts of everyone here.”
“Thank you.”
With a soft bow to the still clapping audience, I give the chocolates to Elise and shove the harmonica in my pocket. She begins to say something, but I take her hand and lead her out of the tent.
“Theodor Delaroche, you can sing!” she gushes, as I let go of her hand.
“I know.”
“And your singing voice, it’s…”
“Unexpected?”
