Sorta Like a Rock Star (26 page)

“Come on out here, Sister Amber,” Sister Lucy says.

I carry BBB out to center stage, and Sister Lucy puts her arm around me.

“You know, they say the way to a woman’s heart is to give her enough chocolate,” DWL says, and the audience laughs at that one. “Before she knew I was a diva, when she thought I was just a door woman at the old people’s home, when she was homeless herself, every week Amber brought me a hot chocolate and a Snickers bar. Might not sound like much to some, but I liked it well enough. It was something to look forward to on Wednesdays. I’m sorry about what happened to your mom, Sister Amber. It ain’t right. So this one is for you.”

When Lucy lets go of me, I walk to the side of the stage, and an electric organ starts playing.

I look over by the horn section at the keyboard synthesizer and I suddenly realize that Father Chee is playing it—he’s playing with the band!

Sister Lucy starts singing and her voice is deep and rich and divine.

She’s singing about Mother Mary.

The KDFCs are doing these slow hand motions I didn’t teach them—and then they are echoing Sister Lucy beautifully, like pros.

They’re doing an R & B version of The Beatles’ “Let It Be.”

The Hard-Working Brothers kick in with the drums and the bass and guitar and then the horns too.

The people in the audience are standing now.

Their hands are swaying back and forth over their heads.

I listen to the lyrics and understand what Sister Lucy is telling me—and then I’m crying like a baby.

Jared puts his arm around me during the saxophone solo.

From Das Boot, Chad reaches up and holds my hand.

BBB licks my under-chin.

Toward the end of the song, Sister Lucy really starts to push it—showing off her vocals—and this is when I know that she is indeed a true bona fide diva.

I’m so proud of The KDFCs, who sound and look great.

There is still a light that shines on me
, I think as Sister Lucy sings the line.

Listening to Sister Lucy sing—backed up by The KDFCs—I feel like JC is there with me, and that everything is going to be okay somehow.

It’s a pretty powerful moment.

Maybe even holy.

And then the song is over.

“Let it be, Sister Amber, let it be,” Sister Lucy says to me. And then, to the crowd, she says, “Childress Public High School—you people ready to dance your butts off?”

The crowd cheers, and then Father Chee hits some funky old-time piano chords on the synthesizer, The Hard-Working Brothers start playing, and Sister Lucy is rocking “Think” by Aretha Franklin.

The KDFCs are shoulder dipping, booty shaking, making circles with their open hands, and whenever Sister Lucy points at them, they all shout, “Think!” or “Freedom!” They are rocking so hard—I’m amazed.

The crowd is going frickin’ nuts.

There are people dancing in the aisles.

Everyone is on his or her feet.

And when I look down at the first row, Donna is dancing with Private Jackson. PJ sucks at dancing—but he is dancing! That’s a miracle!

So I start dancing with Jared and Chad and BBB—and then I even try to get Ricky dancing, but that doesn’t fly so well.

Sister Lucy runs through “Come See About Me,” “Baby Love,” “O-o-h Child,” “I Want You Back,” “(Sweet Sweet Baby) Since You Been Gone,” “Freeway of Love,” and when she gets to “Respect,” everyone on stage is soaked with sweat—and everyone in the audience is drenched with sweat too.

The roof is officially off the Childress High School Auditorium.

Sister Lucy rocks the Aretha Franklin signature song, and The KDFCs get to shine on this one too, as they do all kinds of hand movements, shoulder dip with tons of attitude, and sing, “Sock-it-to-me, sock-it-to-me, sock-it-to-me. Just a little bit. Just a little bit.”

When they finish the set, the crowd claps and whistles for ten minutes, and The KDFCs are beaming with pride.

JC is definitely in the house tonight.

Sister Lucy announces the names of the band members and The KDFCs, making all the Koreans in the house cheer like mad, which is when I realize that The KDFCs’ families have come to support them, thanks—no doubt—to Father Chee. And I think,
Cool, we’re bringing people together tonight
.

I can’t believe how well The Save Bobby Big Boy Variety Show has gone.

I’m so amazed.

I’m so thankful.

But then Franks is telling me that Ty is going to post the total amount of money we raised on the big movie screen at the back of the stage, and that I’m supposed to thank the crowd for coming, so I do, with BBB in my arms.

When I turn around and point to the movie screen at the back of the stage, behind The Hard-Working Brothers’ drum set, Ty does his computer thing, the $0000.00 numbers on the huge screen start to spin and “We’re Not Alone” by Dinosaur Jr. starts playing very loudly, probably because Ty knows it’s one of my very most favorite songs.

$375.15 flashes on the screen.

People cheer.

I nod and think, not bad.

But then the numbers start to spin again.

$657.15

Nice!

People cheer even louder.

$2,019.89

People start to cheer like mad.

$3,998.23

I’ve accomplished my goal!

I’m so happy.

$5,002.11

Could we have possibly raised that much?

What will we do with the extra money?

I look back behind the stage curtain and Franks and The Five are smiling at me. People are clapping like mad now. Everyone is smiling, and I notice that there are people crying in the audience, which makes me feel very strange.

$7,628.54

This can’t be right.

$23,425.76

I almost crap myself.

$62,981.72

“What is going on?”
I yell to Franks, sorta laughing now, because there is no way we raised that much money.

He winks at me from offstage.

$121,521.09

Suddenly I notice news cameras in the aisles, camera crews and news reporters.

$215,671.87

The last number flashes on the screen several times and then the words Grand Total appear for a few seconds.

Suddenly—Bobby Big Boy and I are standing on the stage alone now, and the auditorium is completely silent.

The screen goes blank.

What the hell is going on?

These words flash up on the screen:

A Message From Amber’s Nemesis

Suddenly, Joan of Old’s head is on the screen, which completely shocks me for obvious reasons. The shot is a close-up, so her wrinkly face is gigantic. I can see the pillow behind her head, and it looks like she is having trouble breathing. Her wrinkly eyelids look really pink and her skin looks like wax, or maybe ancient cheese.

“I’m probably already dead by now,” Joan of Old’s pink wrinkly enormous eyeless head says. “For those of you who don’t know, Amber and I used to battle every Wednesday afternoon. Her strange little boyfriends recorded this several days ago, which was fortuitous, because I am probably gone and buried by now, yes—but especially because I vowed to make Amber cry before I died, and I always keep my word, Ms. Appleton, Princess of Hope. Today is the day I defeat you, once and for all. The doctors say this is the end of the road for me. It’s about time. My body is going to return to dust. Good riddance! Now I understand the town is having some sort of pep rally for you because of what happened to your mother and because you were so constantly on your guard that you are no longer able to defend yourself, like Nietzsche said. I hear you’ve lost hope, and—regardless of my philosophical views—you’re far too young for that. What will you have to look forward to in old age, if you become a nihilist before you hit eighteen?”

Joan of Old starts coughing very badly here, but then recovers.

“I want to say two things to you before I die. One. My Lawrence was a German philosophy professor, hence my obsession with Nietzsche. Here is a quote I never got around to sharing with you: ‘We should consider every day lost on which we have not danced at least once. And we should call every truth false which was not accompanied by at least one laugh.’ That was my Lawrence’s favorite quote. He used to dance me around the house every night. Every. Single. Night. And how we would laugh. He was a beautiful man, who died far too young, but he would have absolutely loved you. Keep making people laugh, Amber. At least until you are old and gray. Laugh at yourself and others will always laugh with you. Even mean old defeated women like me.”

Joan of Old coughs again.

“Two. I’ve got some bucks left over—and I’m leaving my entire estate to The Amber Appleton Community Service College Fund, which is what your friends have established without your knowing it. My son Teddy hasn’t come to visit me in eleven years, so screw him! Bye-bye, Amber. See you in hell.”

Joan of Old smiles the last grin of a dying woman—which is huge and beautiful—and then she says, “I finally got you, didn’t I?”

I’m crying now onstage even though I’m not exactly sure what is happening.

The film cuts to the old folk’s common room at the home. My old able-legged silver-haired friends are gathered around my wheelchair-bound silver-headed friends. With his oxygen bottle by his side, Old Man Linder steps forward and says, “Kid, you were the only one who came to visit us when we needed a good laugh. Life is a long, long race, and the finish is often lonely. Even our own flesh and blood—many of our sons and daughters—abandoned us at some point, so when we heard about what happened to your mother, we all wrote you into our wills. Some of us are giving more than others, but you should be all set covering your Bryn Mawr tuition over the next five years or so. Maybe there’ll be some left over for law school too.”

The audience is clapping now, camera crews are rolling film, women are crying, and I’m still not sure what the hell is going on.

But then Franks and The Five walk out onto the stage.

Franks has a live microphone. He says, “I’ve never met a person with more spirit, I’ve never met a person with more hope and love in her heart, I’ve never met a more deserving person than Amber Appleton. She never thinks of herself first. She’s always thinking up some crazy scheme to help others, whether they want help or not. Well, Amber, this time it was The Five who thought up a plan to help you in your time of need.”

Ricky, Chad on Das Boot, Jared, Ty, and Lex Pinkston dressed as a Puerto Rican gang member—they are all smiling at me.

“You are loved, Amber Appleton,” Franks says.

“So this money is for me?” I ask.

“It’s your college fund.”

“What about Bobby Big Boy’s operation? How will I pay for that?”

“She wants to know how she’s going to pay for her dog’s operation,” Franks says into his microphone, and the audience starts laughing—as if everyone is in on the joke except me.

Dr. Weissmuller stands up in the third row, smiles, and yells, “On the house!”

The audience cheers again, and then some bright loser starts yelling, “Speech! Speech! Speech!”

The chant catches on, and then Franks is handing me the live microphone.

I’m still crying a little.

“Thank you, everyone. I’m not really sure this is real, or what it means exactly. I hope my mom is looking down on us tonight,” I say and then pause, because I start to cry a little harder.

I swallow and think about my mom.

She’d have liked to see this.

She would have crapped her pants when that last number flashed up on the screen.

“I don’t know what else to say. I’m speechless. Thanks.”

I hand the live microphone back to Franks, and he says, “Thanks for coming, everyone. You make me proud to live in Childress—the town that takes care of its own. Drive home safely!”

And before he sees me coming, I give Franks a big old teddy-bear hug right onstage—getting my arms halfway around his big belly and sinking my tear-streaked face into his chest.

Surprisingly, he hugs me back, and I smile and close my eyes—savoring the moment.

“You’re a good man, Franks,” I say. “You really are. True.”

“How about you give the rest of us some love, sweetheart?” Chad says.

But before I can answer, I’m rushed by a bunch of reporters who stick cameras in my face and ask me all sorts of personal questions about my mom.

Before I can even think, Donna is onstage, yelling, “My client has no comment at the present moment! Boys, let’s get her out of here!”

So I say a quick goodbye to PJ, FC, The KDFCs, DWL, The Hard-Working Brothers, Old Man Thompson, and—

“Get the hell out of here already before those reporters lynch you,” Old Man Linder yells at me, and then squeezes my shoulder like he always does.

The Five gets me the hell out of there, leaving Das Boot behind, because it doesn’t fit into Donna’s Mercedes. No worries. Mr. Fox will take Das Boot home in the Fox family van.

In the car I pet BBB, hug my boys and thank them for getting everyone to participate in the show, filming Joan of Old, and raising money for my college fund, which is pretty amazing. I even thank Lex, who is still dressed as a Puerto Rican gang member and is somehow smushed in the car with us—making us The Six and no longer The Five.

Donna says, “Sundaes at my place!”

After a quick stop at the food store, I wash my hands, make proper sundaes in Donna’s kitchen for my boys, and then we celebrate the night by sharing ice cream and sword fighting with spoons. True.

After everyone is finished eating, the boys go to Ricky’s room to play Halo 3, and Donna and I wash dishes in the kitchen.

“What the hell happened tonight?” I ask.

“The town of Childress came together and tried the best they could to make a wrong right. And I’m not talking about the money. They came together in the auditorium, gave their time to say that they care.”

“Why?”

“Because most people are good,” Donna says, and then passes me a rinsed bowl.

I stick it into the dishwasher and say, “Did they make a wrong right?”

“What do you think?”

“It doesn’t bring my mom back. It doesn’t erase what happened—which is still messed up beyond imagination. Whack.”