Facing the Audience [2]
Adam stood in the corner of the bar, gazing at the small stage where all eyes would soon be on him.
His heart pounded, but this time, it wasn't just fear. It was a strange mix of anticipation and excitement, as if he had been waiting for this moment his entire life.
He could hear the soft background music playing, the chatter and laughter of the patrons, but everything felt distant.
This wasn't just another performance—it was a second chance, something he hadn't even dared to dream of in his wildest imagination.
"Are you ready?" came his mother Linda's voice as she gently placed a hand on his shoulder.
He turned to look at her and saw unwavering support in her eyes.
She wasn't just his mother; she was the only person who had believed in him when everyone else mocked his dreams.
He remembered how she had defended him against his father, how she had always smiled at him and told him he was capable of achieving something great.
But in his past life, he had never returned that support. He had been angry, resentful, convinced that the world was against him.
And now, having been given a second chance, he realized just how blind he had been.
"I'm ready." His voice was steady, even though his hands were slightly sweaty.
His mother smiled and cupped his face gently. "Don't overthink it. Just feel the words and let your voice speak for you."
Adam nodded and turned as he saw Marcus stepping onto the stage.
⟐ ⟐ ⟐
Marcus walked onto the stage with a calm stride, holding the microphone in his right hand.
He tapped it twice with his fingers, drawing the audience's attention.
The bar was packed with patrons—some engaged in conversation, others focused on their drinks—but as Marcus began to speak, many heads turned toward him
"Alright, alright, ladies and gentlemen..." he said in his deep, seasoned voice, carrying the authority of years managing this place.
"Tonight, we have a new talent—a young man with a great passion for music. I think you'll enjoy hearing his voice."
There were murmurs among the crowd—some intrigued, others indifferent.
Marcus gestured toward the corner of the bar, where Adam stood. "Let's give a warm welcome to Adam Quinn!"
Hearing his name announced before everyone sent an electric current through Adam's body.
He took a deep breath, glanced at his mother, who smiled and nodded encouragingly, then walked toward the stage.
⟐ ⟐ ⟐
Each step reminded him of the past—the first time he had stood on this stage. Back then, he had been frozen, his hands trembling.
The audience had been impatient, some throwing sarcastic remarks when he hesitated too long before singing.
But this time... was different.
Reaching the center of the stage, he stood before the microphone, looking out at the crowd. Some were watching him, others were not, but that didn't matter.
What mattered now was what he would do in the next few moments.
He gripped the microphone, took a deep breath, then closed his eyes for a moment, regaining his focus. He didn't want to think about failure. He wouldn't let his old self creep in.
Slowly, he opened his eyes and met his mother's gaze. She stood near the bar, watching him with pride.
He smiled at her before deciding to speak first.
"Good evening, everyone." His voice was steady but not too loud.
Some people turned toward him, while others remained engaged in their conversations. It wasn't discouraging—it was expected.
"This is my first time singing here..." he said with a small smile, though he didn't mention it was also his second time in life.
"And I just want to say that music means a lot to me. Maybe more than I can put into words."
There were a few murmurs, but then someone called out jokingly, "If you can sing as well as you can talk, we won't have a problem!"
Laughter rippled through the crowd, but Adam wasn't bothered. In fact, he laughed too. "Well then, let's see if I can sing, shall we?"
He signaled to the guitarist beside him to start playing the song he had chosen.
The song was "Boulevard of Broken Dreams" by Green Day.
As the first chords played, the tension within him began to melt away.
He closed his eyes briefly before singing
"I walk a lonely road, the only one that I have ever known
Don't know where it goes, but it's home to me, and I walk alone
I walk this empty street, on the Boulevard of Broken Dreams
Where the city sleeps, and I'm the only one, and I walk alone..."
His voice was steady, deep enough to carry the raw emotions behind every word.
He knew this song well—he had listened to it dozens of times, and it resonated with his past life in ways he hadn't realized before.
As he reached the second verse, he opened his eyes and looked at the audience.
Some had stopped talking, turning their attention to him. A few started tapping their fingers on the tables to the rhythm, while others gave him an appraising look, as if reevaluating their first impression.
"My shadow's the only one that walks beside me
My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating
Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me
'Til then I walk alone..."
As he sang, he felt something shift within him—something freeing. In his past life, he had sung for fame, to prove something to the world. But now, he was singing for himself—for the moment, for the feeling, for the truth.
He finished the song, and for a brief second, there was silence.
He wasn't sure what would happen next. But then, a round of applause broke out. It wasn't thunderous, but it was enough to tell him he had made an impression.
He looked at his mother, who was clapping enthusiastically, pride shining in her eyes.
He smiled. Maybe he hadn't changed the world yet, but tonight... was just the beginning.
.
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