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.
Author's Chapter Notes:
If anyone was wondering... This won't make sense now of course, but I copied part of this from the subtitles of a DVD, I don't have it memorized in entirety, I swear. ^_^
