NON-BOLD PRINT means Taylor's viewpoint

I bit down hard on my thumbnail as I watched our novice waitress struggle with our breakfast. 5 days ago, I’d sent the letter to her. To Sierra Topé Quinlan at 44 East Proctor Estates, Boston Massachusetts, and hadn’t heard a word since. After the third day of endless waiting, I had decided to call, yet had gotten only an answering machine. I swallowed hard, as I thought that tonight was the benefit concert; inspired by only one girl, who may not even show up.

I heard a cry from within my soul,

I never had a yearning quite like this before,

If you’d only come walking right through my door.

As my father finished his call and the obsequious waitress finally passed me the correct plate of food, we all began to eat, in silence.

“Ramsey says there’s a problem with tonight.” All the delectable food in my mouth at that moment fell bland as I looked up at him in shock.

“What?” I managed.

“He says we’re double booked. Tonight, of all nights, we’re double booked with a Ben Harper concert.” I didn’t understand the words he formed.

I pulled the stubby pieces of my shortened hair, pushing it behind my ears, “What the hell does that mean? They double booked us with Ben Harper?”

“No Tay, just calm down, this auditorium, the Orpheum Theater, as different venues throughout the city. It was never made clear which venue was which, for us and for the other venues, like the one with Ben Harper. Orpheum is one corporation but with different sub venues; but all connected to the Orpheum Theater….” He continued, yet none of it realized in my mind. I kept seeing her face, her lips speaking to me.

“It means Taylor,” Isaac rudely burst in, “is that we’re going to have quite a few Ben Harper fans expecting to see Ben Harper tonight, and I think that Ben Harper is in for quite a surprise when he sees how many teeny boppers are at his concert.”

All of a sudden my whole family began talking at once and I was lost in it all. All I wanted was to see her tonight and the mere doubt of not, make my stomach churn with disappointment.

“Anders…come on sweetie… where did you put my change purse?” I cajoled my little brother, gritting my teeth in frustration, for he was in the midst of his taking things and hiding them phase.

He only shrugged his petite shoulders refusing to speak. I stood there, already five minutes late in meeting Skye at his dad’s restaurant and I needed my change purse.

”Anders… this isn’t funny. Give me my purse. You NEED to stop hiding my stuff.” I said firmly nearing my wits end.

“Do you want me to go get Daddy?” I threatened. He shook his head at the mention of the paternal unit and quickly disappeared around the corner, returning carrying my beloved change purse.

Relieved and not in the mood to scold, I grabbed it from him, and grabbed my pea coat, edging for the door.

“SSSiiiirwa…” my brother called in a coaxing voice.

“What?” I called puling on my hat and scarf.

“Don’t you want your other stuff?” He called.

“What other stuff do you have?” I shrieked, shocked that he had my stuff and was hiding it from me.

“Umm just these…” He laughed with an evil lisp, showing me a handful of letters and phone messages.

Abhorred by his cleptisism, I pulled the letters away furiously, but realized I did not have enough time to go through them. I threw them into my shoulder bag and ran out the door, jogging down my street through the light snow that had begun to fall.

The blessing echoed throughout the silent dressing room filled with holiday cakes, eggnog, poinsettias, sugar cookies, hot cider, and everything else festive that rustled up nostalgic feelings for home in Tulsa.

Presents were overflowing under the fake plastic tree, and I glanced over at the small tight like package on my dressing table, simple with a small ribbon attached.

Swallowing wistfully, I squeezed my two brothers hands and mumbled amen, as my father clapped his hand to energize us.

Anything then would only enervate me, for Sierra was to have met me almost 45 minutes ago, before our sound check. She had not received the letter, or my phone messages. In about 20 minutes we were to go out to play for 12,000 fans, on Christmas Eve while the only girl I wanted to see was so close, almost so close I could practically reach out her and touch her, but not close enough.

I wonder if I’ll ever see you again.

And if that day comes, I know we could win,

I wonder if I’ll ever see you again.

I mumbled a famous Marvin Gay line that had been redone by Ben Harper, and I fumbled with my mini disc player. Lenny Kravitz could always cheer me up especially right before a concert. I stopped dead in my tracks when an infamous thought shot through my mind.

She was probably at the other venue, at the Ben Harper concert, looking for me, having no idea that she is in the complete wrong venue. I smiled reassuring myself that there was hope, and I told my parents that with the short half and hour we had before the concert I had to run an errand, and ignoring their angry protests, I had grabbed my parka and gloves and hat, and was making it through the corridors below the venues until I was out on the snowy and blustery streets of Boston hailing a cab.

“Skye it’s really snowing hard.” I whispered seated in the back of a blue and white cab stuck at a traffic light.

“Yeah, I know, I hope it doesn’t continue.” He whispered back smiling, “But even if it does, we’re seeing Ben Harper right and it’s Christmas Eve?” His smile warmed me up as his arm wrapped around my shoulder squeezed tighter.

I nodded, swallowing an odd feeling that something wasn’t quite right. This vanished when we neared the Orpheum Theater. Skye practically pulled my hand off as I tried to get out of the car, he paid the driver, and there we were standing in front of the giant building.

Cabs were everywhere, all looking the same in the fluffy snow. One cab did get my attention as it screeched away from the sidewalk in a hurry. The ad on the top advertised Lenny Kravitz new cd, the one that had not been released yet, but supposedly was going to be extremely good, I watched the illuminated sign on the top of that cab disappear into a transparent curtain of snow.

“Sierra sweetie, I know you would much rather stand outside and watch the snow fall, but Ben Harper!!!” Skye’s whine startled me, and I narrowed my eyebrows at Skye’s comment, and secured my shoulder bag on my shoulder and allowed him to pull me toward the building, his fingers entwined with mine.

The VIP box office was located in a special area, through a few corridors and into a room packed with people waiting in line. The weird thing was, it was a lot of little girls and their parents. It almost reminded me of that day that will live in chagrin. That day when Ri and I had gone to the…. the Hanson concert.

Without saying anything about the odd outcome of a Christmas Ben Harper concert, Skye resumed position in line as I stood by his side fingering the straps of my shoulder bag.

Searching for a handkerchief in my bag to pull back my hair, I fingered through the bag, when a sharp and piercing pain shot through my finger. It was a paper cut. I pulled out the partially opened envelope that had cut my finger, and examined the white envelope. It was addressed to me in unrecognizable handwriting, and had a return address that I did not recognize either. I pulled the lip of the envelope up and pulled out the letter inside.

“Sier…sweetie…” I felt an elbow in my side and I looked up from the folded paper.

Skye was pulling me forward in the line, to the open ticket window. Pushing the letter back into my bag, I followed him up to the window where he said his name.

“What do you mean the tickets are already occupied?” His sophisticated voice had turned malicious.

“I am sorry Sir, but seats 4 and 5 section C are already occupied, are you sure you aren’t confused with the Hanson benefit concert next week?”

The breath got caught in my throat, when it all came together. We were at a Hanson concert not a Ben Harper concert. My cheeks flushed when I remember his face. Taylor Hanson’s face. He was beautiful. Tingling sensations electrified my limp arms, at the thought of knowing he was somewhere in this building. Maybe I would smash into him again. I sputtered with laughter at the thought, but snapped my mouth shut at Skye’s angry voice.

“What?” Skye’s voice was filled with vexation. “Hanson? We’re here for Ben Harper.”

At that he looked down at me, “Sierra did you say you had a flyer for it?” I nodded, trying to hide the smirk on my face, putting my bag down and searched through it until I found the fluorescent yellow promotional flyer. I handed it to him quickly.

“Yeah, this is the Orpheum Theater on 22nd street. You’re looking for the Orpheum Theater on 107th.” The patient woman behind the counter pointed out and I heard Skye cuss quietly pulling me off to the side, as he put away the tickets.

Five minutes later we were re-hailing a cab on the snow-covered sidewalks. After 10 minutes of unsuccessful cab hailing, I was freezing, and desperate to just get someplace warm. Setting my bag down I went to get my gloves when Skye grabbed my arm forcefully.

“There! There’s one leaving, I am going to catch it.” He ran erratically for the cab with an unlit sign, and once I saw that he was successful, I grabbed my gloves and jogged toward the cab. I breathed a sigh once inside the cab, and watched as we slowly navigated through the streets.

“Mom I am coming back now…. No I am not insane… yes… no…. yes…. I know!!!” I said into the receiver of my cell phone as I sat in the same cab that had brought me to the Orpheum Theater on 22nd street.

I loved the Lenny Kravitz promotional sign on top, and the driver had been quite friendly to wait for my while I ran throughout the underground corridors, looking for Sierra. I had asked all guards if there had been someone looking for me, or someone as remotely beautiful she was had been around. They all had either blown me off or told me to go home. I figured shed eventually realize she wasn’t at a Hanson concert and find her way to the correct theater.

The concert was starting in a little under 10 minutes, and I was stuck in traffic. Finally we arrived back at the venue and I jumped out, hoping that my father wouldn’t ring my neck for skipping out on them like that. Praying that I wouldn’t be recognized and not watching where I was going, I ran, but hit a soft object and almost fell.

Embarrassed by my clumsiness, I looked down and realized I had tripped over a wet shoulder bag lying right in the sidewalk. Its contents had begun to spill out and I reached over to pick it up when a soggy wet letter with incontrovertible handwriting caught my eye.

“Ohmygod…” I whispered pulling the bad up out of the snow, pulling open the letter. It was my letter, which meant that this…. this was…. Her bag.

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