It was a great life, and I enjoyed it.
The drummer blasted the final three cymbal strikes for the end of the song, and Chance took a moment to introduce himself and the band. He picked at his guitar, strumming a few single notes that I recognized. Yes, he was going to slow it down now. I let out a long exhale in relief. He was going to play our special one.
“I wrote this little ditty a few months ago,” he said, “when that lovely lady agreed to be my wife.” He pointed at me and the crowd turned.
I saw with great satisfaction that the rude girl noticed and frowned. Ha.
“So, this here is an original of mine, called ‘Forever.’”
The opening chords flooded me with calmness. I held on tight to the top of the wall as Chance’s rich voice filled the arena.
There ain’t nothing you can say
To make me turn away
There ain’t nothing you can do
To ever take my love away from you
Because I said forever
And that’s just what I’m gonna do
I tried to always listen to the song like it was the first time I heard it. I wanted always to believe it. Corabelle squeezed my arm. She got it. She had found her forever too.
I swayed along with the music. The crowd didn’t know the words. It had never been released. Maybe it would someday, if Chance got a break. Right now, he could sing to a crowd like this, but if they searched for him later, they couldn’t get his work.
Soon. Hopefully. If this record deal worked out.
I wanted to revel in the music. It was so different in a huge arena than in a small bar or private party, where Chance played most of the time.
But my bladder wasn’t cooperating.
The pressure was low and heavy. I knew it well. I wouldn’t be able to hold it long, and now I was in the danger zone. If I sneezed or coughed or even laughed too hard, it would leak.
God, the stuff about pregnancy nobody told you.
Chance looked my direction, like he was singing to me. I knew he couldn’t see me easily, as the stage lights were blinding as you looked out. But he always knew where I was.
I tried to feel it, really let it sink in.
But my bladder. The pressure.
I felt a tickle in my throat from all the cheering. No no no. I was going to cough.
The urge was strong, but I clamped it down. I tried to gather spit so I could swallow and make my throat calm. It seemed to work. I thought I had it under control. Then it just burst out. My insides clamped down, and I coughed.
Crap. The pee was going to let go.
I felt the water come out. Then run down my legs. And keep coming.
Shit. Really? All of it? That bad?
My face flooded crimson. I was wearing a long skirt, thank God, so nobody could really see. But it was running down to my ankles and making my shoes squishy.
So gross.
I smiled at Chance and thought — let me get through this song and we’ll go. Forget the concert, the after-party. Just get home and get cleaned up.
Chance belted out the chorus, but I could barely hear him for the roar in my ears. Something was different. Wrong. I let go of the gate and clutched my belly.
I felt emptier. I couldn’t explain it. But I was less taut or something. Less full.
Then it hit.
The contraction rippled across my body like someone had wrung out a cloth. I felt squeezed. I forgot all about the concert and turned to Corabelle. “Something’s wrong,” I said, but my voice barely worked. It was like I didn’t have any breath.
“What?” Corabelle asked, leaning in. But then she turned to look at me and saw my face. “Oh my God,” she said. “Let’s go.”
I glanced back up at Chance. I knew he couldn’t make us out clearly, not with the lights. He wouldn’t see my expression or my fear. I waved at him. He could see the movement and nodded with a smile.
But I was panicked.
Corabelle pulled me through the crowd. I kept my eyes on Chance. He probably thought I had to pee. I had no way to tell him.
We made it through the throng to the backstage security guard to the left of the stage. By the time we got there, I was feeling worse, sick, and in pain.
“We need help,” Corabelle said. “Is there an ambulance here?”
“NO!” I told her. “Not without Chance!” But just that much talking made something happen, another strong cramp gripping me tight. I doubled over. Even without my trying, my body started a huffing sort of breath.
One of the stage managers, a broad teddy-bear-sized man named Todd, came up and wrapped his arm around me. “You okay?”
I tried to get words out. “I…think…my…water broke.”
“What?” Corabelle exclaimed. “When?”
“During…the song.” The contraction slowed down and I gasped for breath.
She looked down at my feet. “Get the EMTs,” she told Todd. “She’s not due for another five weeks.”