the fan
The most interesting thing about live music is the reaction of those that have come to witness it.
It's some obscure artist to you, but clearly the boy in glasses and Hang Ten polo shirt buttoned to the top knows the words. He wants a signed copy of her CD. It won't be worth anything one day, but one day doesn't have to come. Someday is now, and it's worth everything to him, or at least $10. It means he can leave with something she was that close to once, something that she touched. Proof that she had been there, in black ink, on a white page, like a fingerprint. He wants more, but he'll settle now, just like all her songs say.
He sings along to show he knows all the words - to her heart, her soul, her life. He knows, but how can he convince her he's everything she wants. He has studied her down to the cadences, the comas, the hard resets. He knows. He has been through her architecture. He has soul, depth, it all. If only she'd consider him. Because he's the good guy, the guy that would give her Every. Single. Thing. Her songs would no longer be about unrequited love. He'd change her music when he changes her life.
But she won't choose him. Because he has facial hair, the bad kind, wears a Casio and Hang Ten. Life is never fair.
It's some obscure artist to you, but clearly the boy in glasses and Hang Ten polo shirt buttoned to the top knows the words. He wants a signed copy of her CD. It won't be worth anything one day, but one day doesn't have to come. Someday is now, and it's worth everything to him, or at least $10. It means he can leave with something she was that close to once, something that she touched. Proof that she had been there, in black ink, on a white page, like a fingerprint. He wants more, but he'll settle now, just like all her songs say.
He sings along to show he knows all the words - to her heart, her soul, her life. He knows, but how can he convince her he's everything she wants. He has studied her down to the cadences, the comas, the hard resets. He knows. He has been through her architecture. He has soul, depth, it all. If only she'd consider him. Because he's the good guy, the guy that would give her Every. Single. Thing. Her songs would no longer be about unrequited love. He'd change her music when he changes her life.
But she won't choose him. Because he has facial hair, the bad kind, wears a Casio and Hang Ten. Life is never fair.
Labels: fiction
