A Daydream

I was at the rear side of the stage, quietly watching the room filled up as the clock struck later and the sky traveled darker. He was right there at the backstage where I could steal a glance from the side, strumming his guitar, looking as found as ever. I, on the other hand, was lost in the merry state. It was my first week working part-time in this concert hall, fulfilling the task of assistant manager of the event and updating the venue's website with recent events which also include interviewing the performer. However, the level of anxiety had not yet lowered. We were introduced the other day, when he first landed from the States. His eyes looked weary but as soon the joke about the weather came up, the ice melt as he laughed saying he was from Canada, and two degree Celsius was warm. Nonetheless, his maroon checkered shirt tonight made him looked more appealing. He had the sleeves rolled up to his elbow, showing his tattoos all over his right hand. I secretly swore at his persona before he looked up into the perfect alignment of my gaze and smiled. Five more minutes, I heard the manager marched in. Of course, my heart soon resist to beat regularly.

Shut up, I murmured to myself.  Constantly trying to shut the voice in my head, that somehow narrate the whole long situation since the day I met him. He had two shows held in my town for two days due to the high demand as this was the only city he visited in the whole United Kingdom for his tour. This was the second night, yet his charm was still new, burning brighter than sunshine. As I made my way to settle the stage, minutes before the show start was always been my favorite part — when the lights were dimmed, and sound of guitar strings echoed throughout the acoustic, letting the music stole everyone's breath in the room. It was almost in the tangent line of magic spells. Especially, in here. One of the reason I applied for this job was because this venue looked like the place where Shakespeare fall in love. That, and the odd chances meeting with beyond-words talented musicians that leave me drooling in Rosemary's fantasy. He was taking the centre stage by storm, marked with a golden-brown Persian carpet and a stool next to him. For the whole hour, I had to keep reminding myself to keep my feet on the ground, or I would seriously lost within the translucent fascia of heart-wrenching sound. Everything went well, until the first sound of smashed glass aloud at the back of the room.

He stopped in the middle of the song, stepped on the distortion pedal and leave a momentarily haunting pause. The whole room was in silence. 'Are you two fighting at the back?' asked him, turning most of the heads to the direction where two average-sized men looking aghast in embarrassment.  'I am singing in the middle of this song that meant a lot to me, about someone that died in my life, that's when you chose to fight?' The sound of sarcasm was howling through every words he said. Also, the pause intensifies the tension. I saw he clenched his fist as if he was keeping his anger right underneath and he was so close from exploding. It was all in his eyes. I have never seen him this angry. 'I'm sorry but can I ask all of you to, please, don't be an asshole tonight?' The crowd cheered for him and booed the guys at the back as two bouncers assisting them to leave the premise. I did not care about the rest of the room, whilst maybe, I should have but I was glued to the ground while my eyes were fixated on him. Behind his glasses and acoustic guitar he did not strike as close as a smudge of tempered man. To be honest, I was scared. In the sense of I have never seen him this human, and it was thrilling; considering the idea of him was brutally flawless, this proven he had the same blue-beating vein as the rest of the people. And somehow that was all I wanted to know.

He did not continue the song, maybe because it was too personal for him and it was once ruined, thus instead he went the the side of the stage close to where I stand, to change his guitar for the set and sling his acoustic guitar on him, 'Sorry about the fuss.' he said to me as he stroke my arms briefly before coming back to the stage. I felt stone weighing down my knees and tingling sensation of mild burn on the heart. This might have been more than admiration. But at this point, was where the camera panned out to an establishing shot and flashbacks to the first meeting in the empty venue. Then slowly focusing on the corner, to the blonde girl whom was there all along but I tried to remove from the narrative since the first introduction, waiting on the first row booth, drinking cocktail out of thin shaped glass watching the stage in such loving gaze, which at the end of the show he would run to and kissed her gently on the cheek whilst all I could get was a smile and a daydream, I mean an article, to write down. The part where he dedicated the song for the girl he just met then followed with possible make-out session at the after party and finding true love was long gone from the scenario.