That One Lonely Soul

It’s all I can do to stay sane. The corner is dark, inviting on nights like these. The bar crawls with people of all different shapes, sizes, and backgrounds. The open floor throbs with bodies swaying to music. It’s spacious but crowded. Full of heat, sweat, pain, magic. I can pick out a few too young to be drinking, staggering on heels too high. I always wonder how they manage. Their souls are new, too full of life to be lurking in bars crawling with souls feeding off those much younger than them. My corner is always cozy, safe from all. Especially him. I wasn’t sure if he’d show. But he did, appearing in the doorway only to vanish a moment later as crowds carried him in. And now I can’t face him. Not because I don’t want him here because, trust me, I will accept all the support people are willing to give, but because of the electric anxiety surging through every bit of my being. It turns my body into a trembling form, my fingers accepting the most. It takes from me my voice, never allowing me to say more than a few words. It fills my mind with a myriad of thoughts, fears of what could go wrong. You’d think it would get better after the first thirteen shows, but it doesn’t. At this rate, I’m sure every show will forever feel like the first. Like the world is closing in. Like all you thought you knew has vanished. It’s a sensation so terribly dreadful you vow to never play again. To keep your music to yourself. But you never stay true to that vow because a musician’s greatest dream is to touch the soul of that one lonely listener hiding in the corner, barely hanging on to what their life is. What their life has become. I strive to reach those souls. Only because I was once that lost soul. Still am. It takes a great deal to be found. And even when you are, you’ll never shake that feeling of being completely and entirely lost. But music helps. And it forever will. 

I let my eyes fall shut, trusting the shadows to keep me hidden. I drown out all the noise, letting my ears catch onto the faraway guitar that strums along to the voice of a long retired musician. My insides continue to hum with the discomfort of vulnerability, but they quiet just the slightest as I focus what attention I can gather on the current act. I focus so hard that when a finger pokes my side, I shriek involuntarily. And then his laughter fills the air. So light, so full. I’m left shivering with a mixture of love and hate for the man now sliding into the chair beside me. He apologizes, his soft, rough voice sending a buzz through my being before leaning in to brush his lips over my cheek just enough to make me smile.

“You doin’ alright?” He throws the question casually, as if my shrinking appearance is nothing out of the ordinary. I shrug while nodding. It’s the only response he’ll get. It’s the pre-show jitters. Taking from me my voice, refusing to let me have it until the lights are on me and every eye in the room has found my figure. It’s an awfully cruel trick. But one I don’t mind all too much. It keeps me from answering too many questions. Keeps me from saying something I don’t mean. 

“You nervous?” A chuckle; that’s all. As if my silence wasn’t enough of an answer. As if the idea of me on stage is something that could ignite zero nerves. He takes my hand in both of his, pulling my eyes to his. He holds onto them, communicating all I need to hear with just a single look. All I could ever ask to hear from anyone. But he isn’t done. I can tell by the way his eyes dart to our intertwined hands before sliding back up the sloping features of my face. 

“It’s just a moment, you know.” I take a deep breath, his words cutting through the constant stream of thoughts building in my mind. My eyes that have trailed to the bobbing heads of the crowd slide back to our corner, questioning his statement, asking for more. “That’s all it is. One moment. In your life and in theirs. Whether it’s seen as a good one or a bad one is up to the universe. The best you can do is be in the moment. Give them what you can.” A smile, it tugs at the corner of my lips, his words offering a comfort like no other. “That’s all you can do.” I let my body press into his, my head falling on his shoulder, my eyes fluttering shut. “That will always be the best any of us can do.” He presses his lips to my forehead sending a shiver of relaxation through every bit of my being.

His words remain with me. Words I had never expected to hear. I never expect more than the minimum, and when I’m given more, I almost feel unworthy. Like those words should go to someone else. But these ones belong to me. I feel them twisting themselves deep into my soul as the crowd erupts into cheers. All half drunk and barely able to identify between good and bad. The few sober clap politely, nodding with appreciation. The act was good but nothing life-altering. Nothing that reached that one lonely soul. And it’s then that I start to feel more. I don’t want to get polite claps and simple nods. I want understanding. I want acceptance. I want love. I want to be more than just a girl, her voice, and a piano. I want to touch a soul. I want to calm a heart. I want to be a voice for all who don’t have one. 

But then I’m hearing my name. And I’m forgetting. I’m standing on legs that shouldn’t be considered stable. I’m being ushered forward by the hand of the one I love while being pushed back by the gaze of those I don’t know. My name is said again. This time more of a question. And then, somehow, I’m climbing the steps, looking out at the eyes of many all watching with a hint of uncertainty tainting their auras. All waiting to see if I’m just another fraud or if I actually might have what it takes. I feel them follow me with every unsteady step I take in the direction of the piano. I breathe, a deep breath that echoes in the microphone sending a wave of stuttered applause and encouragement through the crowd. My fingers brush the keys, cold and sturdy, begging for someone to give them life. My eyes fall shut; my body relaxes. And just like that, my voice is back.