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Remain in Light

There’s a chill in the air, but the days are becoming long, stretching out like sweet taffy. I drive in blazing noon light to a gathering of long-time friends. Good friends. The kind of friends you meet for the first time and bond with immediately. We haven’t seen each other in a while, so this is way overdue.

One of our friends has been ill. Everyone here today has the same goal: To give our friend a good day. Simple as that.

There’s food and laughing and Prosecco with elderflower liqueur. It feels like spring in this home.

There’s also singing. One friend has brought a karaoke setup, and while I don’t sing karaoke, I enjoy listening to others. Much more than they would enjoy listening to me, I know.

Everyone sings along and claps as each person takes a turn. Some sing in groups, some sing by themselves. Our friend who has been ill sings a duet with his wife that, over the years, has become their signature song. It’s beautiful and emotional and we’re all moved to tears.

Hours pass, and people eventually realize that I’m the only one who hasn’t vocalized. I’ve parked myself on the couch, hoping to blend in with the upholstery. I’ve always been more of a backstage person than an on-stage person. I’ve been in plays, but I’d rather work behind the scenes instead. This is why I write. No one is around to watch me do that.

I’m cajoled into submitting a performance. Usually, I don’t give in to peer pressure. Never have. Even as a teen I rarely gave in. I was too big of a nerd to smoke or drink as much as some of my friends did. I don’t want to seem like the one lone spoilsport today, though.

I quickly try to come up with a plan. Maybe, I’m thinking, I can make it look like I’m willing to participate, but in the end, it won’t work out. Yes, that’s it. That’s perfect, I tell myself. I’m a genius. I tell Karaoke Man that I want to sing a song that I figure he won’t have in his library. However, when he said earlier that he has everything, he meant it. A quick search and then done. He has the song pulled up, and I have a mic in my hand.

Now that I’m backed into a corner of my own making, I’m going to have to step up and sing. I figure at least no one else will know this song, so they won’t know how badly I’m butchering it. Another good thing about it is that the lyrics are silly and ridiculous.

I figure if I can’t go for quality, I’ll go for comedy.

Hopefully, it’s funny because it sure isn’t good. But it’s fun. Flinging myself out of my comfort zone is something I’ve done almost all my life. I’ve flown alone, ridden a mechanical bull, and given speeches to large rooms of people. I’ve been on stage, on bar tops, and on national TV.

I can be the quietest person in the room, but I can have my moments.

Once my song is mercifully over, the real singers return to the floor. The afternoon continues with more songs and more stories.

When I say goodbye to our friend who has been ill, we say we’ll see each other again soon. I don’t know if this is true. But whether it’s soon or not soon, we’ve all had this day. I’m thankful for that.

I wake up that night in the murky black and try to calm my mind. The next morning, I listen to comfort music on my ride to work. This is my go-to tactic when I’m worried. I play music that reminds me of lighter times. Endless days when things weren’t too serious. When people I care about weren’t hurting. When my friends and I gathered in dorm rooms simply because we were bored.

I play the album Remain in Light by the Talking Heads. And, since thankfully there’s no one around to hear me, I even sing along.

Juliana Gribbins is a writer who believes that absurdity is the spice of life. Her book Date Expectations is winner of the 2017 Independent Press Awards, Humor Category and winner of the 2016 IPPY silver medal for humor. Write to her at jeepgribbs@hotmail.com. Read more of her columns at www.zip06.com/shorelineliving.