Page 92 of Fade into You
We wander around campus for a while, and then we end up taking a walk around town—the campus is nestled in the middle of the city, and restaurants and shops populate the main drag. I like that Bird is leading the way. Lets me people watch. Most of the people we see are college students, and some of them are pretty funky, with cool hair and tattoos, either goth or disheveled and grungy or just plain dressed down.
“Do you think it’s okay…?” Bird says, nudging her hand into mine. I know what she’s asking—do I think it’s okay to hold hands here?
I let my fingers connect with hers and keep my eyes open. “I think so,” I finally answer, though it’s impossible to ever know for sure. But I take her hand for real, letting our fingers interlock.
We pass several people who don’t pay us much attention, and then there’s a girl who looks to be a few years older than us who smiles. It feels nice. I realize I’m smiling back, and when I look over at Bird, she’s smiling too.
We’ve been walking a few blocks when I see one of those old silent-movie-palace-type theaters from the 1920s, all grand and gilded with a big marquee and a giant vertical sign in lights that spans the height of the entire building. The building is sort of the star of the street. Can’t miss it.
“Can you believe people used to go see movies in those kinds of places?” Bird muses as we get closer. “Imagine getting ready to go to the movies and dressing up in your best and being treated like royalty.”
“I know, pretty cool,” I agree. I swing our joined hands and say, “Not cooler than this, though. Being able to hold hands. Out. In public.”
She comes to a stop on the sidewalk in front of the massive building. “Wanna see what it’s like to hold hands in there, like princesses or something?”
I laugh but she doesn’t. She just stands there smiling, and I get the feeling I’m missing something. “What?” I ask.
She looks up. So I look up.
“What?” I repeat.
She backs up a step and points at the marquee.
TONIGHT! TORI AMOS
I gasp, “Oh my god!” And my mind is barreling ahead with half-baked ideas about how we could try to get a Tori sighting: wait outside the stage door or try to find wherever the tour buses are parked.
“Come on,” Bird is saying, pulling me forward, toward the revolving glass doors.
I’m in shock. Actual shock. Disbelief. She has tickets. Two tickets. To see my favorite artist ever, in the most beautiful theater I’ve ever laid eyes on, with the most amazing person in the world, who has not let go of my hand for even one moment. I keep opening my mouth, but I have no words to describe how this feels.
“Are you surprised?” she finally asks me once we’re in our seats.
“Yes! I can’t believe this is happening.”
Our seats are way in the back, but I don’t think there is such a thing as a bad seat in this entire magical place. When the stage lights come on, I can see Tori onstage so clear, her fiery red hair and her piano. Her voice fills every tiny space in this cavernous theater, sending chills all through my body.
The first song is “God,” and this is already the best concert of the many, many concerts I have attended in my life. Is it because she’s my favorite artist or because the person sitting next to me,holding my hand, is my favorite person? I don’t know or care. Whatever the combination of reasons, it justis.
The last song she plays is “The Waitress,” and everything in between has been so perfect and better than I ever dreamed that when she returns for the encore, I’m just standing there next to Bird through the whole song, not even singing along, because I don’t want to miss any part of this moment.
I want to etch every single detail and sensation in my memory forever.
BIRD
We fall asleep in Charlie’stiny twin bed, holding each other. I might have thought earlier in my planning process that this would be a perfect opportunity to explore each other some more, but as we lie here in each other’s arms, it’s already perfect.
We wake up early. It’s just starting to get light out.
Jessa must have woken a few minutes before me, because when I open my eyes, she touches my face and smiles so softly. I know I’ve never been happier in my life. I don’t think I’ve ever imagined I could be so comfortable, so free. I feel more myself when I’m with her, like this, just existing, than I’ve ever felt with anyone, not even when I’m alone. I don’t know how long we lie there, snuggled up, just savoring these minutes of being close.
“Hi,” I whisper.
“Morning,” she whispers back.
“I love you,” I tell her.
“I love you too, Elizabeth Iris Nardino.”
