The Greatest Showman #856 - Waiting for Godot

The pitch-black night had fallen early, blanketing the city in its heavy cloak. The violent cold wind howled in his ears, and the grains of snow stung his cheeks, sharp enough to hurt. It was an unforgiving February night in New York, relentless in its brutality, refusing to offer even a sliver of warmth or comfort.

Derek Cross stared out the car window at the swirling snowflakes, worry etched across his face. He turned to his daughter, concern deep in his eyes. "Heather, are you sure about this?"

Heather, bundled like a mummy in layers of clothing, rolled her eyes and groaned, "Dad, are you serious? After everything you've done to get me here, you're still asking if I'm sure?" Her words were laced with a familiar sarcasm, a voice she had begun to reclaim, even if her tone was weak and her delivery slower than before.

She was wrapped tightly in three layers inside and three layers outside, with only her eyes visible above a red scarf that covered her face. The cold had rendered her limbs stiff and unyielding, but she refused to let that stop her. She looked over at her mother, who couldn't help but smile at the sight of her daughter's attempt at normalcy. Heather could barely move, but she was still Heather.

Ellie chuckled softly, unable to contain her amusement at Heather's determination to remain unchanged despite her current state.

Heather managed to shoot her a glance, her eyes rolling in exaggerated frustration. "Mom, seriously?"

Ellie chuckled again, despite the heaviness in her heart. But as Heather's words grew fainter, it was clear that the journey was taking a toll. Heather struggled to express herself clearly, her speech still impaired, but the urgency in her voice remained.

"We're going to be late," Heather said, her words slow but deliberate. "He kept his promise, and I'm going to keep mine." It was a simple statement, but it carried the weight of a promise—a promise to herself and to Renly.

Ellie and Derek exchanged a glance, silent in their understanding. When Heather was still unconscious, they had hoped that Renly's concert would be the catalyst for her awakening. Now that she was awake, they hoped it would be a safe place for her. But was this too much to hope for?

"Mom, we're late," Heather repeated, urgency creeping into her voice. With only five minutes before the concert began, there was no time to waste. They couldn't miss it now.

Derek's eyes hardened with resolve. "Then let's go. We can't delay any longer," he said, affirming his decision. His hand tightened around the concert ticket—the only three reserved tickets for "One Person's Concert" that Nathan had personally delivered earlier that afternoon.

Ellie hesitated for a moment, but then smiled, albeit bittersweetly. "Then we better hurry. Wouldn't want to miss the opening."

Derek carefully lifted Heather into his arms, cradling her as if she were a child. Ellie retrieved the wheelchair and, together, they rushed toward Madison Square Garden, where medical staff awaited them, ready to guide them into the protected area of the venue.

With a sigh of relief, Derek settled Heather into the wheelchair. "We're not late, right?" he asked, glancing at the ticket.

"No. The concert hasn't started yet," Nurse Carey Barton replied with a smile, looking at Heather. "One person's concert? Well, the person isn't here yet, so how could it possibly start?"

Heather's eyes widened with excitement, though her voice was still a jumble of unclear syllables. She raised her head to look at her mother, her gaze filled with anticipation.

Ellie, understanding instantly, nodded. "Let's go inside now."

Inside Madison Square Garden, the stage was stark and elegant. In the oppressive darkness, there were no extravagant decorations, no elaborate effects. The only light came from a soft, cream-colored halo that illuminated the center stage, casting long, muted shadows and creating a sense of solitude. On stage, Renly stood alone in the spotlight, an acoustic guitar slung over his back, his head bowed in quiet contemplation. The stillness was almost suffocating, filled only by the heavy silence that enveloped him.

For eight full minutes, Renly did nothing but stand there, unmovable. The audience shifted uneasily, murmuring to each other in confusion. What kind of concert was this? Were they just supposed to stand in silence? Was this some kind of performance art?

William Taylor exchanged glances with his friends—Graham Hughes, Hope Bates, Tessa Britton—and shrugged, signaling them to be patient. Finally, unable to resist, William whispered to his group, "Shh! This is a one-person concert. Renly is waiting for someone, a promised person. That's why the silence."

Tonight's concert was unlike anything anyone had ever seen. No countdown, no warm-up acts, no prelude. The audience had no idea when to cheer or what to expect. They were left in the dark—literally and figuratively—until Renly appeared, guitar in hand, and made his way to the stage in simple attire: a navy blue shirt, black jeans, and black skate shoes. He looked so ordinary, so understated, that it left people questioning whether they were even at a concert.

The audience was divided. Some clapped, some cheered, but others looked on in confusion. The reactions were uneven at best, but slowly, the room began to hum with energy, the scattered applause growing into a more unified show of support. This concert, so full of mystery and controversy, demanded a response, and the crowd answered with enthusiasm.

But as the initial excitement waned, the confusion returned. Renly stood still, silent, not playing, not acknowledging the crowd. The room fell back into uncertainty. People exchanged confused glances, their doubt mounting.

William met the questioning eyes around him, his expression calm. "Have you listened to the album 'Don Quixote'? Do you understand the meaning of this concert?" he asked quietly, his voice steady.

"Dogshit!" someone muttered dismissively, and the murmurs of "hype" and "this is a joke" began to ripple through the crowd. But William remained calm, his smile unwavering. He knew that doubt would always linger, but it would only fuel their determination.

Looking up at Renly, bathed in the soft glow of the spotlight, William felt a deep sense of peace. He wasn't just watching a concert. He was waiting—waiting for something greater.

As Heather entered Madison Square Garden, her mouth fell open in awe. The venue was massive, an ocean of seats filled to capacity. The crowd, so vibrant and powerful, created a palpable energy in the air. The heat of so many bodies pressed together made the room feel alive.

Heather could hardly believe it. Madison Square Garden, with its 20,000 seats, had sold out in just two days. The sheer volume of people was overwhelming. It was an unbelievable sight, a testament to Renly's impact.

But what struck her most was the eerie silence. Despite the enormous crowd, there was no chatter, no noise. The audience was still, each person looking up at Renly, who stood alone on the stage, small yet commanding. It was a surreal moment, one that felt like it transcended time and space.

Heather stared in wonder. The simplicity of the stage, the focus on the music, the power of the moment—it all came together in a way that words couldn't describe. Her eyes welled with tears, touched by the profound weight of the experience.