Page 13 of Rock Candy

“Will you at least come to see me play tomorrow?” she asked.

“I’d love to.”

She hugged me before I left, and I smelled her hair like a fucking creeper.

Eddy sentme a text message that my name was on the VIP list for her show and that if I approached the bouncer at the entrance to the backstage area, he would know to let me in. But the truth was, I kinda wanted to see her like everyone else did. I never actually saw Eddy play live. Both times we were in the same place, I didn’t get the chance. In Martha’s Vineyard, I was too upended after our night together to watch her, and in North Carolina, my band left early to make it to our next gig. But seeing as I was currently unemployed and definitely taking my friend-zone status seriously, I wasn't going to miss it. I texted her back to say I would be watching from the audience and if she had time, I’d come back after the performance to say hi. She didn’t text me in return but honestly, I was betting that she was pretty damn busy prepping for her set.

Hours later, smashed shoulder to shoulder in the crowd, I watched her own it. Eddy played onstage like it didn’t matter who was watching, but she also somehow made you feel like she was there only for you. Her stage presence was commanding and intimate, like we were all hanging in her living room as she shared some sweet sad tunes with us. She sat on a round stool rather than pace the stage. She played some songs on her guitar with her foot propped up on the rung of the chair. She let her band manage the instruments for other songs, instead diving deep into her soul to belt out her heartfelt, personal lyrics. Eddy used the stage to share, to connect. She bore her spirit to an audience, and they absorbed her pain and her heartache for her. It was cataclysmic to watch, and standing there, I didn’t know how I was ever going to be her friend.

At the end of a forty-minute set, she strode off the stage, and with the other festivalgoers, I jumped to my feet, yelling and clapping, desperate for her encore, needy to see her play one more song. Somehow, even though we all knew she’d come back, there was a shared sense of suspense. Hushed murmurs and pleas. When she retook the stage, she was smiling.

She grabbed her mic and climbed up onto her stool, looping the heels of both her boots on the chair rung before she said, “You know, I was thinking. Are you all in the mood for a treat tonight?” She got the response she expected, positive hoots and hollers. “So, there is something I want to share with you. It’s new for me. And I think you’re going to love it.” I could feel the people around me start to buzz with the electricity of getting a first look at something no one else knew about. I was also excited until she said, “But it’s not something I can do alone.”

Fuck.I went weak in the knees.

“I wrote a song with a good friend. And I’m fairly certain he’s out there with all of you in the audience tonight, and if I can convince him to come on up here, then he and I can share our new song with you. What do you think, y'all? Should Henry come up here and sing with me?”

The audience erupted in applause as they looked here and there, attempting to find me. I didn’t move.

“I’m not gonna lie,” Eddy said into the mic. “Stages are not Henry’s jam, but he told me that he’d sing this song with me sometime and…” She shrugged. “I feel like today is that time.”

The crowd started to chant my name. “Henry, Henry, Henry.”

I still didn’t move.

Onstage, Eddy blew air out her mouth, puffing up her lips in false frustration, and then she said, “I’m sorry, Henry, but I’m not giving you a choice.” High up in the air on the screens that were on either side of the stage, the image that the world had turned into a meme of me cackling at Rick’s demise appeared.

The crowd got quiet, and there was a smattering of awkward laughter. Eddy looked up to her right at one of the images, and then she pointed and said, “This is Henry. Most of you think he’s a devil who delights in people’s demise.” She looked back to the sea of people who idolized her. “Take it from me, he’s not. He’s a rare gem. A quality person who doesn’t try to save face. He just pushes head-on into the hard, murky ugliness of being alive. And more than that, he’s a gifted musician.” I looked down at my feet, not quite willing to absorb her compliments because they were too good. “Now, I’m pretty sure he’s standing next to one of you.”

Still looking at my feet, I shook my head and put my hand up before the guy next to me could take credit for my discovery. A spotlight funneled through the crown, and I heard the mischievous smile in Eddy’s voice when it found me. “Ah.” She grinned. “There he is. Henry, are you ready?” She hadn’t really given me any choice. The crowd parted like the Red Sea as I made my way up to the stage.

Once I was next to her, Eddy handed me her guitar. “You play it,” she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“You sure?” My voice was deep and clearly uncomfortable. A guy from backstage approached me and went to work on affixing it to mic.

She nodded, and then she said, “You got it. That’s your comfort zone.”

When my mic was on, I pulled the guitar strap over my head and adjusted it till I was comfortable. She’d been playing all night, but I checked the strings and tuned it to my liking.

Shaking her head at me, Eddy asked, “All set?” I tipped my chin at her, still feeling too uncomfortable to really speak. “Okay then, take it away, maestro.” I strummed our first cord and then the second, trying to calm my breaths, but it wasn’t until Eddy started to sing that I realized I was going to be fine.

She sang, “As a kid, there’s nothing but dreams.”

Looking into her eyes, I answered her, “It’s all sweethearts, sneaky kisses, and jelly beans.” Our song was part folk music, part indie rock. It was twangy and rhythmic, sweet and silly and real.

Eddy sang high in her register, looking into my eyes with such kindness. “You speak in platitudes and everyone agrees. Life hasn’t shown you what it means.”

“There is laughter most of the time.” I didn’t think about the audience. I didn’t feel the fear or the anxiety I normally felt. I just kept my eyes on her, grooving my way through our music.

“Some yelling, some sour, some emotional crimes.” She moved closer to me, vibing our duet.

“You’re impervious, flying above the fray. When the thunder comes, it’s simple

to turn away.” I wanted to touch her, but I didn’t. I just kept singing, driving all the passion I felt into my performance, and it felt powerful, like the most fun I’d ever had.

“But the walls are closing in again. It’s getting darker and we might not win. I touch your hair, and I kiss you now. Keeping tomorrow, keeping tomorrow, keeping tomorrow in the wind.” As we harmonized our way through the chorus, I knew the truth. I could sing onstage. I could, but only with Eddy by my side. She gave me the strength to be the man I really wanted to be. How was I going to survive her?

When the show was over,Eddy got eclipsed by all the VIPs backstage. I was standing in the corner of the greenroom, trying to seem like I had it all together but really I thought I might puke. I waited a few minutes, and then I just couldn’t take it anymore. I needed space. I needed time to think. I needed to figure out how I was going to manage breathing in the foreseeable future.

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