Entry 7: Music of the Heart
Summary: A night with the Dreamtones is one Angela will never forget.
I almost don't know where to begin. Tonight was one of the most unbelievable nights of my life, and I can still feel the adrenaline and the excitement coursing through me as real as the vibrations that emanated from the speakers in the humid, crowded gym of Pitkin High School. I can feel the music, hear the words, and absorb the beat as every cell in my body hums with the memory.
And Tony! Oh, Tony, he was wonderful, better than wonderful, the most magnetic, captivating, selfless, absolutely perfect man in the world. Mother was right, and as much as I may not have wanted to be caught, there was no denying I couldn't take my eyes off him for one second. For once, I let go of all pretense, even in front of the children, and just stared, mesmerized by him as he danced and sang, his energy infectious. I just couldn't help it. I was so happy for him, and so proud of him. He was living his dream, and you could just feel the excitement radiating off him, an aura so strong it was almost visible. The man has played baseball in Yankee Stadium in front of tens of thousands of fans, but there he was in front of a few hundred people in his old high school, and he acted as though it were Madison Square Garden. And for a moment, he brought me into that magical bubble.
I don't know why I wanted to sing or why I let him talk me into it, but I will never forget those few minutes on stage with him. When he first made the suggestion a few days ago, it simply sounded like a fun thing to do, but when I heard how the other guys reacted, I knew that nothing was more important than getting the Dreamtones to sing at their old school. For me, it was a passing fancy, but for Tony, it was a second chance that few people get. But then he was up there on stage, calling me up to join him, saying to hell with the Dreamtones. He chose me over them, and didn't even care if they walked out of that gym and ruined the concert. Maybe he knew they wouldn't do that to the people who had shown up, or maybe he didn't care.
And then I was up there with him as he tried to coax me into singing. I was frozen, as much by the sea of people as by the impromptu actions of the man standing next to me. Then I looked into his eyes, eyes that had met mine across the audience countless times throughout the evening as he sang song after song about love lost and found, and I saw confidence, pride, and that familiar, unwavering trust that has given me so much strength through the years. Almost without thinking about them, the words just came to me. And we sang together, just Tony and me, then the whole group behind us, and I let the music and Tony's lead direct my movements. And still, I couldn't seem to look anywhere but at him, wanting him to understand how much that moment meant to me and how being up there with him was more special than anything anyone had done for me in so long I can't remember.
But eventually, the song had to end, and in those few seconds that we stood on stage, arms around each other, I felt a joy, an elation, that I swear I never knew was possible. I felt his hand tighten around me and saw the contagious sparkle in his eyes as they locked on mine for the hundredth time, and I knew he had to feel it too. When I left the stage, my legs were still shaking so much I had to hold onto Mother to keep steady. With a last look, Tony slid his hand from mine and went back on stage to close the concert. Maybe they had planned to close with "Earth Angel" the whole time, or maybe it was a last-minute decision. Either way, as couples swayed to the music, some lost in memories of time spent dancing on that gym floor years before, others making memories for the first time, his gaze never once left mine.
We carried the euphoria of the night with us all the way home as Tony and I talked nonstop from Brooklyn to Fairfield. The kids and Mother kept up for a while, but eventually either fell asleep or held their own conversations, leaving Tony and me in the quiet solitude of the front seat. I heaped praise while Tony fretted over mistakes so minute even the original artists wouldn't have caught them. He retold stories we'd all heard a million times and recalled friends and even teachers he'd seen for the first time in years. Finally, he looked over at me and asked simply, "So?" I knew exactly what he meant, and couldn't help but launch into a babble of excitement as I took myself back to those few minutes on stage. I told him everything that was running through my mind, from gratitude to disbelief to childlike jubilation. After my rambling had run its course, I had to ask why he risked upsetting the other guys, and he said there's no contest when he has to pick between his old friends and his best friend and that I'd always come first. He actually said that, and all I could do was smile, the only outward sign of the coursing emotion I felt.
And now the night is over, a night I won't soon forget so much as one detail from. The house is quiet, and the only sound drifts through time to carry Tony's soft voice and the sweet echo of "Earth Angel" to my ears.
