“Let’s go on a trip!”

“Where do you want to go?”

“Anywhere but here!!!!”

It had been a long night…. Too many bottles… And that was all I remember… Yet somehow, I ended up in a nightclub in Denver, Colorado in the middle of winter… Some time between October and November. Well… I had said anywhere but here…. But still…. The lights were low, the stage was empty, and the music was silent. I suppose they were having an open mic night of sorts, but they should really get the acts on in a snap! There was no stage set up or cleaning to be done at all! So what was the delay?! I began to pace back and forth in place. Yes that sounds weird… But that’s what I did. He put his hand to my shoulder.

“Nick…” his eyes narrowed slowly.

If I was him, which I’m not, I’d have smacked me in the face with that bottle I was holding. Not normally, just the look on his face told me that’s what he really wanted to do. I scowled. Yeah… I was usually more laid back for sure, but… For some reason, lately I’d had all this pent up hostility in my heart. What was I doing? Nothing. Where was I going? Nowhere. I felt almost directionless and unproductive. And what do directionless, unproductive people do? In the frenzy of a drunken night they can’t remember, they announce they want to go on a trip, pack up their bags, and find themselves standing around in a nightclub with their best friend, an empty stage, and no music in fucking Denver, Colorado when it’s only thirty-five degrees outside! It was not like LA at all… That’s not to say that Denver, Colorado is in the middle of nowhere, mind you. If I were in Wyoming, then I’d be mad. Well, I guess it really didn’t matter; it was still one of those obscured square shaped states out west in the no man’s land between New York and California. Okay, Vegas was in there somewhere! But again… I digress… Yes, I digress. The point is, whatever spur of the moment snap decision I made was turning out to be a poor one. Chris!!!!!! Next time I decide to take a trip without warning when I’ve been drinking, either punch me in the kidneys or just drive down to San Diego! Colorado?!!? Fucking Denver, Colorado?!?! What were you thinking?!?!? What was I thinking!?!?!?! Fucking Denver, Colorado?!?!?!!? I must have passed out and hit my head, only to get up and decide that I hadn’t had nearly enough to drink! It’s the only logical explanation! And it’s not very logical at all, now is it?

Chris rolled his eyes and handed me the bottle he had been holding, it was still full. And with that, off he went. Now why didn’t I think of that? I could just walk out of this club, call a cab, and get a flight back to LA! Then at least half my problems would be over and done with! But… It was thirty-five degrees outside… I guess this was on of those primal instinct things… Necessity before desire or something like that. I took a sip of the bottle. Stupid fucking winter. Next time I decide to pack up my bags on a whim, let’s go to the Bahamas!

A few lights focused on the stage as I took another drink, thank God, something was happening! A shadowed figure walked on stage. Well, well, a girl holding a guitar…. This night’s not so bad…. But that had slipped my mind… Open mic night was equivalent to amateur hour for the people who should never open their mouths and drop a note. But, I should count my blessings; at least it wasn’t a karaoke club… Amateur hour for a bunch of drunks who should never open their mouths and would never dream of it otherwise. Not that I’ve been to many karaoke clubs… What’s the point when you’ll just end up embarrassing yourself in front of everyone? I do that anyway, with much less alcohol, and a much bigger audience. I eyed the girl again. Short, tousled brown hair that fell in her eyes… What do you mean her hair can’t be tousled? She’s a girl? What kind of stupid answer is that? What do you call it when some pieces are longer than others? Layered? Fine. Fine… Nick is the stupid one who knows nothing about fashion, clearly. Though I have heard popular opinion about the orange shirt… Yes it looked like a couch… I love couches! But again… I digress from the topic at hand because really, though a couch is much more interesting than this nightclub, you care about the girl on stage, right? Thought so. Someday, when I write a book all about my life’s musings, there will be a chapter dedicated to all my upholstery style shirts and my love of couches. And you will buy it, and I know you will read it. And that’s that. Anyway… The girl was short, with LAYERED brown hair that fell into her eyes. Small black and white halter, with a nice little black ribbon in the back… Jeans… Big, black heart-shaped necklace… Looked like plastic… Where was this girl shopping? The teenybopper stores in the mall. If I had a dime for every teenybopper that thought they could be a queen in the music business and become betrothed to one of the kings of the music business, I would be even richer than I was now. I could buy another house with that money. I’ve seen it happen before, girls think that because they favorite pop star is famous, they can be famous too, and then they’ll get to be with said pop star. But more often than not, their talent is limited, if it even exists. And when they have one fraction of talent, they waste it in pursuit of said pop star. Their dreams get crushed, their entire world crashes around them. And who helps them gather up the pieces of their once vibrant dreams? No one, usually they don’t even grab them themselves. A piece of advice, if you will allow it. Don’t chase your dreams in pursuit of something else… Pursue your dreams for only the sake of pursuing your dreams. Always run forward, never back. And do it for only one person, yourself. That’s what I learned in the music business; it’s tough as concrete, while your dreams are glass goblets. They sparkle and can hold anything you can imagine. But when someone drops them, they’re gone. It’s a fickle world, takes its toll on you. Piece by piece you’re picked apart, and left standing there when everyone got a piece of you and all you’re left with is an empty shell, and sometimes, you aren’t even granted that luxury. So for that reason, only the strong survive in this industry, because they have the will to take back everything of theirs piece by piece and rebuild the fragments with their own perseverance. I wanted to throw up my hands and walk out. Fuck the weather! I didn’t want to sit back and watch another teenybopper feign talent and tell me, ‘I wrote this song for my one true love.’ And then I would say, ‘Oh who’s that?’ And ninety percent of the time, she would answer, ‘Only you.’ Because, for some reason, I only seem to attract the people that want a piece of me. The world is just one big ocean swimming with sharks, and I’m the little fish they want for dinner. It’s tough to deal with. I pulled out my phone and was about to call Chris when the girl let out a small cough. I turned around instantly. Nerves? This girl had some sense! I put my phone back in my pocket and turned to watch her. If she was nervous, that meant she new how important it was for her to be standing on that stage at that moment. All the hapless teenyboppers just run up with a bound and start, because they know they have talent.

She grabbed the microphone and brushed her hair from her eyes. Not that I could see them clearly, they looked like black holes to me, but, the look on her face, carried by the purse of her lips, must have been even more powerful up close. It was a singular motion, as if she was saying, nerves be gone! I am the master here! I discarded my bottle on a nearby table. What did I care? Chris had paid for it anyway… And I walked toward the stage. The crowd had died down; it was growing closer to closing time, so I managed to push my way near the front.
She repositioned the microphone with a slow labored motion and looked out to the audience, “I’ll apologize now… I’m not as vibrant as some of the acts you’ve seen up here tonight…”

Translation…. Gee… Well, I’m not gonna jump around and shake my butt in your face… Saw that one. No talent. Highly entertaining to watch. Would have been thoroughly enjoyable with ear plugs. And the one after that… And the one after that… And so on and so forth. Did Denver consist of only cover bands? No wonder I hated it!

“Anyway… I wrote this song for my one true love…”

Damnit! Too good to be true! I knew there was a catch! I started to walk away, but the shaking in her voice stopped me. Why was her voice shaking?

“Because… I lost the one person that was dearest to my heart and now I feel like I have no where to go… Like I’m directionless…”

Lost them? Then it’s not me or Justin or some other movie star or musician that emblazons posters in the music stores and on the internet? This girl was starting to impress me. Even if she did look like all her free time was spent fraternizing at the mall, not writing music. But… Even serious artists do that sometimes, right? But she had said she felt directionless… In that sense, we were both alike. But, she was much smarter than I. She took her directionlessness and wrote a song; I packed my bags and ended up here.

“So… That’s that.” She tightened her grip on the neck of the guitar and clenched her fingers lightly around the pick in her hand.

A few opening cords, sort of a slow song, but the beat picked up instantly.

Saw you on Broadway, standing at the bus stop,
Were you heading to your sister’s or her?
Can only see you smile in photographs…
Cuz I’m not in your heart no more…

Bought an alarm clock to open my eyes,
Can’t wake up to its pink buzzer now…
Tore my pictures from my wall,
And put them back up cuz I was all alone…

Nowhere! Not now…
Who was I standing in your shadow?
The smile on your face that you showed only me,
When I close my eyes, it’s all I see.
Up or down, left or right…
They all lead me back to you…
Can’t you see my heart breaking…
My baby, baby love?

They say… Pick up the pieces and start on your own…
Sure I tried that and guess where I got,
A drink in one hand and a new man every night,
Crossing my legs to protect what’s precious to us…

Holding my heart on a glass ball and chain…
Was that all it was to you?
Don’t you know I gave you my heart…
Because we were both all alone…

Nowhere! Not now….
Who was I standing in your shadow?
The smile on your face that you showed only me,
When I close my eyes, it’s all I see.
Up or down, left or right…
They all lead my back to you…
Can’t you see my heart breaking…
My baby, baby love?

I’m not like you! I can’t run away so fast!
Trying everything I can just to bring you back…
Getting caught in all your mirrors and traps…
Only fragmentary… I’m not like you…

Nowhere! Not now…
Who was I standing in your shadow?
The smile on your face that you showed only me,
When I close my eyes, it’s all I see.
Up or down, left or right…
They all lead me back to you…
Pictures on the wall…
Only your old smile to comfort me now…
Can’t you take down your mirrors?
I’m trying so hard, to right every wrong…
Can’t you see my heart breaking…
My baby, baby love?

The last chords… She put down her head and looked up slowly. Tears? She wiped her hand across her eyes and gave the crowd a brief smile.

“Thank you…”

For all intents and purposes, a girl gets up on stage, sings and then you say, well, good for you, you can actually sing… Where’s my beer? But… Mirrors and traps? Someone’s shadow? Wasn’t it always like that? An endless search for something… It was about the one person she loved the most, but it was also about her search for herself. I shot toward the stage, trying to get a hand to her, anything… Was I like a groupie myself at that moment? Seemed like it. My hand shot toward her and missed; how could I fall short? Me? Who got everything I aimed for. My hand dropped to my side. That was it, the one time I wanted so desperately to say something and I couldn’t…

“Wait!!” that was the first time I heard my voice all day.

She turned around, her eyes wide open like I was about to run her over on the road.

“You…” I stammered, “You performed well.”

“Oh…” her eyes fell downwards, “Thank you…”

Was that all I wanted to say? I clenched my fist and let out a low growl as she walked away again. “Wait!”

She turned around once more.

“I… know what it’s like to search for something you crave so desperately and not be able to find it…”

“Yeah…” she nodded and walked off.

Wait… Wait… Come back!!! I clenched my fist. Damn Nick, way to let the woman walk away from you. Was it the first time? Probably not? But it burned through my memory.

It was cold outside. Inside the club, I had been so nervous I hadn’t even paid attention to things like the weather, the audience, or if I hit the wrong notes. I hope I hadn’t. I mean, it’s not like anyone important had been in the club that night. I mean, not much can be said of open mic nights in Denver… Open mic nights in New York City or LA… Heck even Florida, you had a better chance of someone noticing you. I mean, sure Orlando wasn’t the pop music Mecca it once was, and no, I didn’t necessarily consider myself to be a pop musician, but people were still more willing to notice you. In Denver, call it open mic night and a bunch of girls in mini skirts walk into the club and dance to the Pussycat Dolls or Britney Spears or something. They really should just rename it Cover Tunes Amateur Hour or something… I wrapped my hand around my waist. Butterflies were tap dancing in my stomach. Now? When I had already performed? I felt sick. How long would it take the Express to come anyway? I should have just brought Maria with me; at least she had a car. I crouched down on the sidewalk. What was I doing? Was I really so pathetic that one single event caused me to pull out my guitar, write a sappy song and go searching for open mic nights to make people listen to my mournful tears? Some artist I was, right? Real artists sent their demo tapes into major labels and waited for a positive response… I was one of those girls that bought a baseball cap just so I could set it on the ground at Sixteenth Street Mall and collect tips. I laughed quietly to myself. We always had problems like this. I said something, he ran away. He said something, I pulled inward. Both too distant, neither one was willing to just talk it out. What a great thing to say about your only love. What did that say about me? That the only person I loved, I continually drove away. Smooth. How much had I cried before I wrote that song? How many night had I sat in my room staring at my pictures and pulling them off the walls, just to put them back up again? Office Max loved me; I was in there buying push pins all the time! And Scotch Tape, which that company must have loved me as well. Why buy Scotch tape when you have push pins? I don’t want to pin holes in my photos. I know, you wanna laugh, right? It’s alright, laugh, it’s funny. And that is probably the dumbest thing I have ever done. Not wanting to put holes in the precious photos of the most precious person to me. When, only his photos smile back at me now. My hair fell across my face. It seemed as though my bottom lip wanted to tremble. That I wanted to wail out right there in the middle of Denver, so that everyone leaving their happy night of parties in the Denver nightclub scene could hear me whine about my pain. What I wouldn’t give to drop down on my knees right there and scream and cry out all my tears. But I had already wasted all my tears, I had run out. And, musicians don’t cry or scream, they write and play. That must be the nice thing about being a teenybopper who aspires to be the next Britney Spears or Hillary Duff or whatever… They aren’t shy, or aloof, or otherwise held back from the world. They laugh freely, cry freely, and love freely. Anyone who has a shred of talent in any form or manner has to sit down and apply themselves to a release in that form. Writers write, painters paint, singers sing. What is crying to a musician? It’s a ballad. What is laughing? The next pop tune. What is love? What is love? That isn’t a question so easily answered in music or in life. Love is… many different things, different for each individual person, different for each pair. Love is not so concrete or justified. That’s why… That’s why my song was melodic with a pop background. Because I was always happy with him, only now he made me want to cry. I wiped my hand across my face. It was hard to sing… Because I was all alone… And now I was surrounded in darkness, waiting for the Express that refused to come. I laughed quietly to myself once more. Yeah. That’ll teach me to take the bus to Denver alone.

“Hey!!!” a voice called.

I blinked slowly. Sober at this hour? Must be a cop… I lowered my head. My hands were shaking again. I felt sick… But a different kind of sick. Not like I wanted to throw up all over the concrete, although that might have helped. I felt like my whole world was going black around me. How many meals had I eaten that day? Oh yeah, just one. And the day before that? Oh yeah… Just one. Was I starting to border anorexic? I shivered. I was already skinny enough. That was bad for me. My head sank lower. I must have been a sight, curled up waiting for a bus in the middle of the night all by myself.

“Hey…” the voice was breathy, like its owner had been running. The voice was distinctly male and the owner panted momentarily. “What are you doing out here all by yourself?”

“The Express…” I mumbled.

“Fed-Ex?” he question. He seemed confused, and yet, seemed to laugh at the same time.

“The Express…” I answered a little louder, and a little slower. I did still mumble it, though.

He paused and a looked up slowly. The tall man in the long leather jacket eyed the bus schedule above my head. He ran his finger down it and his low pondering obscured in a sudden rising of pitch. He must have pursed his lips to one side. “Not on here,” he finally concluded, giving his lips a light smack.

“The B-Line…” I corrected myself.

“Look like you’re…” he paused momentarily, checking the schedule once more, “Either about an hour and a half late or…. Two and a half hours early.” He looked down at me; a low smile crossed his face, “So… Which is it?”

I turned my head away. I should have known I missed it. I’d told one of the girls in my wing once to make sure she was at the bus stop at one in the morning, that that one was the last bus out. I stood quietly, grabbing my guitar case. Well, the zero ran all night. I’d take that to a place I could hopefully catch the sixty-seven. I hadn’t seen my mom in a while; this weekend was as good as any to pay her a visit.

“Where you going?” he asked, then let out a small gasp, “You’re the girl from…”

I turned around slowly, the girl from? That man was… I thought momentarily.

“I… know what it’s like to search for something you crave so desperately and not be able to find it…”

I chuckled a little, “Oh, I see… It’s you. And what exactly are you looking for? Don’t expect to find it here in Denver, do you?”

He turned his head a little, “Doesn’t matter what I want…” He looked back at me with only his eyes, “You weren’t planning on walking back to… Boulder was it… were you?”

“Of course not!” I scoffed, “I’m standing at Union Station right now… I’d have to cross Colfax and everything trying to get there! It would take me days!”

“Colfax?” he shrugged, “Don’t get it.”

“It’s a street notorious for hookers…” I paused.

He stood in silence for a moment, trying to process the information I had just given him. “That’s dangerous!” he burst. Then paused, “Wait, so where are you going?”

“Sixteenth Street,” I answered, “I’m gonna catch the zero home… Well, most of the way at least.”

“How far is home?”

“Boulder home? About forty-five minutes. Home home, probably the same amount… Boulder’s probably a little further… Plus I have to walk from the bus stop.”

“Forty-five minutes?” His attention span was short. He’d heard nothing else I said.

I put my hand behind my head and nodded, “Yeah… But I’ll be fine. I’ve lived here most of my life…” I gave him a bright smile, “I think I can manage.”

“But…” he paused, “You’re all alone.”

“Happens,” I smiled, “You start to depend on people and they leave you. That’s what always happens.”

He looked down at me; he really was tall. I’d say about six foot, maybe a little more. But hey, anything looked tall next to my five foot five inch frame. “That’s a really narrow way to look at things.”

“Well, I’m just feeling a little narrow right now,” I answered.

He turned his head slowly once more. Yeah… I was a downer. Big deal. Teach him to complain about never being able to find something to someone who felt like they lost everything. “This is gonna sound weird…” he started.

I snapped my attention toward him. Weird…

“Normally… I wouldn’t offer…” he continued, “But I have a hotel just a little further from where you were planning to walk. Do you… want to stay with me?”

“Isn’t that a little forward?” I asked.

“I thought the same thing,” he nodded.

“See, right now…” I paused, “I think I’m more nervous about you than anyone else on the streets…”

“I can change that,” he smiled, sticking out his hand, “I’m Nick… Nick Carter.”

My cheeks must have turned pink; I looked away quickly. Nick Carter? Nick Carter the Backstreet Boy? When I was twelve I would have keeled over. That was my childhood dream, so I guess I can’t bash teenyboppers too badly, to become a pop princess and marry my precious prince Nick Carter the Backstreet Boy. But… People grow up, and I found many more precious loves. People who were solid, and… not rich, not famous. People I didn’t have to watch on television screens or listen to through headphones. My eyes adjusted to is smiling face for the first time. Same blonde hair, same blue eyes. A teenybopper’s dream. Now… As much as the fact that he was trying to sympathize with me so much without knowing me at all, that made me nervous. The fact that he had suddenly sought me out here and now as a roommate for the night made me nervous as well… But… That was before I knew he was Nick Carter! Nick Carter the Backstreet Boy! I shook my head quickly. Every girl has to live out her twelve year old fantasy at least once, right? Right. This was, after all, probably never going to happen again. Plus, in a way, I was secretly glad. I didn’t have to catch a single bus, just walk a few blocks. I smiled in return, after what must have seemed like ages. I grasped his hand with my free one, “Shirina Carmen, nice to meet you.”

Nick grabbed my guitar case from my grasped fingers and held it tightly with his own. He didn’t even sling it over his shoulder like a bag, like most people I knew. I guess he was a musician, so he must have known how to hold a guitar properly. Right? Of course, what a stupid question. “So… Shirina…” he started.

I cringed a little. Had to start remembering that, “Actually… Just Rina.”

“Just Rina?”

“To be honest… I paused, I never liked my name…”

“It’s a perfect celebrity name, like Shakira or Madonna…” he paused momentarily, licking his lips and smacking them once more, “Maybe not Madonna…”

I let out a low laugh.

“Okay…” he responded hurriedly, it was probably the most annoying version of the word I had ever heard. It started on a low pitch and then increased to a much higher one, almost as if he was singing, but hit the bad note on the line. “Rina it is,” he continued, “Anyway… You’ll have to show me how to get to the Marriott from here,” he gave me a sly smile, “My best friend seems to have left and it seems silly to call a cab.”

I nodded, secretly giddy inside. The Marriott? I’d always, always, always wanted to stay there. Two dreams come true in one night, except I could have stood to hold on to the dream of staying at the Marriott a little longer.

We started walking down the street once more, only this time together.

“You know what I love?” I started, a low giggle coming from my voice.

“Mmmm…” Nick paused, smacking his lips once more; that had to be either the most annoying or most seductive habit anyone ever had, “Singing.”

“Well… yes…” I nodded, “But…”

He let out a low chuckle, “Blonds.”

“The moon,” I smiled.

Nick smacked his lips once more and looked up at the moon, “Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon who is already sick and pale with grief that thou, her maid, art far more fair than she. But be not her maid, for she is envious, her vestal livery is but sick and green, and none but fools do wear it.”

I blinked. What? I started laughing, quietly at first, but then it grew louder.

“What?” he asked in surprise.

“Shakespeare?” my laughter turned into a fierce giggle, “You bookwork!”

He cracked a smile, “I’d rather be a bookworm than a dumb ass, one just comes more naturally.”

“Better not tell anyone else that you can recite Shakespeare on command, they’ll get a good laugh out of it.”

He shrugged, “You laughed, I find it funny too… So what if everyone laughs?” He smiled, “Everyone’s got at least a quirk or two they keep relatively secret.”

“Whole play?” I smiled.

“Few lines here and there,” he smiled back.

“Well, now I know that I didn’t find a total dumb ass tonight.”

“No way,” he gave me a cocky smile, “I’m the lucky one. Any of the girls I usually met would have given me a confused look and asked if I wrote it.”

We laughed. Not like I remembered him at all when I was twelve. He was the prankster, cracking jokes, being an idiot. Lucky me, Nick Carter was much smarter than I had once thought. I guess I should count my multiple blessings… I got a place to stay for the night, someone to keep me company on this lonely street, and most importantly… There was actually someone important listening to me sing tonight. I let out another smile and giggled, “Call the moon garish if you like, I still think it’s beautiful.”

He laughed with me. That large, full, garish, and green moon was ours, even if for just that night.