She started a gentle, slow melody, and I waited till I’d gotten the gist of its movement and then set a line lower on the register of my guitar, slow and sad and moving around her part.
She smiled at me, acknowledging what I was doing. Then faced the mic, closed her eyes, and I watched sadness slide over her features as she started to sing:
“Dance for you
Move for you
Shake my hips and purse my lips
Fake a smile and all the while
I’ve got a secret
Not a dirty one,
Nothing you can see
Won’t notice it if I let you strip me down
Won’t know about it when the lights come on
You wouldn’t like it if I told you what it was
I’ve got a secret and I plan to keep it
Hide it behind the club lights
As I dance for you, move for you,
Shake my hips and purse my lips
Fake a smile and flash my style
Let you see the skin and the curves
So you won’t see what’s underneath
I could bare it all for you
And you still wouldn’t see a thing
Except the naked me
You won’t even know what you’re missing
Won’t ever care about what you don’t see
The thing you miss
What you overlook
Under the lips you kiss and the clothes you rip
Under the lace and the latex
Past the silk and after the sex
What you don’t
What you can’t
What you’ll never see
Is the real me.”
Her voice was low, rough, pained. She wasn’t just singing this song; she’s baring herself through it. Lost in it. Just as hurt singing it as she was when she wrote it. Hers was not technically perfect voice, but it was a powerful one, mesmerizing for its quiet mystique. She wasn’t loud, in this song. The crowd was utterly silent, on the edge of their seats trying to hear.
The song ended, the notes faded into ether, and she went quiet, opened her eyes. Another stunned moment, and then the crowd was wild, emitting a wall of sound that went on and on.
I grinned at her. “I think they like you, Lexie.”
She smiled shyly. “Thanks, everyone.”
“How about another one?” I said.
She sighed. Hesitated. Held my gaze, as if debating something internally. “I, uh, I do have something. It’s recent, and, um, actually it’s about you.”
“Me?” I said, grinning. “Why Lex, I’m flattered.”
She laughed. “Don’t be too flattered until you hear it.”
I faked a shiver. “Uh-oh. Should I be scared? Is it a takedown piece?”
She shook her head, laughing at me. “Nah, nothing like that.” She wiggled on her seat, adjusted her tuning. “It’s called ‘The Ugliest Me’.”
The melody to this one was faster, higher, brighter, and showed off her finger work skills, and I stayed quiet, letting her show off. Which, honestly, she wasn’t trying to do, she was just playing the song. I kept my palm over the strings and watched her, let her have the spotlight, the moment, all to herself.
“I’m a faker, boy
A baker of lies
A maker of secrets
Master of disguise
I’m a mason, boy,
Builder of walls
Stacker of bricks
Thicker than skin
And harder than steel
Miles high and fathoms deep
Hiding what’s real
And all while you sleep
Restless and listless
Tired and wired
I lay in the bed beside you
And build all over again
The walls you got past a few minutes ago
You know my weakness
If only you knew how often I’m sleepless
Putting back up what you took down
Hardening everything you softened
Burying what you dug up
Because I’m a faker, boy
A baker of lies
A maker of secrets
Master of disguise
I’m a mason, boy,
Builder of walls
Stacker of bricks
Thicker than skin
And harder than steel
Miles high and fathoms deep
Hiding what’s real
And all while you sleep
I want to let you in
Wish you could see
Wish I could say
Wish I could show you
More than just the pretty me
Wish I had the courage to be
Wish I was bold enough to be
The ugliest me
To tear down the walls and the secrecy
It’s not that I don’t trust you
It’s not that I don’t want what you’re offering
It’s just that I’m afraid to show you
Afraid to reveal
Afraid you won’t like
Afraid you won’t love
The ugliest me.”
Silence.
Never in my life has a silence been so penetrating.
“Wow.” I felt myself choking. “First time in my life I’ve ever been speechless.”
Sneaky thing, that move. Blindsiding me with emotions like that, on stage, when I can’t answer the way I’d like.
No applause. They were too moved, too stunned.
And then it hit all at once.
The standing ovation.
Not just a trickle-down, a few here and there—all at once, everyone, in unison got to their feet.
What a way to end the first show.
I stood up, took her hand, and walked her to the front of the stage. Stepped back and left her there. Let her soak up the fact that all this was for her.
It went on for what felt like minutes, and then I led her toward the curtains, pausing at the mic. “Thank you, love you guys, goodnight.”
She stumbled as I led her off-stage, and I had a feeling she was shell-shocked. Got her off-stage and away from the lights and the bustle, to a quiet sliver of darkness between two semi-trailers for our set and sound equipment. She slumped backward against the trailer wall and buried her face in her hands, and began shaking.
I wasn’t sure at first if she was crying or laughing, but it soon became clear she was definitely not laughing. Sobbing.
“Lex?”
She shook her head.
I crouched in front of her. “Lex. Why are you crying? That was fuckin’ amazing. They loved you.”
“I wasn’t…ready,” she said, hiccupping. “I fucked up like six times. Skipped an entire verse of the first song.”
“Not even I could tell,” I said. “They fuckin’ loved you out there, Lex. That was a show-stealer.”
Her head went up, eyes fierce. “I didn’t want to steal the show from you, Myles! I wasn’t ready!”
“You’re never ready!” I shot back. “You
