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The following is a work of fiction. Characters, names, situations, events, and locations described in this novel are purely the invention of the author's mind, or are used fictitiously. Any sort of resemblance to people - living or dead, names and locations is purely coincidental. This story is copyrighted and cannot be taken or displayed without the permission of the author.
by Jan Baxter (December 2001) Looking out, I don't think I've ever seen anything like this, so many thousands of people in one place at one time, and all for one reason. Well, no, I have seen it before, I've just never seen it from this angle. This place, the place I've wanted to be for years and years. I know what Jon means when he says it's the biggest high you can feel, all those faces looking up at the stage, all those arms waving, lifting in unison. It's completely mind-blowing. What's more mind-blowing still is me being here. In the centre of the huge set that is a Bon Jovi live show. Right between the two most gorgeous men in the world. Jon Bon Jovi on my left, Richie Sambora on my right. I look from one to the other, and I can't stop a smile of sheer delight spreading over my face. What a position to find yourself in…..every female fan's dream come true. I move over towards Jon first, seeing the trickles of sweat run down his face and disappear into his open-necked shirt. He's misleading in photos, I decide, you just never seem to get the impression of sheer wiry strength and fitness in a photo, not the way I do now, standing close by his side. Of course, he has to be ultra-fit, he couldn't get through a show moving like he does, expending energy like he does, not without being fit. I have to smile when he puts on the cowboy hat and shades again, knowing the girls from my gang out there in the crowd will be muttering and cursing quietly. Wouldn't they give their right arms to be where I am now? Saving the best for last, I take a little stroll behind Jon as he speaks into the microphone, the crowd hushing to hear him. I pause to admire his back view and wish briefly that I could have had a camera to take a close-up from here. I pass by Hugh, as tall as I thought he'd be, step up to David standing there between his keyboards and admire his wicked grin and beautiful curly hair. I pass by Tico, his strong muscular arms poised for Jon's signal for the next number. Richie. I stand right beside him for endless moments, admiring his hair, his eyes, breathing in his aftershave, listening to his low-voiced comments to Jon and watching him fiddle with his guitar. Richie. I never dreamed I would ever be this close to him, and for a minute the stage and the crowd and the noise, and even the other band members all fade away. I blow softly against his cheek and a wisp of his hair lifts in my breath. I watch as he looks up and looks round. Still as a statue I remain, and even though I can glimpse Heather just off stage smiling at him, I do something I've longed to do for years. I lift my hand and touch a strand of his hair, press my lips for a second against his cheek. He doesn't object, he just brushes his cheek with his hand as if a fly had landed on him, and when he turns to give Jon that smile – an utterly Richie smile – I could almost throw my arms round him and kiss him again, but I know I can't. I shouldn't even be here anyway. The first notes ring out and the crowd roars approval. I tiptoe to the edge of the stage and realise Jon's right. You can see so many faces, you can recognise people even from up here. I see so many people I know, some I know only via the Internet and chat room pictures, some are dear to my heart, my good friends. And those are the faces that draw me, the ones who look at each other, the ones who put arms around each other and begin to sing along with Jon. "As I sit in this smoky room, the night about to end…." I wish there was some way I could get down to them right now, get down into the crowd and push my way through the crush of bodies by the barrier. I wish I could shove my way into the little group, arms entwined, faces lifted to Jon as he puts the emotion into the song as he always does. I can't get to them though, I can't reach to tell them how it feels to be up here at last. I can't exactly grab Jon's microphone and yell "Hey, you guys, look at me!" But I can watch as they sing with all their hearts "Never say goodbye….never say goodbye…." One more brief moment and it will all be over, my time here will be over. I go back to Jon and look at him again. "Thank you, Jon, for all you give to so many….." Hastily I whisper thanks to all of them, Dave with his crazy sense of humour, Hugh, the quiet backbone of the band. Tico the artist, the deep-thinker. And Richie. The goofball, the clown, the crazy man. The one with the undiscovered soul and possibly the most sensitive of them all. I thank him too, with everything I can summon. "Richie…" He glances up, looks round, then looks across at Jon as if wondering who called his name. I reach my hand out to touch him, but I must draw back. I can't touch him, you see. "Thank you, Richie….I wish I'd been able to see you smile back at me just once…." My time's gone all too fast. I must go. As I pass through the crowd un-noticed, I hear familiar voices. "Oh God, wouldn't she have loved that? That was the best I've ever heard them do it…" I see the tears on their cheeks that I feel sad about, but there's nothing I can do or say to reassure them now. My time is gone, the brief moments I experienced up on stage given to me by someone or something beyond understanding. Looking back once, I hear the sweet voices blend again into another song, and I feel myself fading away into light and warmth. Never say goodbye, my friends, my Jovi-sisters and brothers. I won't ever say goodbye, even though I'm gone, I'll always live on in memory every time you hear that song. |