Present Day 

The butterflies wildly flap their wings in his stomach as he savors the last few moments before the curtain rises. There are so many people in the backstage corridors, surely getting the last few details worked out before the show’s headliner climbs onto the stage. Voices are a dull hum in his ears, being drowned out by the clapping thunder of his heart beating in his chest. He is sure if he looks down, he will see his heart trying to desperately beat out of his chest. The adrenaline speeds through his veins like fighter jet cutting across the skies, and there is anticipation tingling at the tips of his fingers and toes. Tonight is the night that he has been dreaming about for a few years now – his return to the stage, his homecoming. 

But it is a dream that had become a nightmare only eighteen days ago. One accidental revelation had nearly killed him, threatening to end this tour before it ever took off. He still felt the pain in every part of his body. It was a pain that consumed him wholly, gut-wrenching and heart-squeezing. It took every piece of him to get up every morning, run through rehearsals and sit through interviews with a smile on his face. 

Silent killer. His pain was silently killing him, and no one knew it but him. 

“Big crowd out there,” his mother says softly, breaking through his solitary thoughts, “You nervous?” 

And there it is. Despite the nerves and fears taking hold of his gut and throat, there was energy, anticipation, and adrenaline rushing through his body. Tonight was a culmination of months of endless nights in a darkened studio, alien chords overtaking his every thought and gut-exposing words pouring from his mouth. Days when he didn’t know if he would ever have the right song or the right medley, and days when he couldn’t see himself make it through to the end. Of all his music, this was his most personal. Walking into the studio, his canvas had been stark white, his palette of colors undecided, and his inspiration unfound. But life, life always chose. 

“I’ve never been this nervous,” he says softly, but his mother hears him. Like always. She’s been the one person that he’s had beside him that hasn’t failed him. 

“Go out there baby, and leave your heart out there. They’ll take care of it for you,” she whispered, her arms wrapped tightly around him. There was a wave of calm that rushed over him feeling his mother’s embrace filled with warmth and security. He never needed to tell her what bothered him; she simply always knew. 

Maybe one day he’d be able to share with her his pain. 

The buzz of thousands of voices began intensifying through the arena’s concrete walls.  The opening acts had gone out there and gotten the crowd riled up for him. It was his turn now. Stepping up the few steps that led to the main platform, he felt the electricity in his fingertips. The house lights went down and the screams were deafening. With a heart jackhammering his chest, he breathed deeply and took a step forward. The microphone slipped in his sweaty hands, and his grip tightened. 

The stage was small in comparison to his former stages, but it still dwarfed regular sized stages. From his spot, the crowd was nothing but shadows of smiles and silhouettes of craze. His new music was such a departure from his norm, but his life in itself was no longer his norm. Gone were the screaming guitars and thumping drums. Every song reworked to mesh with his new music. Familiar yet tweaked opening chords fill the arena, and he knew that they’ll stand by him – no matter what. 

The first song is a blur. He’s gone through the motions that he’s over rehearsed, and in the blink of an eye, he is standing in the center of the stage staring into bright lights and over glowing faces. He says nothing, hoping the love and adoration heals the cracks in his soul. Closing his eyes, he’s transported back to that moment in time at the end of his Madison Square Garden show when his throat choked and his eyes watered. The feeling of invincibility and vulnerability, love and cared. With a steady breath, his ocean blues open and he allows a genuine smile to finally caress his lips. 

“How’s everybody doing tonight?” he hears his voice boom and bounce from the speakers. “Before this show goes on, I need to thank everybody for coming out tonight, and buying the album. This moment right here has been a long time coming, and I thank you for sharing it with me. As we get older, we learn to appreciate the small things in life. And this moment, seeing your smiles and hearing your screams are what s the most and what heals the best. I hope you enjoy the show.” 

And, he was off. He didn’t need the elaborate stage shows of his twenties or the intricate choreography of his teens. Now, in his thirties, he’d evolved. His passion was fed through the simpler beats, the simpler shows, and the rawest emotions. Life had flipped the script on him. So many years he’d heard from fans tell him of how his music had rescued them, healed them, and brought them peace. And now, he was in their shoes. Music rescued him from a void abyss of pain, guilt, and loneliness. 

The electricity invaded his toes and climbed his calves. The adrenaline rushed from his temple down his arms, a dull throb at the tips of his fingers. And the fire burned from the bottom of his stomach. The trinity culminated and bubbled over, his voice pulsing into the microphone and out of the massive speakers that surrounded the arena. Too much time had elapsed since it had been just him and the music, and he truly had missed it. Yes, his time away from it had given him the opportunity to cultivate his talents in other areas and to build his empire, but music was his lifeline. 

And now, when pain, confusion, and solitude had taken over his being, music was fueling his healing. Music was keeping him alive. It was the padding on the wall as his heart was thrown against it. It was the landing pad as his soul was thrown from a high-rise building. And it was the breathing machine that kept the breath of life in his lungs. 

A lull. A pause. A breath.

The show itself is halfway through, and numbness sets in. The house lights are down, and only the shining lights of phone screens and distant camera flashes meagerly light up the arena. He is sure if he were up in the rafters, he would hear the spotlights cackle – scorching to the touch. The spotlights are off, giving them time to cool off and for him to run offstage for a breather. But, his feet do not move. Instead, he stands onstage, unseen by the crowd. 

His eyes scan the crowd, searching for the face of someone he doesn’t know. And will never get to know. Behind the railing, he searches unknown faces for the slightest trace of what he is looking for. Maybe he seeks a combination of classic blue eyes, and classic blonde ringlets. Or possibly a reflection of his awkward nose and her pouty, perfectly and naturally lined lips. Instead, there’s a girl in the front, her hands clasped to her chest and her eyes wide and compassionate. Everyone around her is screaming, frantic for his return to the microphone. But, she is alone, calm, and patient.

Rising from his side, his hand brought the microphone to his lips, “I’m not some great poet, and I’m certainly no philosopher. But, I am human. And I feel a sense of duty to each of you, so I will share this with you.  There’ll come a time in life when we lose ourselves, and we’ve got to fill in the map. Along the way, there are choices we’re all forced to make – a left or a right, an up or a down. This album turned out to be my map, my road, and my never-ending search for something I did not know I sought.” 

One, two steps forward and the spotlight finds him, standing beside his faithful companion – the piano. 

“No matter your journey’s length, hardship, or final destination – always make your own choices. Because in the end, all we have are choices to make.” 

And broken from his rambling, the screams become deafening and the emotions become overwhelming. He feels his heart begin to overflow with a fusion of pain, sorrow, despair, and above all courage. His eyes follow the gentle sway of the thousands of moving bodies, and his ears pick up their chant of his name. They can sense his sorrow. They are not blind. His fans know him. They’ve known him better than anyone for a long time. They can see his heart dragging behind him as he moves about the stage. He allows himself to become consumed with the emotion tightening in his chest. There is so much that he wants to say, but words fail him.

There is so much that he wants to feel, but his senses are burned. The roar of the crowd has pressed against his eardrums. Their love washed over him like a tidal wave, dismantling his reserves.

With the microphone to his lips, his mouth opens but silence reigns. His voice cracks, and he can’t help but hide his shame behind his microphone. There was a time when he carried all the confidence in the world on his shoulders and at the corners of his cocky smirk. His eyes held a devilish twinkle, and his body fluidly moved with a confident sway. But, tonight as he finds himself voiceless and defenseless, he doesn’t recognize himself.  

And, he knows when and where he lost himself. 

Eighteen days, ten hours, and forty-three minutes ago to be exact. In the cold embrace of three short lines on a piece of paper in the office of her house. At the mercy of her frigid honey-hued eyes and in the vice grip of her disdain and indifference. 

He hadn’t had a choice. 

But opportunities in life are doors waiting to open. And choices, well, choices are the hinges of destiny. 

Tonight was his opportunity.