A Fan

‘I think that’s your slice’ I said to the man standing next to me at the pizza counter. It’s 12 am, I’m at Vinny’s Pizza on Bedford Avenue. He says, ‘Thank you’, grabs the slice and walks past me to sit at a table. I glance at his face as he passes, my stomach flip flops. I recognize him, but I know he doesn’t know me. I’m excited to be so close to him, but I’m shy. I debate whether I should sit near him and strike up a conversation, but I lose my nerve. My pizza is ready, I grab it, walk past him out the door. Another missed connection. As I walk home, I’m already regretting my choice not to at least say hello.

He’s a musician, I’ve seen him play with his band more times than I can count. I follow his band on Instagram, when they’re on tour I feel like I’m with them. The venues they play are standing room only, the best ones to dance in.

It’s my first time seeing them. I have a strategy to get right up to the stage when they play. Most people here are drinking, I’m not. I hang a back a little when the band before them comes on. As soon as that band’s set ends almost everyone leaves the floor. They take their bathroom breaks and refresh their drinks. While this happens, I scoot up to the stage and stake my claim. I observe the roadies setting up the stage for his band. Watching the soundchecks, I have one hand on the stage securing my spot. Different members of the band come out trying to be invisible as they check on their instruments and mic set-ups. Testing the mics themselves. Some people in the crowd try to catch their attention and express their elation for being there. The band members will always acknowledge the fan, but they won’t engage. It’s not the time to engage the crowd. This is the grunt work that makes a live show possible.

Everything is set up; the stage is empty. My excitement is escalating. I’m waiting for the band to come on, for him. They do and it’s an explosion of sound, sax, bass, drums, keyboard, guitar and trombone. He’s in front of me dancing and singing. My body reacts with a base attraction that I haven’t felt since puberty, when I first noticed boys. I’m infected with the urge to dance, shake, and move. I dance, spin and twirl singing along to the lyrics and the horns. When he’s not singing and dancing, he’s playing the trombone. When he’s playing, I’m so close that I’m looking into the bell and the slide is coming towards me, looking to mark me. I see his spit hit the stage when he empties the valve, saturating his set list, smearing the song titles into nothing. He puts his trombone in its stand, grabs the mic and starts singing and dancing. He uses the whole stage to dance, coming close to his bandmates, but never bumping them. There is a father with his son next to me, introducing the next generation to this experience. The boy can’t be more than ten years old, jumping up and down and dancing, his chin is barely higher than the stage. He sees the little boy in front, leans down and they high five. The object of my admiration spins around smiling, facing the crowd. I’m looking right at him. We lock eyes, he sings to me, and everyone else.

After the show I’m in line at the merch table. I always get a shirt from all the shows I go to. He is talking to the woman behind the merch table. I’m too far to hear what they’re talking about but he’s close to me. A drunk man in line behind me goes up to him and says in disbelief, ‘You guys were awesome. You were great on the trumpet’. He responds ‘Thanks man, I play the trombone. What brings you out here tonight?’. The drunk man responds, ‘My girlfriend, she dragged me out here tonight.’ He responds, ‘Cool, thanks for coming.’ He continues his conversation with the woman behind the merch table and the drunk man gets back in line behind me. I’m in awe with my proximity to him, struck dumb, my eyes are boring into him as I’m waiting my turn. I can’t stop staring at him. He looks up from his conversation and sees me unabashedly staring. He smiles at me and waves. I’m thrilled. I smile back brightly and wave. I buy a hoodie with the band name on the back, a graphic of the New York City skyline and the phrase ‘NYC SKA ONLY THE BEST FOR OUR FRIENDS! SINCE 1991’. I leave elated and excited. When I get home, I’m on such a high I can’t fall asleep.

I wake up the next day and I could kick myself. I should have said something to him, but what? ‘I’m a big fan’, ‘Your show was great’, ‘You’re always awesome.’? I was too shy and tongue tied.

I proudly wear my hoodie wherever I go: work, errands, walking in the park; hoping somebody asks me about it. Giving me the opportunity to gush about my experience and relive it through every re-telling. He invades my daydreams as I follow them on Instagram and look out for their next tour dates.

It’s 12 am, I’m at Vinny’s Pizza on Bedford Avenue. I’m staring into my thoughts at the pizza counter waiting for my order. Someone next to me says ‘I think that’s your slice’ I look at the person who said that and my stomach flip flops. It’s him! He hands me my slice. As I take it, I smile brightly and thank him. He smiles back matching my brightness and asks, ‘Do I know you?’ I look down and back up then I shake my head and say ‘No, but I know you.’