“Honey…” She touches my arm and I turn to face her. “I’m serious. He has it bad for you. And, you’ve definitely got… something for him.” She chooses her words carefully.
“Yeah. In the eight years you’ve known me… have I ever given you any reason to think of me as a person who would have it bad for someone?”
“No. Until just then.” She says pointedly.
The lights go down and I’m glad. I can’t keep the act up for long, and I can’t process my thoughts wilt her haranguing me for answers I don’t have, and don’t want to share with anyone.
The second act starts like the first one, in complete darkness. It gives the audience no choice but to focus on the music. The music that deserves our complete and undivided attention.
The clearest note rings out, that one single note, enveloping my consciousness, building and building the anticipation, until I realize I haven’t taken a breath in so long. The mind races, trying to generate a melody from the one note, craving for a resolution to the question what song are they going to play next?
And then, the stage explodes into light, and the opening strains to Ram Jam’s “Black Betty” blasts from the speakers. Four spotlights focus on the band, all four on their feet, facing each other in the middle of the stage, completely engrossed in their own instruments, but creating a sound that carries as one. Sarah and I can’t help but jump to our feet along with the 10, 000 people around us, the crowd singing along to the music.
My eyes are cemented to Sebastian. His hands dancing over the cello, like he was born to create this music. His utter commitment to the performance taking a hold of my own music-obsessed mind and I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to be with someone who so intrinsically understood that passion of mine.
My hand comes up to touch my cheek, the spot he’s touched twice now. It burns hot, as if the blood in my whole body has rushed to that spot to make a connection with him.
I can’t remember when I’ve ever felt so alive.
I know why I can’t remember.
Because I’ve never ever felt this way.
***
“You guys have been fucking amazing! The best in the world!!! We are so bloody down with down under!!” The other cellist, Jez, shouts into the microphone as the boys take their bow.
We’re all on our feet. Bodies sweaty from dancing, spirits full and satisfied from the musical feast we’ve had. I wring my hands to stop them from reaching out to Sebastian as he moves off the stage, his eyes locking with mine for a moment, a soft smile playing on his lips.
I can’t help but wonder if this is the last time I’ll ever see him. And the idea fills me with a terror that is disproportionate to the time I’ve known him. Which only makes me more afraid.
The stage is empty and the chorus starts to build. “Encore, encore, encore!” Sarah shouts at the top of her lungs along with the crowd.
I hold my breath.
Anything for more.
The yells and claps start even before I notice him come on stage.
He’s alone.
His cello in one hand he walks to the microphone.
“This is for someone. She knows who she is.”
I vaguely feel a pain in my arm that I guess is Sarah digging her nails into my biceps.
But I don’t care. He’s moved his chair right up to the edge of the stage and in front of my seat.
He runs his hand through his sweaty fringe, pushing it back from his forehead and he stares at me for a second before closing his eyes, and pulls his bow across the strings.
I don’t know what I expect but it wasn’t this.
Within seconds, I and the entire audience double over in laughter as the song emanating from his cello is the one and only Carly Jae Jepsen classic “Call Me Maybe”.
I look up at him through laughter-induced tears and he has the most camp look on his face as he sings along with the crowd “Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy, but here’s my number, so call me maybe.” At one point he stops playing and mimes the phone up against his ear, using the old rotary dialing telephone and the audience erupts into even louder hysteria.
And then, without missing a step, he puts the imaginary phone down and starts to play again, this time, it’s The Police’s “Every Breath You Take”.
The way he plays it, it sounds like it was made to be a cello solo. It’s haunting and beautiful, soulful and somber. It’s perfection.
I feel my hands clasp each other and rest against my chin as I watch him. Drinking in everything about him, his movements, his facial expressions, his breaths.
I don’t want it to end.
But it does.
And the applause is louder than anything we’ve heard that night.
He stands and winks to me, pulls something from his pocket and throws it to me.
It’s the cello rosin box. I open it and take the jar of amber balm out and see it’s wrapped in a piece of paper. I unfold the paper and mouth the words written there, “See me backstage, maybe?”
I look up at the stage and he’s gone.
I guess he made it up to me after all.
SEBASTIAN
I run off the stage to the sound of the applause so loud I can’t even hear my footsteps stomping on the metal staircase leading down to the backstage.
The sights around me are a blur, my heart’s beating so fast I’m trying to take deep breaths to stop it from thumping right out of my chest. The combination of ending the show, and the performance for Cadence have me reeling. The head rush is better than the drugs we used to think we were so cool for trying.
A hard thump on my back stops me on my way to the backstage door where I’m hoping she’ll be waiting for me.
“Ma-ate!” Dennis grins at me. It’s really the only time he’s ever really happy, when a show’s gone well and he can relax for five minutes before the next one. “That was phenomenal.”