Page 11 of Reggie and Delilah's Year of Falling

Except, I’m pretty sure I’m in love with the girl in the middle of the stage.

She has dark, curly hair that falls on her shoulders, a wide nose, and pillowy lips. She’s wearing a red and white flannel with checkerboard Vans and a sliver of her golden-brown skin peeks out over the top of her faded black jeans. And I wish I could wax poetic over the color of her eyes, but they’re squeezed shut, a starbursts of lines bursting from the edges of each one.

Even though her eyes are closed, her energy is still electric. She stands on the tips of her toes, bouncing and shimmying, as if only her tight grip on the mic is what’s keeping her on the ground. And her voice follows the same pattern, hopping around the harsh guitar and the fast drumbeat. It’s high and loud, like a ringing bell, but just when you’re getting comfortable, there’s a hard edge, a near shriek, that makes you stand at attention.

The song ends with one last riff on the guitar, leaving me reeling to catch up, to fully comprehend what I’m seeing.

“This next song is going to be our last one,” the most beautiful girl in the world says, speaking to the ground instead of the audience. Her voice is quiet, tentative, even with the mic. A few people in the crowd groan, clearly as disappointed as I am that this band isalmost done. “It’s a cover. You might know it. Um, yeah... Happy New Year.”

The music starts back up, fast and heavy. And the girl squeezes her eyes shut again, like she’s singing alone in her room.

“When the bells all ring and the horns all blow...”

But then all of a sudden she’s wide-eyed, shock taking over her face. And then a small smile finds her lips, like she’s just heard a joke that only she gets. Her voice gets louder, bolder. She swings her hair around and stares straight out at the audience, straight at me.

“What are you doing New Year’s, New Year’s Eve?”

And, okay, I know I said I don’t believe in insta-love. And I know I said I don’t believe in the woo-woo magic of New Year’s Eve. But I also know for sure that I was supposed to be right here, right at this moment, seeing the girl of my dreams.

Delilah

I am on stage.

I am on stage and I am singing.

I am on stage and I am singing and I think I may be... good?

For the first couple of songs, I was focused on getting the lyrics right. I held on to the microphone stand for dear life and kept my eyes shut so I couldn’t be distracted by grimaces and eye rolls—or make my growing migraine even worse with the bright lights.

Then, I don’t know if it was the fault of my fuzzy head or divine intervention, but when we got to “Starshine Monologue,” something different happened with my voice. A little yelp, I guess, at the end of the first chorus. And I heard thiswoohoo, even over Asher’s bass solo before the next verse. I decided to risk a quick look at the audience, sure someone was making fun of me somehow, maybe even pissed about having to wait through our set to get to Ryan Love or Feline. But a guy in the front with a thick mustache and neon green hat was smiling and pumping his first. The wholefront row looked just as excited. Wehada front row—when we first went on, the only person standing by the stage was a girl with a homemade Feline shirt, obviously trying to stake out her spot for their set. But now the room was getting full, people were dancing, moshing. It was definitely livelier than I’ve ever seen a Fun Gi show get from my usual spot at the merch table.

So I closed my eyes again and tried the yelp a few more times. I moved around more. I let my voice get looser, brighter. And at the end of the song, there was no doubt—the applause doubled. Maybe even tripled. It made me light up inside, even as my head pounded along with it. Charlie beamed at me, and Beau gave me a thumbs-up from behind his kit. They could feel the change in energy too.

Once we get to the last song—a fast, frantic cover of “What Are You Doing New Year’s Eve?”—I feel like I’m really getting into my groove. Mostly because, well, I don’t feel like myself. I would never be this loud, command this much attention. And I definitely wouldn’t kick my leg out on that high note, like I just did right now, to cheers from the audience.

But there’s something so... exhilarating about that? Because I’m not being myself, so I guess that means I can be anyone. And if I’m anyone, that means I can doanything. In this moment, I’m not Delilah, with all my hang-ups and overwhelming desire to shrink myself. I’m someone else. And I don’t think I’ve ever felt that sort of freedom before.

At the end of my next line, I decide to open my eyes and take in the audience again, risking a full stare this time. And I’m shocked.How did this room get even more crowded? The whole place seems to vibrate with their excitement, a blur of sparkles and ironic plastic New Year’s hats and leather and denim. All of it for us. For me.

I smile to myself. I can’t believe Iyeah, whatever-ed myself into this ridiculous, exhilarating situation.

I launch into the rest of the song, the adrenaline pushing away my pounding head and the nausea, and I give it my all. I make my voice high and sweet, like a teakettle about to blow. I take the mic off the stand and jump over to Charlie, singing to him. I play around, trying sharp yelps and sugary coos, channeling the videos I watched of all those formidable front women.

And I’m singing.Reallysinging. Finally. I feel like I’ve leapt off the cliff at last, but I’m not falling. I’m flying. My voice is powerful, lifting me higher and higher.

When Charlie strikes his last chord, the crowd explodes. But instead of basking in it, I speed off the stage, scared that the magic will evaporate.

“We’re Fun Gi!” I hear him yell into the mic. “If you liked that, then find us online because we’ve got more coming! Good night!”

My first thought when I reach backstage:I can’t believe I fucking did that.

My second thought:My migraine has officially arrived.

The sharpness and steady pounding that was at the edges before has now taken over. The back of my head feels tight and achy and the front feels like it’s being squeezed in a vise. Everything is too bright, too loud, and if I don’t take one of my pills soon, I’ll becompletely knocked out. For the night and maybe even for days. I’m so stupid. I can’t believe I just left them in the car when they’re my lifeline.

The guys run off the stage. Beau screams my name, waving his hands in the air. Charlie grabs me by the waist and twirls me around. It should feel so good, but I think I’m going to puke.

“You were fucking incredible!” Asher says, shaking me by the shoulders. His cheeks are flushed red and his hair is spiky with sweat.

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