Oliver’s talent show performance.

The gymnasium was full to the last seat and open space. At one of the ends of the court was the stage, an assembled platform with a large, black cloth over it. To the sides, the bleachers were already full with students and family members, as were the rows and rows of chairs right in front of the stage. At the very back, even more students stood to watch. There really were over 500 people watching, perhaps more than 600.

I escaped from the backstage and went to the lockers, where everyone else who was performing was getting ready. My chest hurt and my hands felt abnormally cold, but I did my best to keep a calm facade. I think I ended up looking too focused, maybe even angry, because I sat down at one of the benches and everyone else avoided that same bench. Could it be all the black I was wearing?

At my sister’s advice, or rather insistence, I ended up wearing black pants and a black shirt with the first three buttons undone, then a white jacket over it. She said it was to go with the song I was playing, and I had to agree it fit to some extent. Anyway, no, it couldn’t be my clothes. The girls said I looked good, but I did feel the urge to button up the shirt. I was explicitly told not to, however.

I took a deep breath and opened my guitar case. First off, all the strings were there. The tuning pegs were also working well. I checked every other part of my new guitar for the third time to make sure everything was in good condition. I swear, if one of my strings broke mid-playing…

I took another deep breath. Stop inviting misfortune, Oliver. If a string snaps, adapt. You know how to.

Dammit, my hands really were cold. My fingers were so stiff. I wanted to play something as a warmup, but others were also doing last minute preparation. I’d have to remember to tell Alice that maybe it would be a good idea to put all participants in different rooms next time, or at least in smaller groups. Ah, but Alice wouldn’t be president next year. Duh.

I found myself smiling, as I often did whenever I thought of those girls. I looked down at my guitar, their gift to me, their push to get me to give this talent show a try.

Oh, screw it. The guitar was unplugged, so there was no way I’d bother anyone in all this noise. Some people from the drama club were reading lines, a girl from sophomore year was playing her recorder and others were simply talking. The people from the music club were there, too, Julian included, but there was an awkward silence around them which I decided to ignore.

I got comfortable and began to do some quick tapping. Without the amp, the sound was barely there. Then I did some basic arpeggios before I began to do some picking exercises, starting slow then gradually getting faster and faster, going up and down the fretboard in order to move my fingers as much as I could. I got into a nice rhythm and ended up strumming some random chords I thought sounded good. After a while my hands didn’t feel as cold, and being so focused on my exercises took my mind away from the nerves.

I was so focused that… I didn’t realize when it was that everyone suddenly got quiet. When I noticed, I kept my eyes on the floor and stopped playing. Had something happened and I hadn’t noticed? Did they already start calling people?

Someone opened the door to the locker room. It was the vice president of the student council. “Music Club, you’re up. After them is Ken Adams, so get ready.”

The guys from the music club got up and made their way out of the locker room. It was like seeing a funeral. None of them looked like they were looking forward to this.

I was… somewhat interested in going to see them. I could’ve watched from backstage, but… No. I didn’t want any last minute thoughts getting in the way. I was finally in a decent mental state. And so, I waited without going to see any of the other performances. I watched people leave the locker room and not return. With their acts done, they probably decided to stay and watch.

I was called when about half the acts had happened. My hands began to shake and my chest hurt again, but I picked up my guitar and walked.

I got everything set up, which wasn’t much. I just had to plug my guitar and stuff. They already knew the video they had to play, and the projector was already set up. The video would play up on the wall behind me. I waited there, behind the curtain, as the treasurer of the student council, the MC for the talent show, introduced the next act.

“Next up, from senior year class 1,” she said. “A guitar performance of the song Pillars of the Underworld. As backup, a video edited by senior Isabelle Brooks from class 3 will play. Please, give a warm welcome to Oliver Brooks!”

The curtains opened. The light from the spotlights blinded me for a moment, but… I heard it. Loud cheering among the normal applause. Shouts, cheers, whistling… coming mostly from the left side of the gym. That was where my class would be.

Then I saw them all. Over 500 people in one place, looking at me, waiting for me to play something for them. I felt my chest stop for a second, then I immediately closed my eyes, turning my face up to the ceiling as I took yet another deep, deep breath.

I ran away in a metaphorical sense. When I looked down again, I did not look at the audience, but down at my guitar. It was something most performers would consider a sin, but… it was all I could do to keep myself from freezing, to find the strength to stay on stage… and begin playing.

The backup song started. It was a fast, complex set of piano notes and I let them play without doing anything myself. Then, when they stopped, I mimicked them on my guitar.

It was sudden, fast, loud and the fingers of my left hand moved a lot. It looked and sounded impressive enough that there were plenty of cheers. Behind me, the video Isabelle and I worked our asses off getting ready was playing. The garage idea hadn’t worked, so I had to play in my bedroom. Still, people could see that I was also playing two other guitars and the bass. Basically, it was only the drums that were my backup music.

I focused on my own playing, keeping my eyes on my guitar. Every other moment, when I played something that sounded impressive to them, there were a few more cheers.

My performance lasted three short minutes. No more, no less. When I played the final riff I could finally let myself relax. I had done it. I played my heart out, made no mistakes and did most of what I set out to do. I had been unable to look at the audience, but I’d do it next time. I felt satisfied, even happy, but that only lasted a couple of ephemeral seconds.

I looked up from my guitar and watched the people in front of me. They were clapping a polite applause in recognition of someone who had stood up on stage and performed. Nothing more, nothing less. Some people were looking down at their phones, not even doing that. There was more enthusiastic applause from the left, yes, and even some from the right, but… I could only look at the majority of the audience, the big picture. It was then that I realized something important.

This felt wrong. This wasn’t what I wanted.

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