Finding me... and Barry Manilow

              Image after image of him flashed brightly across the giant LCD screen as the music roared and the rising anticipation in the room was felt everywhere. We had come to Vegas for this reason only – to see Mr. Barry Manilow.
I turned to my Grammy who was so caught up in the excitement that she didn’t realize I was looking at her. She beamed, her smile so wide it seemed unnatural. Surely it had been forever since I had seen her this happy. My mother’s passing from a grueling battle with cervical cancer two years past had certainly taken a toll on our hearts. I smiled as I thought of my mother, thinking back to when she first duped me into finding Barry Manilow.
During my mother’s illness I got lost. I was trying with all my might to grasp the situation around me and I felt a yearning that wouldn’t cease. I watched hopelessly from the sidelines as my mother got sicker and sicker and I couldn’t do a thing but be a spectator. I grew depressed and angry. I didn’t want to live anymore – and eventually I landed myself in the Children’s Hospital psych ward.
              After a couple days in, when I had obeyed all the rules and my doctor finally decided maybe I wasn’t going to get creative and kill myself with my jeans or whatever, I was given back some privileges like wearing my own clothes. Not only could I wear my own clothing again but at night I was given the cord to my radio so I could listen to music before lights out. I was terribly excited by this and asked my mom to bring up a few of my CDs.
         The next time my parents came to visit me she brought my CD case. When I retreated to my room that night, gushing with excitement, I turned on the radio and unzipped the case. I flipped through the CDs anxiously, halted by one I didn’t recognize.
Barry Manilow? What the fuck?
My mom loved Barry Manilow, but why she had put it in with the CDs I would want to listen to was beyond me. Gay, gay, gay. I chided. However, when my roommate had fallen asleep I slipped the CD into the small radio just for shits and giggles.
         “Could it Be Magic” echoed quietly through the room. He began to sing and it was sweet and sad.  It was sweet and sad and so passionate. I’ve always had a soft spot for music that can make me feel. I placed my hands delicately in my lap and took it all in. My heart swelled.
         I barely slept that night. I listened to that fucking Barry Manilow’s Greatest Hits CD for hours. “Bandstand Boogie” made me want to dance. “Weekend in New England” made me sorrowful. “Daybreak” made me smile – and I was damn glad no one was there to witness it.
When I had listened to the CD a few times through, I was exhausted. I turned it off and the silence felt awkward as I took the CD out and crawled into bed. I felt strangely satisfied, and as I closed my eyes I heard my own voice.
You’re gonna be alright.          
         The music grew louder and louder, lights of all colors moving across the stage. My life was going so good these days. The aftermath of mother’s passing was difficult, but I felt a giant burden of worry lifted and with it I was determined to get over some of my own hang-ups. I stopped worrying about the people who didn’t care and turned to the people who did. I worked hard in school, I was falling madly in love, and I was in Las Vegas seeing BARRY MANILOW (OMG!). The center pieces of the stage slowly began to move apart, making way for a bright light, blocked only by his silhouette, as clouds rose from behind stage.
“Presenting,” a voice shouted, “Mr. BARRY MANILOW!”
         Immediately the first notes began blaring of a song we (of course) knew every word to, as everyone stood and screamed. I found that I was bouncing kind of, and I turned to my Grammy, who turned to me this time and let out a shriek, revealing the most excited, silly face I’ve ever seen her make. I made it back.
You’re gonna be alright.