Page 68 of Out for the Night

“I stopped self-protecting with you, and it’s been amazing. If you want to be an artist, you need to share a part of yourself. You can’t hold back. I put all of my fear and frustration and doubts, about my mom and myself, into my work and into the programs I create. Maybe you don’t like to perform in public because you don’t want to tap those feelings. Well, they’re not going to go away just because you don’t talk about them.”

When you spent your life closing yourself off, you couldn’t just open it back up like it was another day at the store.

Matty seemed to study Coop’s face and his determination was gone as quickly as it appeared. “I shouldn’t have sprung this on you, Coop. I was trying to be helpful, honestly. I’m sorry. I don’t want to ruin our weekend. Let’s go. I know eventually you’ll work up the nerve to go on stage.”

Matty walked away from the hall, back into the quad. He meant well. But something stirred within Coop. He was tired of letting people down. Denise, Matty, but mostly himself.

“Let’s go to poetry night,” Coop said.

Matty turned around. “Are you sure?”

Coop nodded, faking it until he was making it.

“Because I promise I wasn’t saying that as a form of reverse psychology. You don’t have to go in there. I’m behind you either way.”

Coop held his hand. “I know. Now let’s get our asses in there before I change my mind.”

* * *

Inside Fisher-Bennett hall, the lounge was re-arranged to face a small stage up front. About six people were present. It still felt like a packed house to Coop. Matty put his name on the list. They took their seats, and Matty immediately squeezed Coop’s hand tight.

“This isn’t for support. It’s so you don’t run out of here.”

“Funny.” Coop’s leg rattled. He took out his phone and jotted some notes down.I can’t talk about riding bitch on a road trip.

Dig, Coop, he commanded himself. Those fears and feelings were shoved deep in there. He couldn’t dig. He had to drill.

The first people who went were pretty bad, which made Coop feel better. At least if he bombed, he wouldn’t be alone. And no matter what, Matty would applaud him, even if it were fake applause. They spoke about serious subjects, and one kid talked about his dog, who was still living. But even though their poetry wasn’t great, their emotion trumped all. It gave Coop goosebumps. That was the scariest part about performing, putting yourself out there. Yet that was how artists succeeded. They made peoplefeel.

Coop was up next.

He took his sweet time going to the stage. “I wrote something on my phone. I’m not being rude. I didn’t know I was coming here until like twenty minutes ago.”

The audience laughed, which Coop took as a good sign. Now he had to keep the momentum going. His phone almost slipped out of his sweaty palm. He looked at the audience in fits and starts. They were watching him, judging him. Matty looked on with admiration and gave him a secret thumbs up.

You can do this.

At the last second, he put his phone away. Something deep inside him was ready to come out. Coop closed his eyes, and he was back on the playground with Matty, rapping his heart out. No people, no coffee. Just him, his boyfriend, and the night.

Uncool.

It’s who you are.

It’s where you come from.

It’s your destiny.

Uncool.

It’s knowing your school is a war zone.

Full of sticks and stones.

They’ve broken something worse than your bones

And you are all alone.

So you dream