Black Velvet
It was a warm July night in 1965, the kind of summer evening that felt as if the whole city of Nashville had been dipped in gold. The spotlight shone down on James, sitting alone at his piano, the keys bathed in a soft glow as the crowd hushed in anticipation.
He leaned into the microphone, his fingers resting lightly on the piano. His voice rang out, a little hoarse from years of performing, but still carrying that familiar warmth that reached every corner of the room.
“I’m real happy to be back in Tennessee tonight,” James said, his smile a little wistful, “Been a long time since I’ve played here... since I’ve been anywhere near this place, honestly. For those of you who don’t know, I started my career in Tennessee, right here in Memphis. I was just a young boy, barely 18, when I joined a band, the only mixed band in Tennessee at the time. We’d play in the bars, play anywhere we could, really, for as little as five dollars a night.”
He paused for a moment, looking out at the audience, the memories flooding back. “I remember those days like it was yesterday. We’d play the blues, and it felt like... Like we were part of something bigger than ourselves. Like we could make the world feel something. And it was around that time I met my love... the kind of love that changes everything.”
The room seemed to grow quieter, as though the audience was holding their breath. James’s fingers began to press the keys of the piano softly, each note hanging in the air, familiar yet distant. The crowd seemed to recognize the tune instantly, and there were murmurs, some low gasps, as they recognized the song.
James closed his eyes for a moment, his heart heavy with the memories of a love long gone, a love that had shaped him more than he’d ever realized. His voice caught as he spoke again.
“This one’s for you, love,” he whispered, before his fingers danced over the keys, the first notes of Black Velvet filling the room.
The audience fell into silence, captivated by the haunting melody that seemed to echo through the years. James’s fingers played the opening chords, slow and deliberate, each note like a thread pulling him back in time. His voice followed, smooth but tinged with a sorrow he could never fully hide.
“Mississippi in the middle of a dry spell...”
The song poured out of him, every word, every note carrying the weight of years he’d spent trying to forget and trying to remember at the same time. The crowd could feel the raw emotion, the history in his voice. They didn’t need to know the details; they could hear it in the way he played, in the way the song seemed to consume him.
As the song built, James’s fingers flew across the keys, each strike of the piano like a heartbeat, a pulse that carried the weight of lost love and memory. His eyes were closed, but the image of Regulus was there, in the darkness behind his eyelids, in the music that filled every inch of the room.
As the last notes of Black Velvet echoed through the theater, the audience's applause was deafening. The cheers and claps rang out in waves, but James barely heard them. His eyes were closed, his heart still caught in the echo of the song, lost in the memory of the love that had shaped him. He took a bow, the weight of the moment pressing down on him, and then he turned, heading offstage. His mind was somewhere far away, but the bustling of the backstage crew and the hurried movements of his manager snapped him back to reality.
"James!" his manager called, running up to him. "The car's ready. Your mother’s already at the hospital."
James’s heart skipped a beat. His mind raced, and he nodded quickly. "Alright, let’s go," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
He didn’t wait to hear any more; he turned and bolted down the hallway, his footsteps echoing on the polished floors. As he stepped into the car, the city lights of Nashville blurred around him, his mind still lingering on the song, on Regulus, on everything he had left behind. But now, something else was pulling him forward, something new, something full of hope.
In what felt like moments, the car pulled up outside the hospital. James’s heart was racing, his hands gripping the door handle as he rushed out, his shoes tapping quickly on the hospital floor as he made his way to the maternity ward. He was breathless, his emotions swirling nervousness, excitement, and a hint of uncertainty.
He turned the corner and was about to charge down the hall when he was stopped by a familiar voice. Euphemia, his mother, stood there looking up at him with that same calm smile she always wore. But tonight, it was softer, warmer, something different.
“James, sweetheart,” she said, her voice a gentle lull. “You don’t need to hurry. The baby’s fine. He’s here. A healthy boy.”
James’s breath caught in his throat. “A boy?” he echoed, his chest tightening. He couldn't contain the smile that spread across his face. "Can I see him?"
Euphemia chuckled softly, her eyes glistening with tears of joy. “Of course, darling. Come on, I’ll take you to him.”
She led him down the hallway, her steps slow and deliberate as she held his arm, guiding him toward the infirmary. As they approached the door, James’s heart swelled with anticipation.
As they entered the room, James’s eyes immediately landed on the small bassinet at the far end of the room. The baby was wrapped in soft blue blankets, a tiny little bundle of life. He was so small, his tiny chest was rising and falling in gentle rhythm.
Euphemia took a step back, giving James space as he approached the bassinet. His hands trembled as he leaned over, looking down at the baby. The child’s tiny face was peaceful, his lips slightly parted, and James could feel his heart expanding in his chest. This was something new, something pure, and it was a part of him.
"He's perfect," James murmured, barely able to believe it.
Euphemia smiled, her voice thick with emotion. "He’s all yours, James."
James’s heart skipped again. Harry. He whispered the name under his breath, the weight of it settling in. A new life, a new beginning. And in that moment, everything, every loss, every heartache, felt somehow lighter.
He reached out with trembling hands and touched the edge of the blanket, his fingers brushing against the soft fabric. The baby shifted slightly in his sleep, and James’s throat tightened.
“Hey, little one,” James whispered, his voice raw. “I’ll be here for you. I’ll be the one to protect you.”
James looked down at Harry, a soft, fond smile spreading across his face. "He looks like me," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.
Euphemia chuckled softly, her gaze warm and affectionate. "He does. You’ve got the same nose, that’s for sure."
A moment later, Harry’s eyes fluttered open, the green irises slowly focusing on the world around him. James’s breath caught in his throat, and he couldn’t help but smile.
"Yeah, but..." His thumb brushed gently over Harry’s soft cheek. "His eyes. They’re like his mother’s."
Euphemia raised an eyebrow. "How strange!"
James shrugged. "Well, I mean… he has a mother, doesn’t he?" he said with a small laugh, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
But Euphemia wasn’t talking about the color. "No, not that. Look at his eyes, James," she said gently, her voice suddenly serious. "They’re heavy-lidded, they look almost like Regulus’s eyes. You don’t see it?"
James froze, his smile faltering as he looked down at Harry. The baby’s eyes, half-lidded and full of quiet weight, were undeniably like Regulus’s. He hadn’t noticed it before, but now that Euphemia had pointed it out, it hit him like a ton of bricks. His chest tightened as the lump in his throat grew harder to swallow. Harry’s gaze was eerily familiar, as though a piece of Regulus had passed into this little boy. The thought almost made his heart ache.
"His eyes…" James muttered under his breath, his hand shaking slightly as he pulled Harry’s tiny body into his arms. "I hadn’t noticed before, but you’re right. They do look like Regulus’s." He blinked, trying to shake off the wave of emotion building up.
Euphemia gave him a soft, knowing look, but said nothing, letting him process it.
James’s eyes trailed down further, and his gaze caught something else, something small but unmistakable. A beauty mark near Harry’s chin, the same one Regulus had always had. His breath hitched, and without thinking, his hands trembled as he pulled Harry closer to his chest, his heart suddenly heavier than it had ever been.
A single tear slipped down his cheek, and then another, before he even realized what was happening. The tears were warm against his skin, as though the weight of everything he had buried for so long was finally coming to the surface.
He looked down at Harry, his chest tightening with a fierce love he hadn’t known was possible. This little boy, this tiny person, was a link to a past he thought was lost. The tears came faster now, his breath shallow as he held Harry close, unable to stop the flood of emotion rushing over him.
Euphemia watched him closely, her voice soft but full of understanding. "James, why are you crying?"
James swallowed hard, struggling to get his words out through the lump in his throat. "I never thought I could love again," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Not after Regulus. I didn’t think I had it in me." He shook his head, blinking through the tears. "But… I love him. I love this little boy."
His hands gently cradled Harry, as though he might break if he held him too tightly, but he couldn’t help himself. The love for this child was so sudden, so overwhelming, it felt as if he had just been given something he didn’t deserve, something beautiful and pure.
Euphemia reached out, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder. "James, Regulus would be proud of you, and of him," she said softly, her words like a balm to his soul.
James closed his eyes for a moment, a shudder running through him as he took a shaky breath. "I don’t know how… but I love him so much," he whispered, his voice barely audible.
And as he stood there, holding Harry close, it was as though the weight of his grief and the weight of his love for Regulus had finally found a way to coexist. There was still so much loss, so much heartache, but in this tiny, perfect person in his arms, he felt something new, something he thought he’d never feel again: hope.