Going Long (Waiting on the Sidelines #2)(80)

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.



My baby brother, by a minute, so I’ve been told.

But he would never come. We would never hold…

His tiny fingers, tiny toes, tiny everything that no one knows.

He wasn’t pretend, but real. And something is always hollow.



We were both a surprise. A gift, mom says.

We were wanted, just not planned as…

Most families are.

And there are times, still today, that we all take turns.

We all take the burden, blame and burns.

My fault. Her fault. A punishment, a curse.

But I know it could be worse.



For I am not alone. He lives with me in my heart.

And I could not have even that, and then I’d fall apart.



The entire room stood and cheered and clapped, amazed and buried in our own tears at the power this tiny, struggling girl held over us all. But my eyes were on my girl, her face devastated, and her chest heaving as she struggled to breathe. Kira just found a way to rip away the scars, scars I’d been dancing around, unsure how to deal with myself. And when Nolan bolted from her chair, rushing out the back door, I didn’t waste a second and flew after her.

I found her on her knees behind a dumpster, her body shaking uncontrollably, and the whaling sounds of her cries not even trying to be masked. I just wrapped my body around hers, holding her arms down and stopping her from trying to free herself of me. We were in this together, this thing she’d been doing alone. She wasn’t ever going to do this alone again.

“Shhhhhhhhh, I’m here. It’s okay, baby. I’m here. I know…I know,” I whispered, kissing her cheeks and head, and cradling her while I rocked her back-and-forth, my own tears falling uncontrollably now. “I know, and I’m so sorry. God, Nolan. I’m so sorry. But it’s okay, I’m here.”