TOPIA All promise outruns performance.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
I heard my name reverberate in the
auditorium. It quieted the low drone of the
audience I hadn’t realized was so close. I
stood there, my legs unwilling to move.
Someone pushed me and I half stumbled
toward that little red ‘O’ at the centre of the
stage. The lights were so blinding; I could
only make out the first twenty rows behind
the three judges’ seats. A weak, cordial
applause welcomed me to hell. Yeah…it was
hellish.
I stopped on the ‘O’ and turned toward the
judges. I could feel the blood driving
painfully through my veins. “Welcome,
David,” a man I recognized, the third judge
on the right said. He had a wild frock of
black, dreadlock hair running down his
shoulders and back. He wore sunglasses
and an overly confident expression. I knew I
should know his name, but I never watched
these talent shows because of my love for
football leagues around the world especially,
the EPL.
I found myself jealous of his sunglasses. I
nodded to his greeting, not yet trusting my
voice. “Do you think you have what it takes
to win?” the judge asked. He looked a little
perturbed that I hadn’t really acknowledged
him yet. At least he asked an easy question.
“No,” I answered truthfully. I didn’t give
further details on my answer which seemed
to bother him all the more. “Then what are
you doing here?” he asked exasperatedly. I
had a feeling procedures would change at
the next auditions. Another easy question;
the answer was more difficult to get out. “I
promised my wife,” I responded.
I remembered when I made the promise and
the pain hit hard again. I had to take a long
blink. “So, your wife thinks you can win?”
the man asked with a bit of whimsy. The
thought that he would even pretend to know
Dolapo’s wishes infuriated me. I know there
was anger in my voice when I answered. It
felt better than the fear I had. “I don’t
pretend to know why,” I answered thickly, “I
promised her and I am going to keep that
promise.” The audience gasped a little and
the judges looked surprised at my venom.
There was a pause while Mr. Sunglasses
considered my response.
“What do you plan to sing for us, Promise
Keeper?” the judge asked sarcastically. This
elicited a small chuckle from the audience.
I really didn’t like this guy making fun of my
promise to my wife. “Dolapo,” I answered.
The judges looked at each other strangely.
“The R’n’B song?” Mr. Sunglasses asked
incredulously. I kicked myself for not looking
up the name before. Of course there was
already a song called ‘Dolapo’. I really didn’t
want to answer any more questions.
“No. I wrote it myself,” I replied. There was
surprise and a bit of laughter at that
response. I was already gritting my teeth
wishing this would just end. “Well this
should at least be entertaining,” Mr.
Sunglasses said with a superior smile, “go
ahead and keep your promise.” He made it
sound so amusing. The audience was
laughing openly at this point. I rallied around
my rising anger, trying to hold the fear at
bay. I had to close my eyes to make the
faces disappear. I had never sung in public;
I had only for my wife. I saw Dolapo there,
smiling and proud. I could always sing to
her. I wrote the words to fit the folklore
generic hip-pop.
The tune was almost as pretty as Dolapo,
and fit our love as well as possible. I heard
the music start in my mind and I slowly sang
to her about how we met and how our
hearts merged. I sang of her beauty,
comparing it poorly to a sunrise. I sang of
her smile, of our dreams and mostly of our
love. Dolapo’s face changed, and I saw her
concern as I got to the end. I sang about
my loss and of her death. I couldn’t help the
tears or the crack in my voice. My promise
kept, I dropped my head and listened to the
silence. I raised my head and stared into the
blinding lights. I think they were waiting for
more. The applause started slowly and my
anger flared quickly.
The death of my wife was not a celebration.
I raised my hand in front of my face, trying
to shut out the hullabaloo and the lights.
The hysterical ignorant audience went on
with their revere, but my promise was kept. I
headed off the stage at fast clip; my pain as
sharp as when I last held Dolapo. The song
had fully renewed the misery, my misery. I
heard the judges shouting at me. ‘Just don’t
call me back,’ I thought.