I had more of a lead-in written, but onstage, this feels a million times longer than it did last night in my room. I need to say it, now, before I lose my chance. Come on, Ruben. You’ve got this.
Mom’s face flashes in my mind, and I push it away. No. Ignore her. Focus on the words. Say it.
I.
“I…”
Am gay. Go on.
“Wanted to tell you all…”
I’m GAY. Spit it out, Ruben.
“That Zach and—” But I cut off, because my voice has lost 99 percent of its volume.
I took too long. I hesitated.
Jon told me not to hesitate, and I hesitated.
I stare at my microphone in shock as I try to process this. Even though I can’t bring myself to look up, I know how the others must be looking at me. How Zach must look.
The audience murmurs, confused and curious. A few people yell out from the crowd in protest. Turn his mic back on!
The producer from the tent says something into her headset, then gestures at the crowd. “Just some technical difficulties, everyone!” she calls.
“I’m sorry,” says Jon. He knows as well as I do that this is it. They’ll claim they can’t get any of the mics to work. They’ll apologize to the audience and send them on their way. Wrap up the segment early, march us off the stage, then we’ll face the consequences.
I’ll take full responsibility. Tell them no one else knew what I was going to say. Tell them Jon thought he was switching with me because I wanted to say happy birthday to someone on-camera or something. I won’t let them take it out on the others, though. This was my mistake, not theirs. I should’ve been faster. I should’ve asked Zach to speak.
The producer walks to the edge of the stage and beckons to me. I kneel, already knowing what she’s going to say. The show’s over. We’ve been instructed not to continue. We’re sorry.
She leans right in to whisper in my ear. “We were given a list of banned topics for today’s interview. Were you about to … address one of those topics?”
I nod, hardly daring to hope.
When she steps back, her eyes are blazing. “My wife was very jealous I got to meet you four today,” she says. “She’s your biggest fan.”
Holy shit. She’s going to turn the mics back on.
I meet her eyes, and a charge of shared understanding runs between us. “If you want to bring her backstage after we finish all our songs,” I say, “we’d love to meet her.”
She smiles conspiratorially. “She couldn’t get the day off work. But I’ll tell her you said hi.”
I straighten and return to my microphone as she hisses into her headset. A second later, my green light is back.
Now, it seems, I have all the time in the world. And unfortunately for Chorus, I’m angry. Real angry. They’ve tried to silence us for the last fucking time.
I was raised by a fox. To cope, I became the rabbit lying limp in the fox’s mouth, shutting down to minimize the agony of being eaten alive.
But I’m not going to be a rabbit anymore. Today, I’m a fucking wolf.
For once, I’m going to be the vicious one. For all the times I chose to whisper when I needed to roar.
“The best part of our job is you,” I say, my voice booming over the crowd again. “Seeing you all, meeting you backstage, reading your messages to us. You don’t hold back with us. You show us everything, every vulnerable bit of yourselves. You trust us with that. Do you know how powerful that is? Because it’s a gift, and it’s one we’re beyond lucky to receive. The wildest part is, you don’t even demand anything back. We don’t deserve the love you give us. We’re just four guys who met at music camp one year, and now we have the world, because you saw us, and you decided to give us the world. Just because.”
Jon’s nodding emphatically. Zach isn’t taking his eyes off me.
“The worst part of our job,” I say, willing the sudden shake out of my voice, “is how long we’ve been forbidden to give the same back to you. For years now, we’ve been boxed in and told who we’re allowed to be. We’ve had our names taken from us, and we’ve had our dignity taken from us. We’ve been forced to cross moral lines we aren’t comfortable with. We’ve been dressed in clothes we don’t like, and we’ve been taught to say lies as naturally as if they were the truth. And the more we’ve tried to reach out to you, and recover ourselves, the more we’ve been reined in. But we want you to see us. Deep inside, I think we’ve all hoped that maybe, you saw us anyway. Like, the Angel you just saw? The one jumping all over the stage? That’s about a quarter of the energy we get from him.” Angel pretends to shoot me a dirty look, and I narrow my eyes right back at him. “On a quiet day,” I add, and the audience laughs. “And Jon? He’s always got his eye on other people, constantly ready to help them, and tell them what they need to hear. He’s sweet, and he’s gentle, and he’s someone you want there for you in a crisis. And Zach—” My voice cracks, and I steady myself. Here goes nothing. “Zach—”