music is life

I wove my way through the mass of sweaty twentysomethings, dodging the whisper-shouts of leering strangers and the slosh of drinks held high. The room seemed to thrum with nervous energy, emanating waves of raucous laughter, jerky dance moves, and barely recognizable pop songs. I needed some air.

The door loomed ahead, and I finally shouldered the panic bar and escaped into the night. The cacophony I’d left behind softened as the heavy door sealed me away, soothing my ears with nothing louder than the soft hum of traffic a few streets away.

After the crush of bodies and booze, the street was blissfully empty. A soft rain played with the light, reflecting the neon tints of the bar’s OPEN sign on the dull gray concrete beneath my feet. I ducked under a small black awning and began to dig through my purse for a cigarette. I’d quit the daily habit, but I still couldn’t resist a clove when I was drinking.

The music and laughter swelled again, briefly escaping the tiny karaoke bar as the door opened to release a bubbly redhead with a sparkling blue top and matching glitter around her eyes. She glanced left and right as she stepped out, brightened, and joined me under my awning.

“Heyla!”

“Uh, hey,” I replied, giving her a wan smile.

“I’m Bekah,” she told me, lifting a Marlboro Red to her lips and fishing out a lighter.

“Erin,” I told her, lighting my clove.

“Erin! First time doing karaoke?” Her eyes were bright with excitement, with none of the glassy detachment I’d noticed in most of the bar’s patrons.

I blanched. “First time at a karaoke bar, anyway,” I told her. “I don’t think I’m ready for… all of this.”

She laughed, leaning against the wall and taking a long drag. “It’s… a lot. We can be a lot. But it’s all in good fun.”

I studied her for a moment, weighing my words and tone.

“Honestly… I get overwhelmed. There’s too much happening in there - so much noise, so many conversations, all the jostling and jockeying and braying laughter. I just had to get out of there.”

She nodded soberly. “Sensory overload. I totally get that.” She took another drag of the cigarette. “It’s like you’re getting clobbered from every direction. You feel like you’re turning into a twitching ball of ouch and ack and a hearty what the fuck. You find yourself getting panicky and angry because you want to protect yourself and you can’t.”

I blinked. This woman didn’t strike me as the type to seek solitude. She seemed like she would thrive in chaos.

“Yeah,” I admitted at last. “My fight or flight mode kicked in.”

“It happens to me, too,” she assured me. “Sometimes this place is just too much. But I’ve noticed that if I’m part of the noise, it doesn’t hit me so hard.”

“If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em?”

“More like take what you need, and leave the rest,” she replied, stubbing out her cigarette. “I try to embrace the things that help me, and then give myself the permission to take a step back when something won’t be good for my state of mind. Smoke breaks help.”

“And karaoke is good for your state of mind?”

She laughed then, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep within. “We always say music is life, but karaoke is oxygen. So I’d say it’s even broader than my state of mind. I’m pretty sure half my body and a good 97% of my psyche runs on karaoke.”

I pondered that for a moment.

“What powers the other 3% of your psyche?”

She grinned. “Making new friends, obviously. And reading. Oh! And cheese!”

I flicked the spent clove into a puddle, listening to the soft hiss of rain extinguishing its cherry.

“You’re going to try to get me to sing now, aren’t you?”

Her laughter bubbled up again. “Only a little. My goal is to be a shameless enabler, not an oppressor.” She popped the cap off a tube of chapstick, and the scent of Cherry Coke wafted over as she smoothed it over her lips.

“Honestly, you looked overwhelmed when you went outside, and I wanted to make sure you were okay. All the regulars here are pretty great, but we get the occasional random douchecanoe. I love this place too much to let jerks chase off the good people.”

I frowned. “How do you know I’m good people?”

“I’ve been making new friends for a long time,” she told me, nodding sagely. “I have a sixth sense about these things.”

I smiled in spite of myself. “I didn’t know you were so wise!”

She grinned, hooking her arm in mine. “Most people never notice, and that’s just fine by me. Ready to go back in?”

I exhaled, and realized that I actually was ready. “I think so. What are the odds they have some good duets in that song binder?”

Bekah’s eyes went wide, somehow even brighter than before. “Your odds are fantastic. Let’s go pick one.”

* * * * *
A few years ago, I offered to write a blurb for each friend who commented on a post, introducing them as if they were a character in a novel I wrote. I worked my way through many, but ultimately paused, stumped, when I got to my sister, Bekah. I couldn’t see a way to layer in every aspect of who she was to me, and I couldn’t bear to crank out something that felt flat when everything about her was so vibrant.

My sister died four years ago, having never gotten her own novel intro. She loved Idol and the community and creativity it brought to our lives, so it felt fitting to introduce her here. We miss you, blueashke.