Reba walked onto the Vegas stage and the crowd cheered for thirty-eight minutes straight. She held up a hand and the arena immediately grew silent. The penny whistle began to play:
[opening measures to ‘My Heart Will Go on’]
A murmur ran across the audience: surely they could not be hearing correctly. Reba raised her hand again: ‘As you know, our Earth angel—my sister seraphim—Celine can no longer perform. It is my angelic obligation to perform her greatest song on her behalf, in order to give it the send-off it deserves.’ The crowd cheered and whooped for a month. A spotlight illuminated the far side of the stage, where I was strapped against a 50-foot iceberg. Reba started to sing:
[opening lyrical measures to ‘My Heart Will Go On’: Ev-ry night in my dreams / I see you / I feel you—]
The audience radiated joy until they emitted 10 thousand watts of collective light. Onstage, a life-size replica of the Titanic careened toward the iceberg, 300 yards of steel approaching my chest with each note. Reba insisted everyone in the stands sing along to the climax as the ship’s bow struck the ice and my skin:
[climactic lyrical measured to ‘My Heart Will Go On’: You’re here / there’s nothing I fear / & I know that my heart—]
—Reba winked and stuck out her tongue at the mic while the crowd finished the lyric, the ship piercing through me into its foreign fate.
Keegan Shepherd 