There he was, like an angel emerging from the dark. I thought my heart would pound out of my chest. I closed my eyes so I could escape and just listen to the beauty of his voice. Then, I began to hear moans. For a brief moment, I thought I was in a bordello. A woman to my right began to moan, “awww”. And behind me, another “awww”. And in front, yet another. At first I was confused. And then.. then it happened. I could feel Clay’s voice touch me in a way that I’ve never been touched before. I struggled to keep from moaning- too embarrassed to allow myself to manifest the musical esctasy I was experiencing.
Onced I opened my eyes, I was mesmerized- unable to take my eyes off of him. He took command of the stage and held the audience with every note. I could see his green eyes sparkle like emeralds when the light hit him just right.
The mellifluous sound of his voice flowed smoothly, filling the air with a comforting melody. For the next forty-five minutes it was as if I was taken to another place. Clay was a musical magician- his voice taking me to another world. With each note, I escaped deeper and deeper into his world, only to be brought back by the coughing sound of the woman sitting to my right.
During intermission, a lady sporting red beehive-styled hair, wearing support stockings, asked, “Did you know that Clay wrote this play himself”, the smell of menthol cough drops filling my nose as she talked. “He’s so talented”, offered the lady in the front. Tapping me on the right shoulder, the lady behind inquired, “Are you enjoying the show? How long have you been a fan? Are you here alone?”. Questions after question came. I felt as if I was being interrogated.
As the concert started again, I sat a little higher in my chair- hoping that Clay would be able to recognize me in a sea of moaning women. While lying in the tanning bed, I came up with a plan to get his attention. When he looked in my general direction, I would take a picture. I figured the flash of my camera would catch his attention. As I lifted the camera to my eye, the lady, with the red beehive bouffont, quickly grabbed my wrist and lowered the camera away from my face. With her right hand she waved her index finger from side to side and said, “Clay doesn’t like flashes. It gets him very upset”. Sweat began to bead on my forehead. I almost ruined it. If not for this woman, I could have angered Clay- forever ruining my opportunity to meet him. To be his lover.
For the remainder of the night, I was apprehensive- fearing that I would make a mistake- some faux pas that I would be unable to recover from.
As Clay finished singing his last song, the audience rose to give him a standing ovation, I looked around at the thousands of people. I began to muse at how lucky I was and how even more lucky I would become. All these people were applauding my man. Yes, I would do everything I could to make him my man.
It seemed to take forever to leave the center. So many people, some with walkers, others with canes, slowly made their way out. I was anxious to get home, hoping to find an email from Clay sitting in my mailbox. As the long line of cars cautiously meandered down the hill, taking direction from a traffic officer below, I sat behind the wheel, briefly drifting off in thought. I stared out into the dark sky and at the stars that dotted it. Tonight, I saw a star brighter than any in the night. A smile began to fill my face as I reminisced over this unforgettable night. As I enter deeper into my Clay fog, I was startled by a cacophony of car horns blowing- drivers who were apparently upset that I had drifted off and was holding up traffic.
For the entire drive home, I left my radio off- not wanting to spoil the sound of Clay’s voice, still fresh in my mind. I needed this man. I needed him badly. I couldn’t imagine my life without him. And I didn’t want him to imagine his life without me. We needed each other. He just didn’t know it yet.
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