Dream Chaser

by Angie Stanton

  “Nice try. You are not going to believe what Gloria is doing now.”

  “You mean besides turning you into a great singer?”

  “She gave my mom some mysterious address with directions, and they won’t tell me what it's about. I know she’s going to make me sing in front of people again.”

  “You realize that’s a good thing, don’t you?”

  “No, it’s not! I hate singing in public. You know that!”

  “Well in another couple weeks, you’re gonna have to whether you’re ready or not. And I’d appreciate you not sounding like a squeaky mouse.”

  “Ouch! Whose side are you on?”

  “Mine! Tyson’s. Gloria's. Listen, I know you can do this. You’ve just always been too self conscious to try before. Give me the address, and I’ll look it up.”

  I read him the address. “So what are you really doing, watching Next Top Model?”

  “Cute. You’re a riot. I’m working on a paper for AP Lit that’s due next week.”

  “Wow, you work ahead.” I thought of my history paper that was due last week. Oops.

  “It’s fifteen pages and twenty-five percent of my grade. Oh, here we go, she’s sending you to...”

  “Where is it? Tell me it’s a vacant lot or a cemetery.”

  “Oh. Interesting,” he said.

  “What? Where am I going?”

  “I think it’s better if you see when you get there, but you’re on the right track.”

  “What, a cemetery?”

  “I’m not gonna tell you, so you can stop asking.”

  “You are a total shit! You’re supposed to defend my...I don’t know. My whatever!”

  “Sorry, you need this. You’ll do great. Just relax and have fun.”

  “You know this is grounds for a break up.”

  “You’d never do that. You want me too much.” I could practically see the grin on his face.

  “You are in so much trouble. I’m deleting you off my phone!”

  “Hang up now, and do your warm ups. You’ll be glad you did.”

  “You are so bossy, but right. I’m hanging up. Bye.”

  “Bye, break a...”

  I clicked him off. The jerk.

  As I turned onto the road listed in the directions, I discovered my final destination; The Hospice Care Center.

  “Oh boy.”

  I knew what this meant. I had to sing in front of sick people.

  Correction.

  Dying people.

  I did not want to walk into that building, let alone force these dying people to listen to my ineptness. Not to mention, sick people gave me the creeps. I know it’s wrong, but it’s true. What do you say to someone who is terminally ill? Hi, how’s it going? What did you do today? Anything fun coming up? Oh yeah, death!

  Singing at the nursing home was bad. The people were old and dying, but these people wouldn’t be that old. I walked past the pristine landscaping to the front entrance. Each step filled my stomach with dread. Gloria came out.

  “Please don’t make me do this,” I pleaded.

  “Willow, you have a beautiful gift to share, and these people deserve as much joy as possible in their final days.”

  “But I’m no good. Let’s call Eli. He’d be good at this.” He probably wouldn’t be creeped out, either. His heart was better than mine.

  “Willow, the nurses and staff have brought these patients together to hear you. They’re waiting. Would you deny them whatever entertainment you can provide?” She gave me one of those looks that said stop being a selfish little twit, it’s not about you.

  “No. It’s just that they deserve so much better. They shouldn’t be forced to listen to a breathy, nervous teenager.”

  “So don’t be breathy, and don’t be nervous,” Gloria said, as if it was easy as pressing a button on the TV remote.

  I chewed my lower lip.

  “Come on in. You’re third in the line-up. Watch the ones before you to get your bearings.” She took my arm and led me inside.

  I followed her into a beautiful entryway with stained glass windows. We walked down a long hallway with dozens of quilts displayed. Each quilt was made up of large squares with names and dates of people who died. Some included a picture of the person. Their smiling faces followed me as I passed.

  We rounded a corner to a large carpeted gathering place. In front, a man played guitar. Rows of people in upholstered chairs lined the room. Loveseats and sofas created the side of the performance area. Next were a row of people in wheelchairs, many with a loved one at their side. At the back, five hospital beds occupied by patients overlooked the performance.

  The patients were in varying degrees of illness. At least it looked that way. A woman wore a scarf wrapped around her bald head. A man had oxygen tubes around his ears and under his nose. A young-looking guy was attached to an IV drip.

  My throat tightened when I noticed two little kids snuggled next to their mother in her hospital bed.

  Gloria waved me to a seat in the back. The man playing guitar finished. Next a little boy about ten years old came up with a basket. He pulled a couple balls out and proceeded to juggle. He was really good too! That kid juggled behind his back, up high, under his leg and even spun between throwing a ball and catching it.

  Every person there, including me, smiled. Then he pulled out juggling pins and made a huge fanfare. Then up they went one after the other, and he flipped those pins into the air and expertly caught each one again and again. When he almost missed a pin, he made a big deal of lunging for it and then quick wiped his brow with his arm between throws. He held the audience in the palm of his hand.

  Next the little goober set the pins aside and spoke. “What is the most dangerous item to juggle?” he asked with a dramatic voice and serious face.

  “Scissors!” yelled the girl cuddling with her mom.

  “No, but that’s a good guess,” he answered.

  “Broken bottles,” said the older man with the oxygen tube.

  “Yup, that’s dangerous…but not the most dangerous.”

  I noticed an older woman wearing a bathrobe, sitting in a soft love seat, beaming at the little boy. A younger woman with the same color hair as the boy sat next to her. Her eyes twinkled with pride. It must be his grandmother and mother.

  “Give up? The most dangerous item to juggle is…” He paused for effect, and I found myself leaning forward, eager to know.

  “A sword!” He pulled a long plastic sword from his basket and held it high in the air.

  “And what is more dangerous than a sword?” he asked.

  “Two swords!” said a thin man dwarfed by his wheelchair.

  “That’s right!” The boy pulled another plastic sword out. “And even more dangerous?”

  “Three swords!” called the little girl in the back.

  “Yes!” He pulled the last sword out and held them all in the air.

  We all cheered.

  “Now ladies and gentlemen, I’m gonna have to ask you to move back, because I don’t know how this is going to go. I’d hate to slice one of you open.” His devilish eyes shone.

  A couple scooted their chairs back to appease him.

  “And now, may I have complete silence as I attempt this rarely successful challenge.”

  Every person in the room focused on this sweet, funny little kid. A few nurses gathered to watch.

  He took a deep breath, focused as if he held lethal weapons and not toys. Suddenly he tossed one in the air, then another and then the last. He whipped those swords around, the blades spun in precise control. Then for his finale, he flung them one by one high overhead nearly hitting the ceiling lights of the great room. He eyed them closely as each one fell and he caught them smooth as could be.

  The audience of Hospice patients and their families applauded and cheered as the little imp grinned and bowed.

  Now that was a performance!

  “He’s awesome!” I said to Gloria.

  “And you will
be too,” she said dragging me back to reality. Her steely look promised there would be no backing out.

  The juggling boy had distracted me so much I'd forgotten why I was there.

  “How am I supposed to follow that?”

  “You get up there and concentrate. You know what to do. You have the tools. It’s time to face your fears and go for it. Stretch yourself.”

  I swallowed down the stage fright that tried to overtake me and looked at the little boy hugging his grandmother. If he could do it, I guess I could give it my best shot.

  Gloria took a seat behind the piano and waited as the Hospice woman introduced me. I straightened my shirt and gave a nervous smile to the people who waited so patiently as if they had all the time in the world.

  These people were so sick. They knew they were dying, and it was only a matter of time. Their family members sat at their side. One of their last memories together would be of this evening’s odd assortment of entertainment.

  The love in the room overwhelmed me. The support everyone gave each other created a beautiful energy.

  Gloria began the intro to my first song, an upbeat snappy number. I took a deep breath and hit my opening note right on time and in key! I moved to the beat and smiled. The song bounced along in a fun, sunshiny way.

  The onlookers didn’t seem bored and no one fell asleep like they did at the nursing home. They appeared content and happy, which meant I didn’t totally suck.

  My other number was a ballad with a power ending. It’s a song about love and letting go. My character, Lauren, sings it about Eli’s character, Zach. She loves him but has to let him go. Suddenly I saw the parallel to these people who had to let each other go.

  I focused my energy and blocked out everything except the meaning of this song. I sang with as much love and thoughtfulness as I knew how. I thought of Twinkie and how much I loved her. I sang soft where I was supposed to and put all my emotion and heart into it.

  I sang to each of the patients and to each of their loved ones. Their eyes didn’t leave me the entire time. I felt their energy tied with mine. More staff from the center came into the atrium area with awe on their faces. I let go of everything, and by the last verse I put all my strength behind it and let my voice soar into a crescendo of power that almost knocked me off my feet.

  Tears rolled down the cheeks of the woman holding her children on her bed. Never had I felt or delivered such power when I sang. I belted that final note with my arms reaching skyward. When it ended, silence filled the room; then suddenly a huge applause filled the air. The little kids clapped. The adults beamed.

  Gloria nodded and controlled her grin of approval. My heart floated above me because I knew I’d done well. Something inside me came alive. By focusing on the meaning of the song and forgetting about myself, I’d figured out how to dig deep and bring out my voice. Inside, I did my happy dance and back handspring. On the outside, I smiled my gratitude, took a quick little bow and made room for the next entertainer.

  “What did I tell you?” Gloria said as we left the building.

  “I can’t believe I just did that!” I almost skipped.

  “I can.” She grinned, put an arm around my shoulder and hugged me.

  Chapter 31

  Friday afternoon during fourth block there was an all-school assembly. The principal talked about mid-term schedules, a mandatory locker check, and the Prom Planning Committee. The pep band played, and the cheer squad performed the routine they’d do when they competed for the state title this Saturday.

  The assembly started halfway through fourth block, so I sat with my history class. I moved as close to the door as possible. My feelings about cheer and watching them perform were mixed with fear and apprehension. Would I miss cheer? Would it scare me to see the girls launched? Would they be better without me?

  None of it should have mattered, because everything in my life was perfect. I was still flying high from my Hospice performance. Other than the horrible loss of Twinkie, I’d never been happier. Eli and I were together. I loved the show, Tyson, and most of the cast. I had an awesome family–whacked out, but still awesome–and spring was on the way.

  My mind wandered throughout the student council president’s prom update. Next, the basketball captain blabbed on rocking from one foot to the other. He really needed a public speaking class.

  Finally, they announced the National Cheerleading Champion Capitol Flyers. The students went ballistic. My heart blocked my throat and threatened to cut off my air supply. I clapped a couple times and waited.

  The squad bounded out in their short polyester skirts and tops, giving their one pump victory sign. They performed eagle jumps and single high kicks to work up the crowd.

  It was familiar and yet foreign at the same time. I knew the music and the drill. It pulled me in and yet part of me pushed it all away to protect myself.

  The competition music blared through the sound system, and their routine took off. I watched, frozen, as they did the tumbling runs, simple lifts, and jumps. I couldn’t relax. My gut tightened, and I gripped my arms. Most of the routine remained the same as when I cheered with them five short weeks ago, but some of the more difficult stunts that I performed were replaced with easier, less daring tricks. As the music built to the climax, I noticed Jilly and Carly prep for the final trick. Rick and Kyle placed their arms out just like the last time I flew. I held my breath. Jilly stepped into load in position.

  My heart pounded, and my forehead beaded with sweat. They tossed her, and I dug my fingernails into my arms. She performed a simple jack knife and basket catch. I released my breath and the terror it held.

  Quitting cheer was the right move, no doubt about it. Even after five weeks, I practically hyperventilated just watching!

  The students yelled, stomped, and applauded. As my pulse slowed, I realized they had performed a solid routine, but the daring, challenging elements that made it pop and pushed them to the highest competitive level had all been removed.

  They ran out of the gym smiling. Jilly high fived Anna.

  It didn’t even bother me. Much.

  Chapter 32

  The first two hours of the day were music rehearsals. Tyson said that because we’d spent so much time on dance, he wanted to nail down the music and make sure we had it committed to memory.

  After my breakthough in singing at the Hospice Center, so much of my anxiety disappeared. Don’t get me wrong, I was still really nervous about the solo and duet numbers, but now I knew I wouldn’t totally suck.

  The combined voices of the entire cast never fail to amaze me. Our choir at Capitol is pretty good, but nothing like this. Every voice in the cast was strong. Tyson certainly did take the very best of the best when he cast the show. The pressure of having to sing a solo when there were so many great singers was daunting, but Gloria continued to push me hard, and I practiced every extra moment I had.

  With my newfound confidence, I relaxed and let my notes roll out like powerful waves in an ocean. I sang with all the joy I’d been missing for the past few weeks. My voice blended with the others in volume and perfect pitch.

  Next to me, Sophie sang soprano. She’d been doing summer stock shows on the East coast since she was thirteen. Little goose bumps danced on my arm from hearing our voices mix.

  I noticed Tyson deep into his paperwork at the tech table as Ms. Klahn directed. We got to a part where I had a solo line. I belted it out, pure and clean. Tyson stopped what he was doing and looked up. He raised an eyebrow of approval and nodded with a grin as if to say See, I knew you could do it!

  I smiled back, so relieved to know he liked my progress. The last thing I wanted was to let him down when he’d put so much faith in me. He returned to his paperwork, but wore a big smile.

  At the end of the song, Sophie leaned over. “You sound really great!”

  I heard respect in her voice, and I could have jumped up and punched the air in celebration. Eli caught my attention and winked.

  Ye
s!

  * * *

  Saturday night, Eli and I faced a bit of a problem. Tyson invited us to join him after our full day of rehearsal. It started out harmless and fun, but now, the man had turned into a wreck.

  “Tyson, are you okay?” Our awesome director, the guy who could make just about anything happen, held his hands over his face and mumbled incoherently from our booth at the Great Dane Brew Pub. The Saturday night crowd buzzed with energy.

  “I think he finally broke from all the stress,” I whispered as I sat next to Eli with our legs pressed close together.

  “Tyson?” Eli leaned close to him.

  We exchanged a worried look when he didn’t respond right away.

  “I need another beer,” he muttered and raised his glass as the waitress came by. She scooped it up and promptly brought a fresh one.

  Tyson had been here a while before we'd arrived, so who knows how much he'd already had to drink.

  After fortifying himself with half the contents of his glass, he leaned his elbow on the table to hold his head up; a little beer foam glistened on his razor stubble.

  “I’ve created a nightmare. This whole project has become a house of cards. If one more thing goes wrong, the whole thing will fall apart.”

  “What are you talking about? Everything is going great,” Eli said.

  “No, I bit off more than I can chew this time. Dreamers beware!” He raised his glass in the air for a mock toast. “You just might get what you want!”

  “Nothing’s going to go wrong,” I said. “The run-through today went great. We’re ready for move-in tomorrow.”

  “I’m playing, director, producer, fundraiser. I’m trying to coordinate set design, lighting, union workers, sound mixing, publicity, interviews...” He raised his glass and took a long swig.

  “And you're doing a great–” Eli started to say.

  Tyson held up his hand to stop him. “I’m not done. I’ve got to handle the stage manager, staff, orchestra, plus bring in and impress the New York producers, agents, investors.” He shook his head. “And that doesn’t include trying to control my underage cast of drunk, horny students.”