Excerpt From A Book I Will Never Write #3

"Is your earpeice in?" he asked, peeking around my side to look.

I nodded, running my hands through my hair. With a shakey voice, I answered. "Yeah."

He nodded and stepped back, fixing his white suit. "Are we ready?"

I looked at him, our eyes meeting. For a moment, tears blurred my vision but I blinked them away. I turned aside not wanting to see as a tear fell from his eyes.

"Come on," a staff member said, leading me over to the rising platform. "It's about time."

He followed me over and together we stood on the platform, waiting for the music to start. The first couple of notes filled the air and my heart rate picked up.

He turned to me, voice shaking. "One last time?"

I nodded, holding my hand out to him. He took it and gave it a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

"One last time," he responded, attempting to even his breathing.

The platform started to rise and the dark night appeared before us. Thousands of people screamed and cheered as we bowed, the bright spotlights blinding us but only until our eyes adjusted.

He raised his hand, and the crowd went silent.

"Thank you," his voice caught in his throat. "Thank you for coming to our last show."

He went to continue but was cut off by cheers and sobs from the crowd.

"We want to thank you for being our fans and family for all this time," he continued. My eyes burned and I had to look up at the star-lit sky to keep them from falling. "You mean the world to us."

One last time. One last show. One last bow. One last moment of standing on top of the world.

The old man had been right. It always comes to an end. But it had been a good ride.