It's cold. Not like back home, but proper cold for all of us who are accustomed to the dreamlike weather of Los Angeles. Luckily we've been able to take refuge in tavern full of lively locals. It's...awkward at first. No other black faces seem to lie amongst the crowd. Memories of recent world events seem to have me on edge. We settle down at a table in the center of the room. I bury my head in the menu, but find myself distracted by tapping on my arm. A jolly older woman looks me in my eye and belts out, "Do you like to dance?!" A feign a smile, "Maybe after a few drinks." She slides her full glass of gin in front of me and nods. It's going to be one of those nights.
A few drinks and big ass burger later and I'm feeling it. The first instances of joy since the week started. I try not to think about tomorrow, and how much I'll regret not getting any sleep, and, most likely drinking too much. My eyes keep getting pulled to the far end of the bar, where a small stage surrounded by TV screens sits. One by one, inebriated patrons wail the lyrics of some pop culture song into a little microphone. The whole scene makes me feel jittery. Meanwhile, more coworkers come and go. This night was needed and I'm glad to see so many enjoying themselves. I hope we can survive these last few weeks.
It's not long before everyone has come to me and said, "So when are you going to go up there and sing something. I nervously stare up at the stage. I tell them I'm not sure. Truth be told this isn't really the crowd for any of my normal selections. But already I can feel the itch. The sensation creeping up on me. I want it. I need it. I sign my name. And I wait.
And then my name is called.
There's a ringing in my ears. My blood is still pumping. There are countless back pats and arm squeezes. I'm smiling. For the first time in a long time. And I remember what I had long forgotten. This is my happiness. This is where I belong. This is what I have to do.
I take my seat. I drink. I dwell. And I remember.
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