The World On A Pedestal

He is totally amazing!

He really is.

I’m not just saying this.

I mean, I know I am biased because I am his number one fan.

I still find that funny. Of course I am his number one fan. I was there from the very beginning. I’ve been there every step of the way. No one knows him like I do. No one has shared his struggles and his pain. 

No one has seen what I have seen. 

It may have been a short road to the stardom and fame he so richly deserves, but it wasn’t always like that for him and I know. I know in a way that no one else can. You see, what we have is special. 

What we have is unique.

So, I’m going to see him. It’s been too long. 

Oh, I’ve watched him every step of the way, but he wanted space and I gave him that space. We all need that from time to time. I get that, of course I do. But now it’s time to close that gap and be together again. It isn’t healthy for him to be away from me for too long. I know what he needs. None of those hangers on do. They’re smiling poison, the lot of them. He needs something real.

He needs me.

Well I am going to see him. He’s playing nearby and I can get there. It’s a short walk to the bus stop, a change of buses to get to the train station and then off I toddle to the bright lights of the city to see the brightest light of them all! It should take me one hour and fifty four minutes to get to the venue. That depends on how fast I walk from the train station to the venue, and we all know that they always over-egg the walking times. I don’t know who they base it on, but it’s not me!

The night before the big day I barely sleep. I just can’t. I’m too excited about not only seeing him, but talking to him and hearing how he’s been. I love his singing voice. I have every single recording of him singing. All of them. Not only the singles and the albums and downloads of his videos. I have way more than that. 

I also have clippings, yes old fashioned clippings, of all the articles on him. I have photos of him, not only at the height of his fame, I have photos of him from when he was a baby and all the way through his momentous life. I have a pillow case made from a shirt of his and each night I inhale deeply of his scent. His actual scent faded away long ago, but my memory of it is as powerful now as it was on the first day I drew a breath of air that had belonged to him only a moment before.

Photos, mementos and songs are one thing, but they can’t compare to the real thing. I love his songs, of course I do. He sings those songs for me, but it’s his voice when he speaks to me that really counts, and I will hear him so very soon. I am thrumming with the anticipation of our meeting and there is no way I am going to sleep.

Eventually, I accept that there will be no sleep and run myself a bath. I need to be at my best. I will look my best just for him. I soak in the bath and I close my eyes and I see him smiling as he notices me. I have come to see him and he is ever so happy, but not as happy as I am. That just could not be possible!

I take my time getting ready. I want everything to be just so. I select his favourite dress and I examine myself in the mirror to ensure I am wearing it just right.

In the kitchen I don an apron so as not to spoil my outfit, and I make myself cheese and cucumber sandwiches. I wrap them in tin foil and find a packet of cheesy Wotsits. This is his favourite lunch. He always insists on this lunch when he is on tour. It’s my favourite too. 

I make a flask of tea for the trip, then I check that I have everything. Train tickets and of course, the ticket for the concert venue. Not that I need it. His number one fan doesn’t need a ticket to see him!

The bus is late. This annoys me, but I am not anxious when it comes to being there for him. I have factored delays into my schedule. I just think that buses should sort themselves out and turn up on time more often than not. 

I sit on the back seat of the bus. I had a look from the bus driver and a couple of the passengers. They can see I’m important. My status as his number one fan has altered me and it makes me stand out. They envy me, and so they should.

On the back seat I angle my head back to watch out for the other two buses that I deserve, having waited a full fourteen minutes more than was billed on the timetable. I am disappointed and just a little angry when I am deprived of what I am entitled to. When buses are late, three are supposed to come along all at once. 

The degeneration of the world depresses me, I wonder what everyone else does to lighten their lives. 

They don’t have him. 

Not in the way that I do.

I don’t know what I would do without him.

He is my world.

On the train, there is a man. One of those types who is ignorantly important. He is so ignorantly important that he has extended this to his bag. I stand there and politely await his attention. He ignores me. Ignorant people do this. They have no manners.

I clear my throat even though I have no need to do so. It’s an acceptable noise that one can make in order to bring attention to oneself and the unnecessary plight some people seem intent on inflicting upon others.

I have to clear my throat for a second time.

He now looks up from his laptop and observes me as though I am muck on his expensive brogues, “there are other seats you could sit on,” he sneers at me and is about to return to his work. Work that is more important than following rules and being polite no doubt.

I wave my ticket in his face so he cannot return to his precious work.

“What are you doing!?” he cries as he tries to swat my ticket away.

“Don’t you try to strike me, sir!” I retort, moving my hand from harm’s way.

“You what?” he asks with that ignorant mouth of his.

“You saw him raise his hand to me didn’t you?” I ask the lady opposite.

“Well I…” 

That’s enough corroboration of his aggression, “see!? Not only do you have your bag on the seat I paid for, your attempt to strike me has been witnessed!”

He looks at me with something like confusion. Yes! It is quite easy to confuse ignorant people. He deserves it. He grudgingly lifts his bag away from my seat and I instantly take my rightful place on the train.

He sits there with his bag on his lap eyeing several empty seats. He made a bit of a mistake there. He should have moved to another seat after letting himself down so badly. I smile at the lady opposite as I make myself big. He will regret his bad behaviour. I will make sure of that.

Thanks to the rude man, I enjoy the train journey so much I nearly forget my lunch. The sandwiches washed down with warm tea taste all the better for the preceding drama. I should do this more often, I think to myself.

We arrive in the big city and I sit and soak up the atmosphere. I can tell the bad man is getting frustrated at this as everyone else files off the train and it adds a little more enjoyment to the trip. I give him a stern look as I leave my seat and he has the sense not to look at me. I think we have reached an understanding. I am glad about that.

Leaving the station, I walk straight to the venue. I want to see it and know where I am in relation to it. I circle it twice so I have my bearings, then I walk back the way I came, to an independent coffee shop. 

I order tea.

As I leave my tea to cool a little, I open my bag and peer in. Mr Chips peers back at me from his safe space. I nod and smile to myself before closing the bag and returning to my tea. Under other circumstances I would have ordered a cake, most likely a Bakewell tart. Cherry and almonds are two of my favourite things. I’m not hungry right now and the tea is a habit. A ritual so I can at least attempt to calm down before my big moment.

The concert does not start for another couple of hours, but he will be there. He always likes to be there in plenty of time so he can get used to his surroundings and ground himself. He’s always been like that. He just needs time.

Well, I’ve given him plenty of time and now I will see him and everything will be how I have imagined it to be. We will come together and we will never ever be apart again. This is how it will be. The very universe craves for this moment. It is right. It is just.

It just is.

I visit the lavatory. I don’t need to go, but tea does things to me and I do not want to get caught short. I want everything to be just so. I can’t imagine how it would be to have a big moment only to desperately need to pay a visit to the powder room. He feels the same way about such things. He stops drinking an hour before his performances and he will only sip at the water on stage. Just enough to wet his whistle, is what he says.

So do I.

We really are two peas in a pod.

It has been too long.

I ache for him.

And I know that he misses me.

He has to.

Just as nature intended.

Leaving the coffee shop and nodding acknowledgement to the looks I get from two separate tables, I walk in the opposite direction to the concert venue for two whole minutes. I time it using the second hand on my dainty gold watch. Then I double back. 

Seven minutes and counting.

Seven is his lucky number.

Seven is going to be lucky for me.

The loading bay is the best way in. The trick is to look purposeful. If you do something like you mean it then you blend in. You are a part of everything.

There is security, but I have my lanyard on and I know how all of this works. I’d hardly be his number one fan if I didn’t. I swan in and I feel so elated that it lifts me and I fill with a confidence I did not know was possible until this very moment.

This is it!

I am it!

Everything is going to be alright.

We’re going to be alright.

I feel a familiar tickling on my cheeks and only as I feel it do I realise that I am crying. Tears of pure joy anoint my face.

I’m just so damn happy!

I open the door of his dressing room and the air is sucked out of my lungs as I do. A wave of dizziness threatens to cast me to the ground a second before this precious moment, but I fight it and I stay on my feet.

The door is wide open and I can see the mirror that he gazes into as he readies himself for the show. Before that mirror is an empty seat. I could go into the room and check the bathroom, but I know he is not here. I would know it if he was. 

I feel him.

I step back out into the corridor. Robbed of the moment and needing it to happen right now. But I do not run. I don’t run even as I hear an urgent voice calling from behind me.

“Oy! You can’t be here!”

I may not run, but I walk with a divine purpose. Nothing and no one will stop me now. He is here. I am here. There is a force of gravity that will bring us together and make us whole again. Nothing and no one can stop that. Not even the burly man I can hear running towards me.

He is too slow and I am too quick.

It is as simple as that. 

I make my way to the wings of the stage, and it is there that I see him.

“Tyrone!” I call to him as I see him as though it were for the first time, even though I have seen him thousands of times before. I see him every time I close my eyes.

He does not respond. He is talking to the sound people and making sure the set-up is exactly right. His vocals need to be heard. That is all there is to it.

“Yoo-hoo! Tyrone!” I call gayly as I make my way onto the stage.

Now he turns, but as he does, an arm wraps itself around my neck and pulls me backwards. I struggle and as I do, the burly man grabs my arm and tries to twist it up my back. I make this very difficult for him. This is a fight for what is right. I have everything riding on this. The burly man will not stop me. He cannot stop me.

As we are locked in this righteous fight, my foot slips on the boards of the stage. I am not wearing suitable footwear for wrestling, and it is my shoe that hands the advantage to the burly man.

I call out to Tyrone, but the arm is tight against my neck and all that comes out is an unbecoming keening noise. The keening builds to a screech as the burly man knocks my bag from my hand and it crashed open on the floor flinging Mr Chips across the stage.

Now I am crying tears of hurt and of frustration. This is not fair! This is not how our reunion was supposed to be. I see Tyrone pick up Mr Chips and for one maddening moment I think it’s going to be alright after all, but then he turns his back on me.

He turns his back on me!

His betrayal stings me. It should undo me, but I have not come all this way for it to end like this. A wave of energy rises up within me and I elbow the burly guy in the guts.

ONCE!

TWICE!

And a third time for the sheer hell of it.

He is winded and I have room. I have room to free myself and stride forth.

“Tyrone!” I say firmly, “don’t you dare turn you back on your own Mother!”

I see him stiffen at these words. We are caught in a second that has been paused and allowed to go on for longer than it’s allotted time. Then Tyrone’s shoulders drop and time moves along again. He turns and I can see that he is crying.

I reach out for him. 

My little boy.

But he shakes his head and he speaks cruel words, “you’re not my Mum.”

His words hit me like arrows of ice and they bring confusion. They throw my whole world into chaos, “Tyrone…” I plead, my hand opening and closing as I keep it held out towards him, “…please.”

He shakes his head again and I see that although we are only inches apart, he is a world away. 

“I…” I begin, but I don’t know what I should say.

I don’t know what to say.

I don’t know whether the words exist. Words that would help explain. Words that would begin to make it alright. Words that would allow us both to heal.

But then he looks at me. He really looks at me, “you’re not well, Dad.”

All I can do is nod. 

I know.

I am not well. 

I have this hole in me and I don’t know how to live anymore.

All I know is that there is one other person in this world with a hole like mine, and I needed to see him. 

I needed to be there for him.

I needed to take the place of his number one fan now that she has gone and left us both so utterly alone. Left us without a clue as to what we do now that she is no longer with us.

I had to do something.

I have to do something.

He’s my son.

And yes, I know he needs his Mum.

But so do I!

I say the only thing that makes sense right now. I say it without realising it is what I am about to say.

“I’m sorry…”

There. I have done it. I have done my best to take his pain away and diminish his hole. I just hope it is enough.

He steps forward and we embrace. 

It is more than enough.

“You have got to stop doing this,” he whispers in my ear as we hug.