I’m trembling. I can’t control my legs shaking. Thinking that I’m going to see you again, even if you don’t know that I exist, makes my whole soul shiver. You make your entrance on the stage and everybody applauds. I’m not able to. I’m just there, expectant as to what will happen next.
The first song starts and it’s my favourite and I can’t help it, I start crying.
Long ago, I wrote to you explaining (trying, at least) how your music made me feel and I thanked you for it. An hour later I regretted it. How many of those emails you must get from people? Why was I bothering you? There wasn’t a way I could take it back so I put it in the back of my mind (never possible with my mind but I did my best) and tried to forget the nakedness I felt.
So there I was, crying, listening to you play and feeling embarrassed thinking that you might have actually read the letter.
The concert ended and I left hurriedly, desperately needing a cigarette or a drink. Or both. I went outside and inhaled the delicious poison and let everything out while exhaling. I was still crying.
I went back inside to try and get my CD signed. Having that cigarette may have cost me making it, but I needed it.
I’m in line, nervous. It looks like fifty people are in front of me. The security guy says: “he can only sign for twenty more minutes or he won’t make his flight. He’s really sorry”.
That’s it. I won’t make it. I look over to you and our eyes meet. I quickly avert my gaze and hope that people would disappear so I can get my CD signed.
Something is happening. You’re speaking to your manager (I mean, who I’m guessing is your manager) and we all think this means twenty minutes was a lie.
Five minutes later, a woman touches my shoulder and hands me a note. My name is on it. I read it: “I bought time. Will you have a drink with me? If yes please say takk to her and she’ll take you to me. If no, then hand back over the note without saying anything. I will understand.”
“Takk” I tell her and with my legs shaking even more than at the start of the evening I somehow manage to not trip and follow her. I hear the security guard say: “he will sign until the end of the line” but I barely hear it, I’m somewhere else.
I see your name on the dressing room door and she opens it. She hands me another note and smiles. A contagious smile. She says something in Icelandic (I guess) and leaves, closing the door behind her.
The note reads “I will be with you soon, please wait and make yourself comfortable”. I look around and see a few personal effects but I know better than to snoop. I sit on the couch cross-legged and wait for you. Nervous, still with your CD in my hands.
The door opens and I sit up. You look at me and smile.
“I fell in love with your letter and I’m glad we could meet.”
“I don’t understand how you knew who I was, what you just said or why you don’t have a flight anymore.”
“My next gig is in a week, I can go from here. I was planning on going home for a few days, but this way I can maybe get a chance to meet the person behind your stories. I’m sorry, I’m afraid I cyber-stalked you a bit. I’m hoping I can take you out for drinks and explain. I would really love to meet you. Properly. My name is David. Nice to meet you.”
I take your hand and shake it.
“My name is Margaret. Nice to meet you too. I would love to have a drink.”