There was an empty chair beside me.
Nobody had placed it there for David. It was simply an unused chair.
Still, I couldn’t stop looking at it.
Caleb sat with his
classmates near the stage.
When they called his name, my hands immediately went cold.
He climbed the steps holding David’s guitar.
The microphone was too high, so his music teacher lowered it for him.
Caleb looked smaller than usual beneath the gym lights.
He glanced around the room.
Then he found me.
For one second, we just looked at each other.
He raised his eyes toward the ceiling.
“This one’s for my dad,” he said.
Then he began to play.
I knew the song from the first three chords.
David
used to sing it on Saturday mornings while making breakfast.
He was incapable of cooking quietly.
If music wasn’t playing, he supplied it himself.
Sometimes he deliberately changed the lyrics until Caleb yelled, “That’s not how it goes!”
