Kevin Emerson: Exile

And then we kiss again.

“Please stop!” Jon calls from the stage.

Caleb leans his forehead against mine. “Gotta go play a show.”

“Gotta go check out a hot new band.”

“Summer.”

“Caleb.”

Encore kiss. And Caleb bounds up onstage.

“Hey, everybody,” Caleb says, sounding as free and easy as I’ve heard him. “We’re Dangerheart. How’s everyone doing?” He smiles, no Fret Face, and the band proceeds to kill.

Maya appears beside me mid-set. “Hey!”

“Hey! Awesome costume!” I say of her David Tennant outfit. Always a great look on a girl, and her brown suit and spiky hair are perfect.

“You too!” she shouts back. “They sound amazing!”

“Yeah!” I agree. Something about the trip has made the band gel. Exhausted and painted gray and black, you can feel the internal steel of the group. They don’t need to glance at each other anymore. Don’t need to check the songs. Don’t even need to take deep breaths. They just are. I hear a couple things that could be better, of course. But I’ll save them for a while.

“I just sent you a link!” Maya shouts.

“Oh, cool.” The band is midway into “On My Sleeve.” The room is on pins and needles, the lights orchestrated perfectly to the swells of sound. I don’t know why she’s telling me this now.

Then I feel her leaning toward my ear. “You should probably take a look at it ASAP.”

“Um, okay.” I try to keep an eye on Caleb, singing tenderly, sounding lovely, as I open my phone, find the link and click. But as soon as I see the first words that load, my eyes are glued in disbelief:

VINYL CUFFLINKS

Where We Are Music Infinite

—posted by ghostofEliWhite on September 30

Friends, you absolutely will not believe this. A friend just sent me this copy of an unused poster from last night’s show at the Rickshaw Stop in San Francisco. And if you look at the bottom of the listings, you will see something that will blow your tiny minds. ELI WHITE HAD A SON.

A quick scouring of the internet seems to confirm it. These pictures below show them side by side. Caleb Daniels of Mount Hope, CA, and lead singer for a band called Dangerheart, is the secret child of Eli White! Apparently Candy Shell has been keeping this secret for over fifteen years! Caleb, if you’re out there, please write in and tell us your story!

Below is the poster Jason had made up, side-by-side photos of Eli and Caleb, as well as over fifty comments going crazy about this news.

My heart sinks. This is going to suck for Caleb. And I have to wonder: Did Jason leak this? Was this his way of forcing Caleb into the spotlight, to shine on his terms? I wouldn’t put it past him.

“It’s true, right?” Maya asks in my ear.

“Yeah.”

“People are going to freak!” Maya says. “I won’t though, promise, especially not now that I’ve seen your reaction!”

“Thanks.” I want to tell her to keep it quiet, but there will be no keeping this quiet.

Up onstage, Caleb sings:

I wear you on my sleeve

Always waking from some silly dream

Damn, Caleb, you’re going to be wearing this way more than you ever wanted.

“Can I help at all?” Maya asks.

The song is coming to an end. “Yeah,” I say. “Go crazy for the set.”

We applaud and scream, as does the rest of the room. Out of the corner of my eye, I see people swaying to it. The song will capture hearts. But now people will figure out what it’s about.

And Caleb won’t be able to hide it anymore.

Of course, this is probably going to be a good thing, in terms of exposure. The problem is, everyone will have their angle, will try to define Caleb in terms of Eli. What if they never see him for who he really is?

But then I remember that we have the ace up our sleeves. The lost songs. We can show the world how Caleb and his dad are connected. We can set the terms, not the bloggers and music critics and commentators. And once we find those songs, we will.

We just have to hang on until then.

For now, I try to put it out of my mind. At least for a few more minutes.

The band breaks into “Chem Lab,” and I try to be content to watch Jon dance over “Mission Control,” arcing his guitar around his body and spinning crystal notes, to watch Matt bob and weave to the rhythm, his sticks a blur, to watch Val shake and hop onstage, like a boxer just waiting to hit you with the next note, the next brazen lyric, to watch Caleb lose himself in a song, and look up like he’s just returned from somewhere far away inside his heart, and to every now and then glance at his band mates, at his sister, a far comet found, and between songs, at me.

I wish they could play all night. Never come offstage and face reality, the future, any of it. I wish we all could just stay in this moment, in beautiful light, lost in music, free to play and dance. But the song ends.

“Thanks!” says Caleb as the crowd erupts in the wake of “Chem Lab.” “We’ve got a couple more. Does that sound cool?”

Yes, Caleb, it definitely does.