Chapter 3: I Have Reason

Outside, there was a swarm of people attempting the impossible task of meeting Kit Porter as she got into a van with the rest of her band. She was being pretty gracious and real, I don’t know, classy and *****-although, on second glance, she seemed to be just as dizzy and tispy as I felt, but she was still cool about signing autographs, it seemed, so my first instinct was to reach in my pocket for something for her to sign.

After a little digging, I unearthed a folded, crinkled envelope that I think had held my bank statement earlier that day. I shrugged and situated myself pretty nicely in the throng, right in front of this really tall guy who was saying something to his really tall friend like, “I mean, how often does ***** like this happen, where you just get to see Kit Porter up close and personal?”

“I know,” replied equally-tall-friend. “No one will believe us-” his friend snorted-”They won’t! They’ll say we have diva complexes, I’m telling you.”

“We do.”

I turned my head a little to regard the first of the tall guys. “Hey,” I drawled, “that third to last song Kit Porter did, the one-”

“With the ***** beat,” the second guy said matter-of-factly, and his friend snickered.

“That one,” I agreed. “What’s the name of it? I always forget.”

“Oh, my God,” said the first. “What are you, drunk?” I blinked at him. Of course I was drunk. “‘It’s the Real Thing’? It’s only like, the best Kit Porter song ever.”

“Well, the best off that album, at least,” his friend said. They exchanged a glance that told me that an argument was about to brew.

Right. “Right,” I said. “I always forget. Thanks.”

“Sure…” he responded and then muttered to his friend, “With the ***** beat? Is there something wrong with you?”

“What?”

Never assume that I’m not brilliant. When I finally got close enough to say something to Kit Porter, I said, “I am so happy that you did ‘It’s the Real Thing’ tonight.” I thrust out the envelope and Kit looked at me, smiling, as she signed. “I mean, it’s weird, you’d think it would bring back bad memories since it was my dad’s favorite song, but really, I just-every time I hear it, I just remember how much I miss him. You know?” Kit looked very interested now, her brow furrowed. I bowed my head a little to hide my lack of tears and said in the most choked-up voice I could muster: “With music like yours, it’s like our loved ones never truly leave us. I don’t need to miss my dad ’cause…” I put my hand over my heart-”he’s right here.”