There is no time like now to get started. After coming to an arrangement on prices and contracts, they will begin next week. I check in on Lexi every now and then, only sending a few texts because I’m trying not to overwhelm her. She replies to let me know she’s okay, but not much else. She ignores my late-night drunk text of, ‘I miss you.’
I don’t blame her, I don’t want to pressure her.
I even swing by one day after work just to catch a glimpse of her. And before I know it, two weeks have passed. It’s strange, I miss her like I miss Justin. My heart aches for both.
His mother returns to Paris hating me. The world goes on like he never existed, but I know that’s not true, and I will remember him the way he was before all…this. Loving, fun, my son.
No arguments or anger, no drinking or hate. Just family.
On Friday night that week, I allow myself a little weakness—I go to the club. I need to hear her and see her. I sit way in the back in the shadows as my angel takes to the stage. The lights hit her from behind like the burning sun, illuminating the goddess she is. She is in a simple, short white dress with sequins on it and heels, and her hair is loose and wavy. She has never looked so beautiful, and when she takes the mic and starts to sing, I’m transported away.
For those three minutes, I’m not me. My heart isn’t heavy with my pain and grief. I’m not tired and sad. I’m what her lyrics make me be, they bring me to the world she has created with her stunning, raspy voice. I see it having the same effect on everyone else—they are entranced, that’s how good her voice is. Goosebumps erupt on my skin, my hair stands on end, and my lungs freeze, caught on each and every word. She gazes at the crowd, but she also looks beyond us as well, as if she’s truly transporting us away.
Her voice is so good, she could be a star, but she never wanted to be. She just enjoys performing, it’s her way of letting go, and as the song changes, her voice follows, shifting to a haunting rasp that has tears entering my eyes. She sings of lost love, of death, and new life. She sings of forgiveness and second chances, and deep down, I know she’s singing for us. It’s in the stark honesty of her face and eyes, in the way she gives each word her all, with such power and purpose behind it.
She is doing more than singing a song. She is the song.
Her body is the lyrics, her heart is the melody, and her mind is the emotions.
When it’s over, she stands draped in the spotlight that can’t match her magnificence. Her head is bowed, and a single tear glistens on her cheek as the beat slows to a stop. Then the lights go out, and when they come back on a moment later, she’s gone.
Swallowing, I close my eyes for a moment and remember how good it felt to be loved by her. To be hers and only hers. To know the creature in my bed and arms shined so brightly, she eclipsed anything else, bringing you into her orbit. Revitalising you, filling you with such love and emotions that you could only hope others ever felt even an ounce of the same.
Knowing I need to leave before she catches me here, I stand, drain my glass, and leave a tip. On the way out, I have a word with security, asking him to walk her to her car, and he assures me he will. I buy a rose at the bar as well and ask them to give it to her, but I don’t say who it’s from.
And then I head home alone, to my cold empty bed, and hope that one day, my angel will fly back to me.
On wings of songs and love.
Lexi
He didn’t know I saw him that night at the club, but of course I did. How could I not? Even swathed in shadows to hide from me, he stood out. My heart always knows where he is, and I sang for him. It wasn’t the song I planned to sing, which tripped up the band, but I did it anyway. I needed him to know.
Everyone deserves another chance.
That I love him.
That I regret how it ended.
And when I received the rose on my way out of the bar, I smiled as I smelled it, because I knew he understood. In his way, he was telling me he loved me too, and that he will be waiting when I’m ready to come back home.
To him.
I don’t reach out that night, or even the next night, or the night after that, because I’m still healing, still growing into who I want to be. I want my life in order, to finish up my night classes and get my degree, and I pick up a show on the west end. I’ll still perform at the club because I love getting to sing and dance there on a night, to express my sexuality and freedom, but I can’t wait to start at the musical as well.
I’m not a lead role, but that doesn’t matter, I’m doing what I love—performing, and I have finally found my thing.
Two more weeks go by, the days moving quickly. With learning the songs, picking up the routine, and practicing day after day and then performing at the club at night, I barely have time to think or feel. But sometimes, between when the dark is chased away by the light and I’m lying in bed while the world sleeps, I think of him. Of his smile, his touch, his body, and his love.
I miss him.
I don’t allow myself to tell him, though we still talk every now and then. Mainly to see how the other is doing, but nothing too personal, nothing too deep, nothing that would hurt. But that little bit of contact stops me from going insane without him.
Has he moved on?
Has he found someone else to warm his bed and distract him from the pain? I tried, I just couldn’t, and I wonder if he feels the same.
I dare not ask, even when I inquire about how he is. Really, I mean, do you still love me?
Do you still want me the way I want you?
The night of my first performance on stage, I am so nervous. I told him about the new job, but it isn’t the same as him being here. I search beyond the lights, wishing I could see him in the crowd, but they are just strangers. However, when I get home that night, there’s a container of food waiting, my favourite flowers, some wine…and a note.
I’m so proud of you, Angel. Know that I’m there at every performance.
Your biggest supporter,
Tyler
I cry that night, and I ask myself not for the first time why I left him. Why I didn’t take him back when he asked. I thought I needed to stay away to find my happiness, but it’s clear he is my happiness, and without him, I’m just miserable.
But what if he doesn’t feel the same?
There is only one way to find out, but even that fills me with fear. Right now, we’re caught in the in between, still holding on, but if I ask and it’s a no, if he’s moved on or doesn’t want me anymore, then it’s truly over.
And that fear holds me back for the next two weeks. Each day, I have more questions and concerns, and I miss him more than I thought possible, as if my every breath hurts without him there. I miss him holding me, I miss his smile, his laughter. The way he saw the world. I don’t even see him again, and that kills me.
That’s the funny thing about fear, it cripples you more deeply than even heartbreak, because you imagine everything that could go wrong, every possibility, and you overthink it time and time again. When, in fact, the worst thing could be the word no.
So on a Wednesday night when I’m walking home after the show, I stop along the river and pull my coat in tighter. The summer will be gone soon, and the cool air is reminding me of the winter to come. The half-moon shines bright above me, the clouds hiding the stars. The water is peaceful, and the city is awake but quieter at this time. I stand there, watching the water before pulling out my phone, and I take a leap of faith.