It was a relatively boring day when I received the call.
“Are you busy?”
I wasn’t busy.
My days were significantly more mellow in contrast to the couple of weeks prior. I was also on the lookout to take advantage of the few weeks that remained of my college experience. The window of opportunity to leave one’s mark on campus was closing.
Suddenly, a group of gentlemen who were planning a very special performance lost one of their members to quarantine. They needed someone to step in.
Needless to say, the stars aligned.
I heard rumblings regarding the plan for the performance. When I received the call, I knew what it was about.
“This doesn’t have anything to do with the Wiggles, does it?” I asked.
“Well …”said Darius Mullin, senior general biology major, with a laugh on the other end of the line.
“I’ll do it,” I said with zero hesitation.
As I started toward the Bowld piano room to join for the first practice, all I could think about was the lack of consideration I put forth regarding my ability to not take part, but my ability to do so with any sort of actual talent.
You see, I sang often in my prepubescent years. But with my voice dropping also came a lack of interest in the craft. The instrumental side of music became more my fancy. My time in college saw me more often seeking out vocalists, never offering to be one. And this was a very good thing.
I reached the piano room. I swung open the door. Mullin sat at the piano. Two other jolly chaps stood by, my roommate Hunter Martin, senior Biblical studies major, and friend Cameron Burgin, junior math major. All three joined in chorus as they watched me enter the room.
“FRUIT SALAD,” they sang.
“YUMMY YUMMY,” I sang back.
It was glorious.
We would practice several times over the next couple of days, each time becoming more and more convinced of our melodic skill. With full confidence, we approached our audition to be a part of this semester’s open mic night.
I had never tried out for open mic before. Neither had Martin. Neither had Burgin. Mullin lived there. We all were acquainted with the judges. We felt as if we were a shoe-in, and yet, there were plenty of nerves to go around. To be truthful, it was not our finest run through. We were far from the claustrophobic, noise canceling walls of the piano room that kept our practices a secret from prying ears.
After the last “yummy” escaped my lips, I wondered if we had bungled the whole ordeal and would be denied the opportunity to share our work.
Our friends who held our fate in their hands looked on.
“We’ll email you,” said one.
As we started to leave, the other added with a whisper, “You’re gonna get in.”
Never had anyone felt so triumphant.
We four men paced anxiously over the next hours as we awaited the official word of our inclusion in the event. Martin and I purchased the necessary equipment for the performance–$3 solid colored tees from Hobby Lobby. I was to be the purple Wiggle, a tremendous honor.
Eventually, the official word came. We arrived at the sound check with wide eyes. They saved us for last to preserve the secrecy that remained. It was clear that some saw our performance as more ironic than that of our peers. I cannot imagine why.
In a blink, it was time. We sat in the front row. We took in the performances that preceded us. The night saw a ballad here, a ballad there, and before long, we were on-deck. We walked into a transformed Barefoots that now stood as a backstage area for nervous souls. Well, ours anyway.
Martin, Burgin and I were of heavy breath and sweaty briefs when Mullin acknowledged that we had never done this before. He prepared himself to take the stage for his umpteenth open mic performance.
And then, our group was called to the stage under an anonymous moniker to dumb for me to remember or record if I did. But as we stepped into the light in our bright solid colored Hobby Lobby tees, the entirety of the crowd knew what was about to take place, and they let us know it.
We waved. We smiled. We played the part.
And then, we sang. We sang about fruit salad. We sang about how to best prepare and enjoy fruit salad. The crowd sang about fruit salad right alongside. And just like that, it was done.
“I just didn’t want to forget the words,” said Martin.
“Ecstasy,” said Mullin, in his description of the event.
We were shown a video of our efforts later that night. It was beautiful, nearing horrendous. Praise God that there was a piano.
Truly, it was a memorable moment for all of us.
Photo courtesy of Naomi Mengel