¿Quién es el perdido?

This moment is incredibly surreal! In just a few short minutes, I will be walking on stage to perform in front of thousands of people. The most nerve-racking part is that all of my favorite musicians are sitting in the front row. The images of me tripping over mic cables keep playing in my mind. Internally telling myself to shake it off, I feel a tug on my jacket. Where did this kid come from?

“Hi, sweetie. Who are you here with?” Asking as I kneel to him matching his eye level for comfort. He was silent. Looking up at me with such beautiful, big brown eyes. He looks so sad and confused. Lost. Scared. He had a backstage pass clipped to the right side of his jacket zipper with a note that read cuida a mi chico por favor.

I asked him again, “Who are you here with, darling?” Still, no answer.

A moment passed by and with tears in his eyes he murmurs, “Donde esta mi mama?”

Trying to tap into my mental knowledge hub of the Spanish language the size of a sand crystal, I said, “Yo no se mi amor pero ven comigo.” I grab a pair of sound-canceling headphones, a chair, and place him at the side of the stage to watch the performance.

With me, he is safe forever. With him, I found my strength.