Only through karaoke can one get to heaven

This week, I was challenged by Brad MacDonald with "Only through karaoke can one get to heaven." Thanks, Brad, I think!  

She groaned as she heard the music down the block.  “Karaoke?” she thought sullenly.  The night ahead was going to be enough of a challenge without a bunch of drunks wearing fake courage, slurring and drooling into the microphone.  Maybe it would be easier if she liked to drink.  Or sing terrible songs to strangers.  Or both.

There was really only one thing she was looking forward to tonight and the anticipation had made her delightfully sick since she got the text that afternoon.  Taking a deep breath, she forcefully relaxed her face into a dull, bored expression, and swung open the door.  The music came through the floor and matched her heartbeat.  “Don’t look around too quickly,” she coached herself.  “Look surprised when you see him.  Then smile with your eyes so he knows how happy you are to see him.  Don’t let anyone else catch that first moment you have together.”  She had practiced it in her head so many times.  She never did feel like she got it right.  Always a bit too anxious to see him, then a quick nervous look around and a nervous pull of her hair over the mole. 

She saw him before the other six in their group.  Not that he was taller.  He was just radiant.  Whether he was engaging the group with his silly stories, holding his extra-long arms stretched wide or tossing his head back to laugh openly, he seemed to embrace everyone in the room.  When she saw him, he was sipping some clear mixed drink and nodding at her friend’s story, undoubtedly the same one she told all day to anyone who would listen.  He didn’t look bored, though.  He was engaged with the story -  nodding, smiling, focused.  She had to get that focus on her soon or she’d run out of breath. 

As she crossed the room, a wide woman in skinny jeans stood on stage, eyes closed, humming the first verse of “True” by Spandau Ballet just to herself.  Lame.  She seemed too entranced to open her eyes.  No one was looking at her.  Still, she felt embarrassed for this woman who seemed so exposed without knowing it.

“Hey!  Hey.”  Damn, too excited again.  She looked right at him but didn’t look away as planned.  He matched her eye contact.  She saw the look that she knew was only for her but it was quicker and more poignant than before.  Then it abruptly transformed into the look he gave all the others.  As she turned to greet the rest, she replayed the moment three more times in her head.  She knew she saw it.  And then he ended it so quickly.  Maybe he was already drunk.  But it was more, a harder look, with more energy.  But the turnaway, it was so harsh.  She felt like a punished child and ached to look at him again.  Instead, she looked down, folded her hands so she wouldn’t touch the mole.

She took her time blinking.  Made her aloof face.  Smiled at the conversations around her.  How long was it before she looked back at him?  Not more than two minutes, but it felt longer.  He didn’t look back at her.  They were all involved in the conversation, but he wouldn’t meet her gaze.  She stepped outside the safe zone and asked him a question directly.  Oh the coy was on now.  A bit of teasing about his drink being empty.  In just moments, she had lost all of the plans and was reaching out to him without hesitation.  And he didn’t return it.  She tried laughing louder and instantly felt dumb.  Once, she actually bobbed her head way sideways to catch his eyes and he smoothly moved his glance right across her face and onto the next face without even meeting her eyes.  She thought she felt the breeze as he looked on by.

Two of the women announced it was time to sing.  The worst of song titles were thrown up for vote.  She wasn’t part of the conversation, just laughed nervously, holding her breath until he’d look at her again.  There was no way she’d ever join her friends up on stage, but they were beckoning her anyway.  “Come on, sing with us.  Relax, you stress ball.”  She saw him laughing out of the corner of her eye.  As the women climbed on stage, he was clapping and hooted obnoxiously.  She took three large steps (was she running?) and met up with them as the last woman was climbing the dirty carpeted steps to the stage.  “Wait!  Ok, I’ll sing with you!”

The cheap lights confused her vision for a bit.  She’d start singing, pretend to be having fun.  Nod to the other girls as she mouthed the words.  He’d be watching, clapping along.  And then she’d have her chance to look down and get that delicious morsel she needed from him.  That warmth that spread down her arms when he looked at her with his chocolate brown eyes and held her gaze.  Her longing would be hidden in the spotlight.  Was this awkward foot stomping to the beat worth it?  Yes, he’d soon look up and she’d imagine his hands on her cheeks they stared at each other. 

Her friend yelped song lyrics into the microphone, making her wince, waking her out of her thoughts.  As they hit the chorus, he turned away to look at something behind him.  She actually took a step forward, sang louder.   She saw him reach up and back with his long arm, bathed in his white dress shirt, wrinkled from the work day.  When he pulled his arm forward, she saw her.  He kept his arm around her shoulder, pulling her to him.  He kissed her on the lips in greeting.  They laughed, not at the singing, not at anything anyone else knew about.  They held their glance, small smiles still lingering.  His wife.  And there were still three more verses to go.