Juvenile Moments
For the last six days I've managed to act completely normal, as if we were nothing more than we are, a musician and his stage manager. Now all of the sudden I'm staring. Right now on his last night, I can't stop looking at his face, the curve of his jaw line up to his cheeks. the shape of his nose and lips. I watch his eyes staring off into the distance, preying he doesn't look my way, because I wouldn't be able to hide my fascination. I would be undeniably caught.
Yet even as I know this, and I know that would be a disaster, I have an uncontrollable urge to connect. Slowly I reach for the pad of paper I keep with me at all times, quietly so as to not disturb even him.
"What are you thinking?" I write and pass the pad to him. He doesn't know what to do with the pad I am passing him and is confused even more by the pen which comes along with it, but as soon as he reads the note, he laughs silently. Inside I cringe with his understanding. The whole thing is so juvenile. I'm passing my crush a note backstage in the dark, with the most unorigional question in the world. He must know in this instant what a dork I am. He must know that I hopelessly adore him.
Still smiling he writes back. "I'm thinking about what I'll be like when I'm 84." He hesitates then writes, "You?"
Trying desperately to save face, I write, "You just looked so serious."
He laughs again without making a sound and settles back into watching the rest of the concert. I'm glowing inside with the fact that I have even talked to him, and known one of his thoughts, while at the same time kicking myself for being so childish.
This is the last time we really talk.
Yet even as I know this, and I know that would be a disaster, I have an uncontrollable urge to connect. Slowly I reach for the pad of paper I keep with me at all times, quietly so as to not disturb even him.
"What are you thinking?" I write and pass the pad to him. He doesn't know what to do with the pad I am passing him and is confused even more by the pen which comes along with it, but as soon as he reads the note, he laughs silently. Inside I cringe with his understanding. The whole thing is so juvenile. I'm passing my crush a note backstage in the dark, with the most unorigional question in the world. He must know in this instant what a dork I am. He must know that I hopelessly adore him.
Still smiling he writes back. "I'm thinking about what I'll be like when I'm 84." He hesitates then writes, "You?"
Trying desperately to save face, I write, "You just looked so serious."
He laughs again without making a sound and settles back into watching the rest of the concert. I'm glowing inside with the fact that I have even talked to him, and known one of his thoughts, while at the same time kicking myself for being so childish.
This is the last time we really talk.
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