Rendezvous Rehersal

When the singer develops a crush on his fan...

His hair, roughly chin-length, stood almost completely on end, as was the case most of the time, as his brown eyes scanned the crowd.  They had met only once, months before, but he had become fascinated by her in the meantime.

It was dark; the house lights were all but out and only blue footlights lit the stage. Faces near the front were barely visible but they were visible and it wasn't long before he was drawn to the confident red head, center, front.

He had know she would be here tonight.  He hadn't however, figured out what he was going to say to her, after their set was over.  He knew that he'd find her outside, and he could see it perfectly in his mind, had rehearsed it in his mind, rehearsed everything through pleasantries, and "How'd you like the show?" all the way to where the conversation was supposed to get real.  That part he hadn't rehearsed.

He closed his eyes and went through it again.  She stood carelessly, her back against the bricks, left foot up against the wall behind her, left arm down by left foot - or hugged across her waist; there were two ways that could go - a cigarette in the right hand.  She smoked it like it was as common a task as brushing her hair from her face, almost unconsciously.  

Telling kids that the sexiest thing about her was the way she smoked was one of those things they talked about in drug classes in school.  It would be frowned upon but it was the truth.  It wasn't the only thing, or even the first thing that had infected his mind with thoughts of her, just one of the simple things.

Now she stood with her back against the stage, elbows on it, feet crossed, left over right, in front of her.  She smiled, contentedly and almost fondly at the younger fans as they chattered excitedly, listening but never really joining in.  They had become friends through the music, this being their bonding ground, and she truly enjoyed their company.

She looked his way but squinted into the lights.  Unsure if she could see him,  not wanting to be seen, he ducked into a shadow, clumsily pinching the guitar between his back and something solid, making it whine.  The noise of the crowd drowned it out and soon she returned her gaze to the crowd.

He could feel eyes on his back and knew he needed to move, to do something.  He took a deep breath, and another, and another, and gulped the final dregs from the bottled water bottle he'd forgotten was clutched in his hand.  He set the bottle behind a speaker, vowing to retrieve it after the set was over, and motioned over his shoulder at his band, friends, family.  They pushed past him, bass first, lead guitar, drummer, back up guitar.  He took one last look at her, she turned to face the stage as the crowd erupted, greeting his band mates.  One more deep breath.  And exhale.  And a hard, loud chord, played first from his place off stage, to lead him in.