True Story from the Middle Spectrum #1

True Story from the Middle Spectrum #1:
Perchance to Dream

It’s 12:34 AM, June 24th and I’m in my room typing out this tale. I just got back from what possibly was the best night of my life. Hours ago it was June 23rd, and marvelous things occurred on this date.

I found out three weeks ago I was going to see Michael Buble on this day. He is a modern day Frank Sinatra, and right now is most famous for his song “Haven’t Met You Yet” that became a radio hit this year. I was doubtful that I would be able to go to his concert, because no one in my family was interested in going. But a good friend of ours, Aunt Carie, stepped up and offered to take me. Without hesitating, my step dad (David) bought the tickets and VOLA! I was going to see Michael Buble.

I had listened to all his songs over and over again, preparing myself for this event. I had picked out a black dress (that Mom made me change out of anyway) and a cross necklace with matching earrings to go with it. I even figured out what I wanted my hair to look like (Veronica Lake under curled ends).

Finally the big day arrived. I spent the day listening to Buble, and around three thirty got my bath. I did my makeup, put on my new glasses, and red ballet flats. At the last minute I changed out of the outfit and quickly into a black, red, and white patterned dress (thank you Mom for telling me to change!). After that, I grabbed my shiny dark purse and we hopped into the car.

Of course, Murphy’s Law occurred: what can go wrong will go wrong. David came home to find the tickets on the kitchen table (they had spilled out of my purse) and he had to meet us at Dillons to so we could fetch them. We ended up being only fifteen minutes late to Carie’s house, and the evening went off without a hitch.

Carie and I went to a place in Old Town called “The Pump House”. I ordered a Philly Cheese steak sandwich, and fries. Carie got a Rueben with potato chips. We ate an appetizer before that (spinach and artichoke Rangoon, YUM) and we made conversation. To our surprise, we could hear Michael Buble coming out of every store and public place in Old Town. We passed people who were going to the concert, and even at our restaurant, Buble music was playing. We would sometimes spot mid conversation and sing along. After we had swapped half of our sandwiches with each other, I told her my dream.

“Carie, its on my bucket list to meet Michael.” I said, “Do you think we could stay after and wait on him?”

“Sure!” She chimed, “I don’t see why not.”

So we continued out chat. We talked of love, music, God, happiness… all things that women often talk of. After we waited for the trolley, and as it came, we saw it was packed with other Buble fans! We struck up conversation in the back with other concertgoers, and finally made it to the Intrust Arena minutes later.

We didn’t wait too long in line, and we found a bathroom before the concert began. I noticed a few people from my school there, and I ran into a good friend of mine, Angie Locke! We said hi, and I commented on her outfit. She was wearing a crap vest, tie, and fedora. Of course her wonderful son and one of my best friends, Jacob, dressed her. One had never made male clothes look so chic on a woman. And Angie could pull it off too.

Anywho, after saying bye to Angie, Carie and I found out seats in the middle section high above the stadium. We had a marvelous time listening to the first group, Naturally 7. MAN! Those guys could wail! It was an accepella group, and get this, their voices were the instruments! I had no idea they didn’t have a band until they showed us using their voices. Each would take turn impersonating an instrument, from guitar, to the sound of a record being scratched. I would’ve gone to a concert with just them. And, their harmonies, FLAWLESS!

After that, there was a short ten minutes break. A man, working for the arena, walked toward us and sat down next to us.

“Are you guys okay up here?” He asked.

“Oh, yeah, we’re fine.” Carie and I said.

“Are you sure it’s not too hot?”

“Nope.” We answered, “We’re good.”

Thus, he left. But later, we realized, he was moving people down closer to the floor area and giving them better seats. Looking at Carie, we figured out we needed to tell that guy we were ROASTING up in that section. (Okay, we didn’t tell him that, but we got the better seats).

So after going down two flights of stairs, we made out way to our new seats… at the side and only TWENTY FEET away form the stage. We moved down, to the third row after we realized no one was there, and by then the concert had started. When I saw Michael on stage, I screamed and tears gathered in my eyes. After his first number, everyone was cheering for him.

While he was talking, I cheekily called out, “Michael, I love you!”

He turned toward my direction and said, “Yes, I like you a lot too!”

I squee’d in delight, and clapped my hands. At that moment I realized I looked like a retarded seal, so I stopped. Honestly, there was no other way to describe my reaction to his short attention towards me. I guess pure unadulterated joy does that to you.

He talked more, and said, “You know, I’m not here to throw a concert. If you want a concert, go to the opera. I’m here to throw a party. So if you want to sing, sing. If you want to dance, dance. Just give it your all. And if someone behind you says stop it, tell them to shut up and…” at this moment, he flipped the bird. I laughed so hard, I was near tears.

During the second song, I noticed people were dancing on the floor. I looked at my side peeps, and realized, they weren’t dancing. The party was down there, but not up here. So I got up and danced!

People slowly started to move in their seats, and a group of women applauded me as I danced. I pointed to a brown haired lady and said, “Come dance with me!” I motioned for her to get up, so, she said, “All right!” And did. After that, the party was ON in my side of the audience. People were finally up and dancing.

The woman asked how old I was, and I said seventeen. She confessed she was fifty-three, but she looked younger to me. That’s what music does, it makes one dance and feel young. God says to celebrate life, death, birth, anniversaries, by dancing. So everyone danced. Everyone sang. We were one beat, grooving to the song.

Some of Michael’s songs made me cry, some made me joyful. But they got a reaction out of me. He was a performer, and a wonderful one of that. He sang songs from Sinatra to Michael Jackson. He was a showstopper.

Halfway during the show, my necklace fell apart. As I was scrambling to pick it up, I first reached for the metal cross. I held it tightly in my hands, and peace overcame me. Looking at the necklace, I realized what got me there, and I said a quick prayer of gratitude. When I showed Carie the necklace she exclaimed, “Oh dear, I’m sorry!”

I only smiled and said, “You know what, worse thing could happen tonight.” And nothing else did happen.

Finally, after an encore, the concert was over. It was time to see if I could meet Michael, to dream my dream. So, I started the second part of my quest. I began to investigate!

I first got in line to meet Naturally 7, a group that had earned my respect in the past three hours as musicians. Nearby I asked a security guard a question.

“Sir!” I called out, “Sir, I don’t know if you work with the arena or Michael’s crew, but I want to know, will he come out?”

The guard told me he worked with the arena and said, “No, sorry, Michael won’t be out.”

I thought immediately, what does he know? He doesn’t work for Michael. So I refused to give up my search, and the quest continued.

I met Greg, one of Carie’s friends who worked at the arena, and repeated my inquiry. This was his reply:

“I actually met him! He was on a segway, riding by me with someone else… I don’t think he’ll be out, but look at it this way. Michael Bolton was as big as Michael twenty years ago. He’s now at the Cotillion. Both of them are here the same week. So, just you watch, in fifteen to twenty years you’ll be able to buy a ticket to see Michael perform at the Cotillion, front row seats. You watch, I guarantee it.”

God bless that man, I knew he meant well. But his answer was not comforting; in fact, it made me a little mad. Again I thought, I don’t want to wait another twenty years! So, I continued my quest.

To my delight, Ms. Zubke was there, a substitute teacher I knew very well. She worked at the arena part time, and once more, I asked my question.

“Oh! I saw him earlier!” She cried, “But you won’t see him. He has a thing with seeing people during a performance.”

We said out goodbyes after that, and I remained in line for Naturally 7. Something inside me burned to meet Michael, and I wasn’t going to give up yet. I looked down the line, and I could see the group signing autographs. At the end of the line, the leader, Roger was talking to a group of girls and getting photos. He had a bright smile, and I could sense a good heart.

“I’m going to ask Naturally 7 if they could help me Carie.” I stated.

“Hey do it!” She urged, “I don’t see why not.”

“I have to try. I can’t give up now. Maybe they can help me meet him. I can’t stop trying. I feel like this is my only chance, since I don’t know if he’ll come back, and I’m unsure that I’ll be able to see him again if he does.”

I know what all of you are thinking, “YOU’RE CRAZY AND RUDE!” But look at it from my point of view. This isn’t just a thing I want to do on a whim. I look up to him as a musician, and I’ve wanted to see him for two years. I realize that I am selfish and stubborn. But I believe stubbornness and selfishness mix together and create: determination. Everyone has to be both things to achieve their dreams, to become successful. You have to want to fight for YOUR cause to change the world. You have to want to sing for YOU first, before you can sing for others. This is a hidden truth not many people realize.

So I came up to this amazing group, and had them sign all three of my ticket thingies. Everyone in the group was very sweet, and I shook all their hands. Their smiles brightened my soul, and eased the nervousness in my stomach. But approaching Roger, to ask for his help, made it come back again. I said hi to him first thing, and told him I loved his group. Finally, when he signed my tickets, I said:

“I must talk to you sir. I need your help. I have a dream,” I looked to see the small line of people behind me, and continued faster, “Look, I know there are people waiting, so I will speak quickly. I am autistic, and I have a bucket list. One of the things on my list is to meet Michael.” By now, tears were in my eyes and I choked on a sob, “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to cry. It’s just; he’s a hero to me. I love his music, and I feel like this is my only shot to make this dream happen. Will you help me?”

He looked at me, his eyes shining. “Well, I think he is gone now.” He said, softly and sincerely, “But give me your contact information, and I will help you meet him. Even if you can’t talk to him face to face, I will get him to call you or something.”

“Thank you.” I said, now shaking, “Oh, thank you so much!”

I turned to Carie, “Do you have a pen?”

“No,” She said, “I don’t think so…”

What we ended up doing was tearing off a piece of an envelope I had, and he wrote his email address in sharpie on it.

“Message me with your information, all right?” He said, “And I will help you.”

“Oh my God, thank you.” I whispered, hugging him, “Thank you so much!”

I posed for a photo with Roger, a testament to faith, belief, and good hearts. I left, softly crying, and thanking God every step of the way.

I am closer now to my dream than ever before. I will message Roger this morning, and I know something is going to happen. He was truthful and honest in his wanting to help me, and I was assured by Carie’s words and our talk of this experience. Tonight, tonight was wonderful. It is things like tonight that prove to me God is real.

I want to thank my family that bought me the tickets, Aunt Carie who took me to see him, and to my Mom that listened to me at midnight when I first told this story. So, I tell you all now, if you perchance to dream go for it. All you have to do is try and ask. I was told no three (actually four) times tonight that he would not come out and I had no chance. But if you are of good heart, and honest in your dreams, you can make things happen if you try all your options.

Shakespeare said once, “This is the stuff that dreams are made out of.”

What I say is, “No. WE are the stuff that dreams are made out of.”