“Kind of a long drive for coffee, no?” Sean joked as we all climbed out of the cars and headed to the front door.
“We’re not here for the coffee, Sean,” Nolan hissed back, rolling her eyes a little. She seemed nervous, and it was cute on her. “I have some special people that I want you all to meet.”
I almost had it figured out by the time we got to the small front stage set up at the shop. The place was filled with people—most of them couples. I realized they were all parents, and their children, some of them as young as seven or eight, were the people Nolan was talking about.
“Hi, everyone. Are you all ready?” She spoke, and the youthful faces just beamed back at her, nodding. She could evoke confidence, and bravery, and belief in even the smallest creature. She had a gift, and it made the world smile. “Okay, well before we start, I want you all to meet my friends. I thought it might help knowing you had some guaranteed cheerers out here…other than me, of course.”
She winked at them when some of them laughed. Others still looked down, shy and nervous, but Nolan gave them each individual attention, lifting them up until they were looking us in the eyes, too. We all went down the line shaking the hands of Nolan’s students, each battling their own demon, some disability that tried to make some things impossible. But those demons didn’t know who they were dealing with in Nolan. She would win. She always did.
We all settled in our seats just as the lights dimmed, and a small spotlight lit up the tiny stage. Nolan held a microphone in her hand and welcomed everyone.
“Thank you all for coming out. This means a lot to me. I’ve spent months with the amazing kids up here tonight. And I think they are going to inspire you. I’m really proud of them, and I know you will be, too. Remember, the most important thing we can do is show them how proud we are with our claps and cheers. The sounds you make will echo in their memory, and the next time they face something hard in life, they’ll remember,” she said, the crowd clapping at her words.
The first child, a small boy in a wheelchair, came to the mic next. He opened a book and read a humorous story he’d written himself about a magic wheelchair that defended the galaxy at night, forcing him to stay awake to pilot it. His mom would always get angry with him when he was tired during the day and roll her eyes when he told her it was because his chair kept him awake. Of course, all revealed itself when the evil overlord kidnapped his mom, and he had to come to her rescue with his magic chair. The kid’s story was brilliant, and suddenly I felt inadequate that my only talent was throwing a stupid ball.
Each story, poem or essay was unique and better than the last. The audience cheered loudly, not only out of kindness, but rather genuine awe. Nolan had orchestrated a really special evening, and I was so proud of her. I couldn’t wait to tell her. We were on the last performance, and I could tell this one meant the most to Nolan as she sat on the edge of her small stool in the dark corner by the stage, almost as if she was ready to leap into the spotlight to help the young teen now taking the microphone to finish.
Her body jerked constantly as she slid the stool up to the microphone stand, sliding carefully to sit atop it. Her facial tics distracted everyone from what was actually a breathtakingly beautiful face—her blonde hair waving around her chin and cheeks, and her blue eyes full of hope and innocence. She had yet to say a word, and I was already in her corner.
A man, who seemed to be her father, brought a guitar to her and helped her move the strap over her head and shoulder, getting situated and in place. He kissed the top of her head and hopped back down to his seat, grabbing his wife’s hand and squeezing it for courage. I knew that move; I’d seen it, and done it myself.
“Hi…uh…I’m…I’m…I’m K-K-Kira,” she almost whispered, her nerves already getting the best of her. Nolan just sat there still, nodding and willing her on. “I’m going to…going to…s-s-sing my poem for you.”
She just smiled softly, and then looked down, wrapping her crooked fingers around the guitar’s neck and body. Somehow, a miracle, she started to strum softly, and the melody was haunting. Beautiful. The room was silent, everyone stunned to silence and afraid all at once. We were all with her, on her team. She wasn’t going to fail if we could help it.
Then she started to sing, and her stutter disappeared.
I am not alone. He’s with me in my heart.
My brother, he never came. But we’ve never been apart.
I was supposed to be two, but I only came out one.
The birth, a complication, something done undone.