Must Read: The Promise Keeper - Season 1 - Episode 2

7 years ago

Must Read: The Promise Keeper - Season 1 - Episode 2

All promise outruns performance.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
I heard my name reverberate in the auditorium. It quieted the low drone of the audience I hadn’t realized was so close. I stood there, my legs unwilling to move.

Someone pushed me and I half stumbled toward that little red ‘O’ at the centre of the stage. The lights were so blinding; I could only make out the first twenty rows behind the three judges’ seats. A weak, cordial applause welcomed me to hell. Yeah…it was hellish.

I stopped on the ‘O’ and turned toward the judges. I could feel the blood driving painfully through my veins. “Welcome, David,” a man I recognized, the third judge on the right said. He had a wild frock of black, dreadlock hair running down his shoulders and back. He wore sunglasses and an overly confident expression.

I knew I should know his name, but I never watched these talent shows because of my love for football leagues around the world especially, the EPL.

I found myself jealous of his sunglasses. I nodded to his greeting, not yet trusting my voice. “Do you think you have what it takes to win?” the judge asked. He looked a little perturbed that I hadn’t really acknowledged him yet. At least he asked an easy question. “No,” I answered truthfully. I didn’t give further details on my answer which seemed to bother him all the more. “Then what are you doing here?” he asked exasperatedly. I had a feeling procedures would change at the next auditions.

Another easy question; the answer was more difficult to get out. “I promised my wife,” I responded.

I remembered when I made the promise and the pain hit hard again. I had to take a long blink. “So, your wife thinks you can win?” the man asked with a bit of whimsy. The thought that he would even pretend to know Dolapo’s wishes infuriated me. I know there was anger in my voice when I answered. It felt better than the fear I had. “I don’t pretend to know why,” I answered thickly, “I promised her and I am going to keep that promise.” The audience gasped a little and the judges looked surprised at my venom. There was a pause while Mr. Sunglasses considered my response.
“What do you plan to sing for us, Promise Keeper?” the judge asked sarcastically. This elicited a small chuckle from the audience.

I really didn’t like this guy making fun of my promise to my wife. “Dolapo,” I answered.

The judges looked at each other strangely. “The R’n’B song?” Mr. Sunglasses asked incredulously. I kicked myself for not looking up the name before. Of course there was already a song called ‘Dolapo’. I really didn’t want to answer any more questions.
“No. I wrote it myself,” I replied. There was surprise and a bit of laughter at that response.

I was already gritting my teeth wishing this would just end. “Well this should at least be entertaining,” Mr. Sunglasses said with a superior smile, “go ahead and keep your promise.” He made it sound so amusing. The audience was laughing openly at this point. I rallied around my rising anger, trying to hold the fear at bay. I had to close my eyes to make the faces disappear. I had never sung in public;
I had only for my wife. I saw Dolapo there, smiling and proud. I could always sing to her. I wrote the words to fit the folklore generic hip-pop.

The tune was almost as pretty as Dolapo, and fit our love as well as possible. I heard the music start in my mind and I slowly sang to her about how we met and how our hearts merged. I sang of her beauty, comparing it poorly to a sunrise. I sang of her smile, of our dreams and mostly of our love. Dolapo’s face changed, and I saw her concern as I got to the end. I sang about my loss and of her death. I couldn’t help the tears or the crack in my voice. My promise kept, I dropped my head and listened to the silence. I raised my head and stared into the blinding lights. I think they were waiting for more. The applause started slowly and my anger flared quickly.

The death of my wife was not a celebration. I raised my hand in front of my face, trying to shut out the hullabaloo and the lights. The hysterical ignorant audience went on with their revere, but my promise was kept. I headed off the stage at fast clip; my pain as sharp as when I last held Dolapo. The song had fully renewed the misery, my misery. I heard the judges shouting at me. ‘Just don’t call me back,’ I thought.