I’ve sung this Romeo Santos song thousands of times, and yet tonight is different. This isn’t like playing on the beach with my friends. Back there, it didn’t matter if I flubbed a line or two. I never took it seriously. On this stage, I feel the surge of the energy from the audience. It feeds me. Got me feeling ten feet tall. With every verse, I can make couples dip closer to each other. When I hit the right note, the girls in front of the stage lean in. They watch my every move, and I ain’t gonna lie, I like it. I got this audience right in my hand.
Although I can’t turn to Eury every second, I can feel her presence. There is love. My first love. I’m not talking about lust, the desire to get with someone. This is more. The days we spent together this week sealed it for me. I haven’t said the three words to her, but I have shown them with my actions. I hope she can feel it. All them cheesy-ass romantic sayings hit me like a sledgehammer. Even if Eury has to go back to Tampa, we’ll figure it out. Jaysen says que yo estoy borracho de amor like Beyoncé. He may be right. Estoy asfixia’o.
It’s time to hit them with another song. This is the one I’ve been waiting to sing. My song for Eury. She’s heard bits and pieces of it throughout the week. Tonight it makes its debut. A love song dedicated to her.
“This song goes out to the special person in your life. The one that can see you. The one that doesn’t take shit from anyone. Tu amante,” I say. “The song is called ‘Mi Promesa.’ ‘My Promise.’ ”
Because these lyrics are so raw, I close my eyes.
“Eury.”
My voice is almost at a whisper. It’s just me and the guitar. I sing her name again, this time louder. These are the lyrics I’ve said to Eury this week. The promise to believe her. To strip away my doubts and listen.
The second verse I confess my love. This I have not shared with Eury. The girls in the audience swoon. The boys are making them love connections. When I open my eyes, Eury is gone. She must have decided to go with Penelope. I keep going.
The last song is a quick bachata, a number everyone can grind to. The only tune that will guarantee this is Joan Soriano’s “María Elena.” It’s sexy and fun. I play it fast so the dancers can swing their partners at a dizzying speed. The musicians keep up with the pace.
I grab the mic and practically lean off the stage. The girls pull on my sleeves. They want me. I keep singing. Their adoration fuels me. This feeling is a hundred times more electric than singing to my friends. I crave more, laughing and giving everything I got to the audience.
“¡Otra! ¡Otra!”
They don’t want me to stop. Jaysen signals for me to sing another. I turn to the band and tell them to play a classic bachata by Antony Santos. They know the one. Those in the audience sing along with me. There’s nothing like this. The girls swing their hips. The boys holler. This crowd living for me is a high, and I can’t get enough. The clapping seems never ending. I can sing for hours. My smile is ridiculous and large. Is this what Romeo Santos feels when he plays in those big stadium concerts? If it is, I want more.
“Bro, you did it!” Jaysen jumps on the stage and hugs me. Strangers grab my arm and pull me toward them. So many phones trying to capture this moment. It’s straight-up chaos, and I can’t stop laughing. It takes a while before it finally dawns on me. Eury is not around.
“Have you seen Eury?” I ask in between girls posing for selfies with me. Jaysen shakes his head. This doesn’t feel right.