I stood backstage, touched up and ready to join everyone else at the end of the concert when we’d all jam to Dad’s “Never Missin’ Home.”
But I was watching with some confusion as the setup for Stella’s set included the stage lights going purple and the stagehands setting up eleven microphone stands up front.
I felt someone join me and looked right to see Joss slide in there.
She never liked to miss anything either so she’d been in VIP.
“Hey, what’re you doing here?” I asked.
She just gave me a look I felt in my belly and around the rims of my heart.
She took my hand just as more fingers slid around my other one.
I looked left and saw Dana.
Oh shit.
“What’s going on?” I asked, my body bracing.
Dana turned her head toward the stage.
I looked that way too.
The stagehands were gone.
And filing in solemnly were Perry, Terrence, Lacey, Rod, Uncle Jimmy, Aunt Tammy, Stella, and her band, Hugo, Pong, Buzz and Leo.
They each took a microphone.
The crowd seemed to sense something was happening. The buzz was low and attentive, when, even after this array of artists took the stage, it stayed purple.
“Bear with us, folks, we’ve had a request,” Stella said into the microphone. “There’s a man who wants us to sing a song to his gypsy.”
My vision instantly went watery, but my eyes shot to the right, where I could see the front of the VIP seating.
Deke was already looking at me.
That was when the humming started, like a funeral dirge, somber in its beauty.
And the punctuated clapping.
A low, perfect harmony.
My gaze cut back to the stage.
And beats after it did, a cappella, Rod started singing Hozier’s “Work Song.”
My knees got weak.
Dana and Joss held me up, their hands in mine tightening, their bodies shifting into my sides like they felt it happening.
As for me, I felt. A lot. Too much. Such beauty, making my skin seem too thin to contain it, hold it in. My heart working hard in the effort to draw it deep inside me, absorb it, keep it forever there, filling me. All this as the fat drops of wet slipped from my eyes, gliding down my cheeks and I saw Rod turn his head and sing his words to his wife.
So beautiful.
I loved my mom had that from Roddy.
But still.
Those words were for me.
Those that didn’t have hands raised, cell phones up, dotting the sea of dark faces with thousands of slowly swaying stars started to add to the slow clap as well as giving stomps of their feet. Thousands of hands striking and feet landing, the noise reverberating through the arena, each one thumped against my flesh, beating the emotion I was feeling right to the pit of my heart where I’d always hold it.
Always.
I looked again right, catching Krystal grinning so huge at me, it was like her smile was a flash of a cell phone.
But I only spared her a glance in my search for Deke.
He was still watching me.
Perry sang. And Terrence. And Hugo. And Buzz.
Everyone on stage sang the chorus and consistent humming.
Uncle Jimmy finished the song.
Through it I studied my man’s face. Unsurprisingly, the lines of life had tunneled deeper after he took four bullets for me and had months of painful recovery.
Now, for the first time since it happened, they were gone.
His life had smoothed out of his face once again, finally, as he watched me receive the second most beautiful gift I’d ever received…that one and the first both coming from Deke.
And at that end the song, Deke’s lips moved.
I watched them form one word.
Bounty.
It was a miracle of music. It was a moment a music fan wished for for a lifetime. The kind they’d tell their friends, their kids, anybody who would listen, sharing it over and over until the day they died.
That day eleven legends took the stage and sang the most beautiful love song ever written.
A song whose astonishing, exquisite words, for me, from Deke, months before came nearly literally.
So yeah.
That got the most hits on YouTube.
Absolutely.
And Dad would have absolutely fucking loved every second of it.
*
Deke
Body bent back, knees in the bed, Deke smoothed his hand over the ceiling of his trailer.
When he was sure all the edges were glued down, no bubbles, what was there fixed there being fixed there until that trailer was no more, he dropped his hand and looked up at the poster for the Johnny Lonesome tribute concert, one of several made up, this one with a picture of Jussy at a mic with her guitar.
He looked down at her lazing on her back on their bed.
“Good?” he asked.
Her eyes went from the poster over their bed to him.
“Perfect,” she whispered.
Not exactly, he thought. But it’s the perfect start.
He twisted and went down on her, taking her mouth.
Jussy opened for him.
Deke slid his tongue inside.
There it was again.
Perfect.
*
Twang Magazine
Rock’s Gypsy Princess Makes Miracles