Walking Away

Then You Stand

Johnathan

I stood next to Sara, staring at the stage. Weighing my options in my head.

"Are we going on?" Sara asked. It'd been about five minutes.

"Come on." She tugged at my hand. I didn't move. Sorry, Sara, but you're like 90 pounds.

"I don't think so." I shook my head. I'd stay here until closing if needed.

"Please?" She grabbed my other hand. "Jonah. Listen to me. You sound awesome. And I really need the help."

I took a step back. "I don't actually think you do. And even if you're right, I can't just..." I trailed off gesturing at the stage, the people eating, her. I'm not like her.

I'm not supposed to draw attention. I was the mistake, the guy in the background. I'm not actually good enough at anything to advertise it. "I can't do this." Every lesson my mother ever taught me rose to the surface of my mind. I'm not meant to be noticed. If she finds out about this she'll be furious.

Sara put her arms on her hips. "Why not?"

"Because I don't sing...on stages." I replied. I kept my tone even, not giving anything away.

"I did." She offered it up like it was proof or something.

"You're different. You're bright and colorful. You want people to look at you. I don't want that." Ever. It's part of why I won't stay around Kenny. I can't risk another fight. She had been so mad at me after that last one.

I had never seen her that mad before then.

"Hmm." Sara dropped her arms. "Did you mean what you said earlier? About your mom?"

I nodded, wincing. I never should have said that. "I can't exactly ex-"

"I know." She interrupted. "My mom was like that too." Sara met my eyes with the same understanding as earlier. "I know what it's like to never catch a break. Feeling unsteady, like everything you do is wrong?" Sara looked for a response, but I had practiced this game too many times. She wouldn't get one.

 "You're constantly on edge, constantly told you aren't good enough. It takes a huge hit on your self esteem." She took a deep breath. "It's probably worse for you without a dad around than it ever was for me."

I kept quiet. Less is more. Especially with a psychology major.

"Am I warm?" she asked.

Yes. More than.

"No. My self esteem is fine, thanks." The sarcastic tone was back.

She pulled me towards the stage. "Then there shouldn't be a problem."

"There is." I assure her. Definitely a problem.

Sara crossed her arms, huffing a bit. Then she dropped them to halfway raise her hands. Like she was approaching a scared kid or trying to surrender.

"I can't make you," Sara began, "and we both know it. And I know you don't want to go up there. It's not your comfort zone, I get it. But you seem like a genuinely nice guy." She took a deep breath. "You said you have a little sister, right?"

I nodded, wary of this new direction.

"If she was going up on stage, her usual friends unable to be there for her, wouldn't you want someone to be there for her?" She sounded certain of herself. "You wouldn't want her to be alone."

"You aren't my sister." It was useless. The comparison was weighing on me.

"Maybe not, but I am someone's little sister." She had a point. Sort of.