Meet and Greets are the oddest experiences. I rarely remember very much of them, unless something spectacular happens, like someone fainting or having a nervous breakdown-which, I might add, actually happened before. I need something stimulating to remember anything about those delightful times like ambulance lights or security guards. For the most part, they're all just a blur.
Think of it like this: it takes a lot of energy to meet another person. You are bombarded by his voice and his face, his handshake perhaps, and the feeling of guilt if you don't remember his name. So imagine having to do this about twenty billion times in a row. To make matters worse, the room is damp and unpleasantly warm, the air heavy with cigarette smoke and perspiration from bodies cooling after a night of dancing and performing. I think, however, I have gotten Meet and Greets down to a science. I say hello and ask the person I am speaking with how things are going. Then I ask if they liked the show. Then the person hands me a CD cover or piece of paper and I sign my stupid signature they all love so much. Then I pose for a picture, thank the person for coming and begin this again with the next person. Usually by the end of the whole thing I have taken so many pictures that my vision is impaired and all the people I talk to just look like giant blue dots.
In Tulsa I saw Andy.
Andy. I hadn't seen her for years it seemed. It was actually only about eleven months but with the new album and the tour and all the people I had met, it seemed like eleven years. When we left Oklahoma to record I'd left Andy behind. She wrote me letter after letter telling me so. And she called me, too. At first every day, then every Sunday, then when it became clear that I wasn't going to return her calls, once a month. After that she stopped calling all together. Her letters stopped, too.
The thing with Andy and me was that we'd known each other for our whole lives. One day I looked at her and realized how gorgeous she was, how intelligent and creative. I kissed her five minutes later and suddenly we had a relationship. I was so young, though, I didn't know what I was doing. When we started the intimacy I suddenly felt weird around her; I didn't know what to say or how to act. Even though I loved her so much I still didn't know what to do with her. We magically lost the ability to exchange the kind of words that had made me feel attracted to her so when we left for Los Angeles I did not have the skill or emotional means to tell her I didn't feel anything for her. It just left my body and the bonds between us had already been so tortured I just left and went on with things.
So there she was. I would have been completely blond to think she wouldn't come. Of course she would and of course she would look absolutely stunning and of course I would feel absolutely guilty for not maintaining contact with her. When I saw her there with that wild hair and those blue, blue eyes and that look, that fuck-you-bitch-why-don't-you-talk-to-me look on her face, I made the decision to say hello and do my meet-n-greet routine then wait for her to say something about us. I would end it right then and there-lift one less thing off my back.
I said hi. Andy said hi back, smiling. I asked her how she was doing, what she'd been up to lately. Then before I could continue the safe small talk, she said, "Tay, I haven't spoken with you in a while. Isn't that strange? You know I wrote you a lot and I called a few times-I left messages with your family but I guess you never got them. That's too bad because I had a lot to say to you. I still do and I had it all planned out-fuck, I knew exactly what I was going to say."
Then she paused and swallowed, twisted her ring around her finger a few times and continued. "If you're interested, I was going to tell you how I hated you and how I thought you were the biggest asshole and how I was going to contact Rollingstone and tell them what you had done and how arrogant and ignorant and mean you'd been. I was going to do all that, really I was. I even went online this morning and found the address to write to Rollingstone.
"Then I thought if I hate him so much, why am I even going to his stupid show? And I realized I was going because I wanted to see you and because even though you'd left me behind I wanted you to have an excuse and I wanted you tell me there was a reason why you forgot about me.
"So I'm waiting. Tay, why?"
I was so afraid. I was supposed to be the one to talk first, to bring it all up first. I was going to be the one to have the last word, to say I was sorry and ask if we could be friends, then tell her to keep in touch and then I'd walk away. I felt awkward again, fidgety, like I wanted to crawl under the table and cry. I looked for something other than her face to carry my eyes towards so I could give myself a few seconds to come up with something to say. Even the bottles of Orangina couldn't supply me with a response.
I said, "I don't have a reason or an excuse or anything to me make me look better."
"That's too bad."
"I'm sorry?" I said, asking if it could be accepted, if it was enough. It was all I had.
"I know you are. I am too-for being so desperate and so stupid with you. I should have known, could have saved myself a lot of time."
And I said, "Let's be friends."
"Will you try harder this time? It would be stupid to end this friendship after seventeen years; even I'm smart enough to see that. So are you."
"Come to the party tonight, after the show. It'll be at the hotel. We're under the name Amhit Ghasjminijad," I laughed. Callie had created the name. Just hearing her say it made me laugh until my stomach hurt.
Andy smiled and nodded. She kissed me then. On my mouth, like I had kissed her that first time years ago on her front porch as the sun set. Her lips felt the same and her skin smelled of patchouli as it always had. Her hair tickled my shoulder and as she tried to push her tongue inside my mouth I began to feel nauseous and my fingers shook like they did right before a show started, when it was still dark and I had to find the opening chords without lights.
I pushed Andy away and shook my head. I stared at her and put my hand to my mouth because I could taste the vomit in the back of my throat. I turned around then because I knew She was there. I knew She had seen Andy kiss me and I knew her mind was spinning things, terrible things about the origins of the kiss.
(Callie. Callie, my love, baby-I love you. Wait, don't turn away, let me explain, please)
I saw her hands push her hair behind her ears-her beautiful, beautiful hands with turquoise rings and hundreds of bangles. I felt her eyes inside of me and I hoped she was reading how sick I felt, how disgusted I was with myself for touching Andy in that way. But before I could hold those fabulous green irises with mine for more than a second, she turned away. She walked towards the door, opened it, and slipped behind it.
When Callie was gone, I threw up on Andy's shoes.
