17
It was a terrible idea.
Their performance was incredible. I had a front row seat at one of the linen-covered bistro tables by the low stage. While Zack played a mournful tune on a baby grand, Ro sat on the piano bench, shoulder-to-shoulder with him, keeping time with his foot. His voice was raw and soulful, singing a ballad of a young man seeing the pain and suffering in the world and realizing all his privilege.
The music swept over the audience like waves over sand, a shared journey that held us spellbound. The melody changed from a minor key to a major one, the lyrics reflecting a hope not usually found in Ro’s older emo writings.
He gave a small secret smile, gaze trained on the crowd, before launching into the final chorus. His voice rose in a rich velvety crescendo around the
