Give Me A Reason

by Jennifer Miller

  At first people were hesitant to get on stage. It was like they needed someone to break the ice each week. Initially, Dusty volunteered me to do that and each time, others would follow. Eventually, people were fighting for turns, whether they were first, last or somewhere in between. It’s been fun to watch it develop its own life, and each week Dusty still expects me to get up and sing – and I do. I admit I enjoy it. I’ve always loved music. I didn’t realize how much I missed my old high school choir days. I guess singing in my car and the shower just wasn’t cutting it anymore. I actually have found myself looking forward to getting up on stage.

  Walking to the book of songs, I select the one I want to sing, and another just in case and show them to Erik, the DJ that runs our music and karaoke nights. “Demi Lovato tonight, huh? Good choices,” he says. “I can’t wait to hear you nail them.” I smile, and nod. I’ve been compared to Demi a lot and it’s a comparison that secretly makes me proud – her voice is insane. Her vocal range alone is incredible.

  As I take the stage, there are cheers, claps and whistles from the crowd – looking around I smile at familiar faces. I wave at a few knowing their kindness is because they know me and have heard me sing before. It’s like my own little fan base. When the song and lyrics come on the screen, the crowd cheers again which makes me laugh, the microphone sending it around the room. Knowing that I start singing almost as soon as the music starts, I look at Erik and nod my head so he knows I’m ready. I sing the hell out of Heart Attack. It’s a song about not wanting to fall in love, but doing so anyway. I lose myself almost immediately. There’s something that happens to me when I’m on stage, when music runs through me; I close my eyes, lose myself to the music, to the words, and belt it out. I let the music fall over me and it’s as if each note peels away the façade revealing the real me underneath. And it’s saying look at me, listen to me, I have something to offer, something to say.

  I’m able to become one with the song. It’s as if I’m a different person up here. The quiet, closed off person that I am more often than not, opens up. Music speaks to me in a way nothing else can. It unlocks my heart, makes me vulnerable, makes me feel. I blossom. I become the person I love to be.

  Opening my eyes, I play to the crowd, I smile, I’m able to let everything that sits on my shoulders, that weighs on my mind, that can make my stomach feel heavy… go… I can let it go and just…be.

  When my eyes connect with Britt’s she smiles knowingly at me. I’ve told her before, confided in her how singing makes me feel. She told me once that she can always see the moment it hits me on stage, the instant the real me arrives for others to see. She nods at me, kneels on her stool and cheers her head off. I thank the stars the day her broken heart brought her into this place. She’s become a friend I never thought I’d have. My biggest supporter, my rock, my secret keeper, someone that simply gets me; without me saying a word. She’s ridiculous in the best kind of way.

  When the last note rings out, the room explodes in praise. I smile shyly and people immediately begin asking and demanding more. Seeking Dusty out in the crowd, I find him leaning against the bar, rag thrown over his shoulder, arms crossed and a big smile on his face. He nods permission, and I nod at Erik silently asking him to start the next song.

  When Two Pieces starts to play, the bar cheers, rewarding me for responding to their request and singing one more. Absently looking around the room, my eyes land on the man that ordered a drink from me earlier. The man that asked me about a woman that sang here. He shakes his head at me with a smile and I shrug. He’s sitting with another man whose stare is a bit disarming. They each talk to the other, nod, and stare at me the whole time.

  Looking away, I begin singing the next song, losing myself, or maybe it should really be defined as finding myself – once again. When the last note rings out, the room explodes into cheers once again and clapping. Smiling and laughing, and ignoring the request to sing yet another song, I hand the microphone to Erik, “That was amazing,” he says. “You should sing another.”

  “No, that’s okay, two’s enough. It isn’t the Sailor concert last I heard.”

  “It should be. I’d pay to hear you sing, seriously.”

  Laughing at that comment, I roll my eyes. “Time to give someone else a turn. Thanks, Erik.” I walk past the line of waiting people. Some stand confidently, looking almost bored waiting for their turn, others look nervous, biting their nails or chatting with the person next to them about being scared to sing for the first or fiftieth time. I love it. I love the way music affects people, brings them together, speaks to them and makes them feel fearless. Good or bad I can’t wait to hear each one.

  Returning to the bar, I’m stopped along the way by people telling me, “Wow, you’re amazing,” “Loved it, Sailor,” “Please sing more.” I smile and nod and duck back behind the bar and serve drinks. It appears I may be thanking people for their kind words for the rest of my shift as I’m given compliment after compliment. It makes me feel good, makes me feel like…I matter. A simple minute of singing, which is nothing really, no time at all, made a difference to these people. For a long time I felt like my voice wasn’t heard. I screamed, ranted, raved, cried, demanded and begged, but still, it’s as if I wasn’t saying anything at all. I was ignored, disbelieved, betrayed…silenced. Maybe that’s why I sing with everything I have – I want to be heard. And hearing and seeing the impact my voice brings on stage is priceless. It gives me a sense of peace. It validates me. It proves that I have a voice after all. And what I have to say is worth telling.

  “That was amazing, as always, Sailor, seriously. How did I get so lucky to have you work here?” Dusty asks me with a pat on my shoulder.

  “I’m the lucky one. Thanks for letting me sing.”

  “Letting you? No way. I demand it of you.”

  Laughing I turn away and Britt is smiling ear to ear. “That was the best yet,” she says sincerely.

  “It was fun,” I tell her shrugging my shoulders. “Need a refill?” I ask her.

  “I’ll go for a water.”

  “Good choice,” I tell her and grab a glass to fill for her. Then I lose myself in the chaos of filling drink orders and tending those at the bar once again. People make comments about my songs in between drink orders and I thank them, all the while enjoying the other people taking turns on stage. The buzz in the atmosphere makes me feel joy; I’m almost floating on my feet as I work my ass off.

  As closing time nears, my feet start to protest loudly and I’m happy that it’s about time to go home. Britt is sitting down the bar waiting for me. We became roommates not long after meeting, we hit it off so fast, so I know she’s waiting to go home together.

  As I’m wiping down the bar and putting washed glasses away and closing alcohol bottles and putting them in place along with other routine close-up tasks, Dusty goes and starts placing chairs on table tops. “Sailor, was it?”

  I turn and find the man from earlier back at the bar, “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Your singing was amazing. Why didn’t you tell me that you were the woman I was obviously asking about?”

  “It could have been anyone. There are a lot of people that come in here and sing each week.”

  “Yeah, but not like you I bet.”

  I shrug, “I think that’s a matter of opinion.”

  He’s joined by the man he was sitting at a table with and they both stare at me. “Do you guys want another quick drink before we close up?” I ask unsure why they are both staring at me. They’re making me feel uncomfortable.

  “Actually, we came here to hear you. Like I suggested earlier.”

  “Why?”

  “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Jace Green and I’m the manager for the band Graffiti. Have you ever heard of them?”

  “Of course. Who hasn’t?” I ask, the band immediately coming to mind. The lead singer is in the news a lot and not always for their music. His antics lately have been displayed for the world to see
as the media’s ability and love of exploiting him and realizing a likely profit at his peril has been displayed. Which is a shame really, because their music is great.

  “And with me is Rick McEntyre, he’s an executive producer with Black Lamb Records. We’re actively looking for a woman to audition for Graffiti, and we’d like you to come to the studio this week.”

  “What?” I ask them completely not sure I heard them correctly and suddenly feeling a little dizzy.

  Jace smiles, “We are looking to add a woman lead singer to the group and word leaked about an amazing singer here at The Hook, so we came to check you out.”

  “You came… to hear me?” I ask and see that Britt has moved closer to the conversation.

  “That’s right. You’re brilliant, and we think you could be a great fit with the band. We are having an audition this Wednesday, and I’d like you to come. There are a few other girls that will be there, but I’ll be honest,” Jace says as he leans closer to me across the bar, “you are my favorite. If you’re interested, we’d like you to come and sing a couple songs with the band, and see if the sound is what we expect and how it feels for you…and them, and then go from there.”

  “Go from there,” I repeat like some psychotic parrot. But I can’t stop. I hear what he’s saying but it’s like the words aren’t computing in my brain or something.

  Britt reaches across the bar and grabs my hand. I clutch it like a lifeline. “How do we know this is for real and you aren’t just some creepy weirdo trying to get her to your lair of sexual perversion or something?”

  I’d die of embarrassment if I weren’t secretly wondering the same thing. “We aren’t, um, sexual perverts,” Jace says with a laugh as he nearly forces the business card in my hand that I now realize he’s been offering since he started talking. “We are really looking for someone to join the band.”

  “Why are you going about it this way?” Britt asks. “Surely the pile of demos you have of women waiting to be heard is stacked pretty high.”

  “Why not? Sometimes diamonds in the rough make the best discoveries.” Rick chimes in. “You have my card,” Rick states as I look at the thick piece of paper with his title and Black Lamb Records right there in black and white. Jace hands me one of his as well. “I’ve written the address on the back. We’d love to see you there at two pm if that’s possible. If for some reason that doesn’t work for you, call me. Actually, just call me no matter what. We’ll work around your schedule but we do want to move quickly if you’re interested so just let me know if you will be there either way. Have you ever thought about having a music career, Sailor?”

  “In my dreams, sure. As an actual option for my life, no.”

  “Well, I guess the man up above was listening, because maybe we can make those dreams of yours come true. Hope to see you there. And I’ll be honest, if you don’t show, well now I know where you work. You can expect me to be a pest,” Rick says with a laugh.

  With matching smiles, they both leave and I’m left staring after them in disbelief.

  “Britt?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Am I dreaming?” Suddenly, I feel a sharp jab on my arm and I yank it to my side and cover it with my hand. “Ow!”

  “You’re not dreaming,” she responds and we stare at each other wide-eyed.

  I have to confess, I wasn’t sure I’d ever write another one of these acknowledgement pages. You see, this book took a really long time to write. I’ll spare you the details, but before this book began I had my own cancer scare, combined with finding out that my step-mom’s cancer returned and we lost my step-grandmother to colon cancer. Needless to say, the last seven months have been hell and I had the most epic writer’s block of all time. I just couldn’t push past it no matter what I did. I was forcing myself to try to write a romantic comedy thinking that was what I needed – something fun and funny – but I couldn’t find those feelings inside of me no matter how hard I tried. Instead, this story was gnawing at me - scraping and clawing, wanting to be heard. It took me a while, but I finally listened. Slowly but surely Oliver and Remy’s story emerged and through writing it I was able to confront many of my own emotions, which I found both therapeutic and painful at the same time. My hope is that their story touches your heart in some way and that you remember love, faith and freedom can be found on the other side of fear. Most importantly, I hope that this book is a reminder that since tomorrow isn’t guaranteed to any of us, that you make sure you are living each and every moment to its fullest. I wish for you to find your reasons.

  In many ways this book is a love letter to mother’s and daughter’s and many of my feelings about my own mother are bared in this book. I love you, mom. You’re my best friend, you’re my biggest advocate, you’ve held my hand not only through these last several months but any time I needed you and even in the moments when I thought I didn’t. I’m very lucky that God gave me you and you will always be one of my reasons.

  To my step-mom, Tami, the courage and bravery that you live every single day is part of what I hoped to convey in this story. I hope that I did you justice. I love you, miss you, and think about you each and every day. To my dad, you show us each and every day what loving a woman is supposed to look like. She, and all of us, are lucky to have you. To my step-grandma Gail, aka GG, I hope that there’s a big patio at your home in heaven and that you and Marty are sitting there together watching the birds while you reminisce about the good ‘ol days while you pet Sophie. I wish you had read that last message I sent you and I will always regret the fact that I called you one day too late. I’d give anything to be able to go back and change that choice.

  To my friends Carrie Schlax, Jennifer Hunter, Gina Skoumal and Terri Keaton, as well as the family of two of my readers Betsy and Melanie – I share this story with you. You are strong women that inspire me every single day – keep kicking cancer’s ass.

  To my best friend Georgia Cranston, thank you for reminding me that I could do this even when I doubted myself. You held me up a lot these last several months and I don’t know what I would have done without you. Thank you for pushing me, encouraging me, worrying with me, and plotting with me, but most of all, thank you for always laughing with me and holding my hand through the not so fun times.

  Jennifer Domenico, Angela Corbett and Glorya Hidalgo – thank you for your love, support and encouragement. My world is better with you in it.

  To my loyal readers, thank you for your messages, emails and posts letting me know that you were missing me. I wish I could convey to you how much they meant to me and how the timing would always be so ridiculously perfect. I’m incredibly lucky to have you in my life.

  To Jake and my girls, thank you for being my reasons each and every single day. I love you.

  Author Jennifer Miller was born and raised in Chicago, Illinois but now calls Arizona home. Her love of reading began when she was a small child, and only continued to grow as she entered adulthood. Ever since winning a writing contest at the young age of nine, when she wrote a book about a girl with a pet unicorn, she’s dreamed of writing a book of her own. The important lesson she learned about dreams is that they don’t just fall into your lap – you have to chase them yourself. Most importantly, she is a wife and mother, and is very lucky to have a family that loves and supports her in all things. She also has an unhealthy addiction to handbags and chocolate covered strawberries, neither of which she cares to work on. For more information about Jennifer Miller, please visit www.jennifermillerwrites.com

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