Midnight Sun(35)

And then there are the singers. So many singers, with such beautiful voices. I’d have a heap of competition if I lived here, so I guess I should be glad I don’t. Too bad my mind keeps chanting: LET’S MOVE HERE! TAKE OUT YOUR GUITAR AND JOIN IN! ADD HARMONIES AND SOME FINGER PICKING! I feel like I’ve found an instant community, people to collaborate with and harmonize with and talk music and songwriting with until the break of dawn. It’s all just waiting here for me.

Charlie and I stop to admire the Olympic sculptures in Pioneer Square. Watch the fishermen hauling buckets of huge skate, perch, and salmon at Pike Place Market. We slide into an old-timey photo booth tucked into a corner and get cozy inside. The machine flashes four times: We smile, make goofy faces, hold up bunny ears behind each other’s heads, and throw our arms around each other and kiss. When the strip finally comes out of the machine a few long minutes later, it’s well worth the wait. I grab it and claim it as my own.

“I’m going to treasure this forever,” I tell Charlie. I’m not kidding.

He takes my hand and leads me down another busy road and through a deserted alley. We stop in front of a rickety building with an old-fashioned marquee above the door. There are no letters on it, no announcement of a movie or show or whatever. I don’t get it.

Charlie looks at me with a huge grin on his face.

“What is this place?”

“Your surprise,” he tells me.

Charlie hands two tickets and a bunch of cash to the bouncer. Even though the sign on the door clearly states anyone entering needs to be twenty-one, the big burly guy doesn’t bother asking us for IDs. Which is a good thing because my real one says I am eighteen, and I left it on the kitchen counter at home anyhow.

“I thought Seattle was my surprise?”

He shakes his head and grins harder as we walk inside. Charlie hands my guitar case and jacket to the girl at the coat check. Another bouncer opens a door to let us into another room.

Inside, music pounds. Lights explode. The place is packed from the makeshift stage—where one of my most favorite indie bands in the entire world is already playing—to the back of what appears to be a former warehouse space. A sweaty, happy crowd throbs to the beat.

“It’s a secret show!” Charlie yells into my ear. “I found out on Snap yesterday and grabbed tickets for us. I know you said you love this band!”

“I do!”

“Your first live show!”

“OhmyGod, it’s so cool!” Though the huge drafty room is nondescript, the people and vibe are anything but. I’ve never seen so many colors of hair, so many tattoos, so many piercings in so many places IRL. It’s like the pages of the music magazines I pore over in my room suddenly came to life. I’ve found my people. My tribe of fellow creatives. Who knew they were so close all along?

I whirl around, stunned that things like this actually happen in the world. There’s so much I’ve been missing locked away in my room, in my little town, in my little existence. There is so much more out here for me, and it’s so much more vibrant and exciting than the elaborate re-creations of real life my dad so lovingly built for me when I was growing up, like the savannah in the basement and the beach he set up in the attic, complete with a hot tub, pool toys, and life-size photos of seagulls and dolphins and sharks and whales. I make a vow to myself here and now: I’m going to grab every last little bit of everything this world has to offer. I will not be a prisoner of my disease a day longer.

I realize that not only do I need to have a talk with Charlie, but that a long one with my father is way overdue, too. I know now that I can do way more things than I thought possible before tonight. Maybe even a real, non-online college. Somehow. Where there’s a will, there’s a way. And I have a will of steel.

While I’m thinking big thoughts and taking in the sights and sounds of this amazing place, Charlie weaves his way through the crowd, with me hanging on to his hand and trailing behind. He writhes through people like a sneaky serpent, finding little pockets of space we can fill undetected. Before long, we’re right in front of the stage. Bonus points because no one even got mad at us for budging basically an entire concert’s worth of people to get there.

I turn to Charlie, beaming. He grabs my hips and we start dancing a way cooler version of the middle school grind. There is so much action going on, so much to watch, but all I see now is Charlie. No one and nothing else in the world matters at the moment.

The band kicks into a real rocker, and the whole place starts jumping, one pulse uniting the diverse crowd. Charlie and I start jumping around like maniacs, too. I’m lost in the electricity of the music and the energy of this place. I’ve never felt so alive before, and it hits me that I might never get to experience anything like this again. I try to commit every last detail to memory. Every last second.



Long before I want it to, the music ends. We grab my coat and guitar, and head back out to the piers. I am still so buzzed from the show, it feels like I’m walking on water instead of sidewalk.

“That was amazing!” I yell, probably a little too loudly. It’s hard to tell what level my volume knob is at right now—my ears are still ringing from the concert.

“I know,” Charlie says, grinning widely.

I throw my head back and whoop even louder. “Live music is the BEST!”

Charlie laughs. “I know!” he yells back at me.