Hello Sunshine

Being behind the scenes of a TV show is exhilarating. There’s all this commotion and people are walking around in a fluster. There’s always something to be done. Dunja and I are standing in the control room, watching the boys intently. Bill has a monopoly on the microphone and when someone else wants to talk, he holds it for them. I’ve been softly giggling the entire time at this. Dunja has a content smile on her face and every once in a while, when one of the boys says something dirty in German to the screaming audience, she shakes her head.

“It was wicked!” Bill exclaims, his excitement has yet to falter during the entire show. The audience screams and laughs, some of them yelling out their favorite band member’s name. Tom, Georg, and Gustav laugh nodding in agreement.

“Well,” the host says, turning to the camera with a smile, “when we get back, Tokio Hotel will be performing ‘Break Away’-” Girls’ screams drowned out whatever else the poor man was going to say. He shakes his head in amusement, standing up and gesturing to the now laughing and smiling boys.

The head honcho of the control room points and then all of the TV screens go to some commercial about pregnancy pills.

“Come on,” Dunja says quickly, walking towards the door. She tugs on my elbow as I stare out the large glass window over looking the stage. I nod and follow her, covering my mouth as I yawn. As we walk, I mentally back track through my day. I had gotten pretty far with my interview earlier. The boys were willing to answer every question I threw at them; most of them enthusiastically.

Dunja leads me down a couple flights of short stairs and down multiple corridors until we finally reach the backstage area of the stage the boys will be playing on. They’re all being outfitted with ear pieces. Tom and Georg are making sure that their string instruments are in tune and Bill’s doing warm ups.

“Hallo!” Dunja calls pleasantly, a grin on her face as she approaches them.

“Hallo!” they all chime back, waving at her.

“Hi.” I add, nodding at them. They say hello to me as well the go back to warming-up and being set up.

“Sixty seconds!” A stage hand calls, adjusting his headphones before ushering Tokio Hotel onto the stage. Dunja and I move out of the way and watch as the boys quickly set themselves up for a song. Bill rolls his head from side to side and sets a huge grin on his lips. I smile, crossing my arms over my chest and staring intently at him.

“We’re back!” The host exclaims into the microphone, causing the mainly female audience to scream. He walks toward the band, “You all know what this means!” More screams fill the studio and I duck my head. Seeing as how I’m not famous and I’m not usually around famous people, the screaming throws me off. Getting into the van with the boys: screams. Getting out of the van: screams. At the TV show: screams. It’s starting to give me a headache.

The screaming dies down and I look back up. The host has backed off and Gustav starts to play the drums before the guitar and bass come in. The song commences and the screaming comes back. I shake my head and look over at Dunja. She’s looking at me quizzically.

“Das konstante Schreien gelangt gerade an mich.” I shrug and tilt my head to the side. She just laughs and nods.

“Ja, gewöhnen an sich Sie es, zwar.”

I sigh and shrug before turning my attention back to Tokio Hotel and the mini-concert they’re putting on. Bill has yet to start singing, but his dance moves are enough to keep the audience screaming, but when he does, it sounds great.

“I've got other plans today/Don't need permission anyway/'Cause here I'm standing after all/With my back against the wall/Against the wall” His accent is quite evident as he sings causing me to smirk. Bill’s making little gestures and moving around the small stage singing his heart out. Tom has yet to have a “guitargasm”, but is currently playing to Georg.

I shift my weight so that I can look out into the audience. 99.9 percent of them are screaming girls. Some of them are holding signs that either proclaim their love to someone in the band or are tell the band members just how horny they are. I laugh once and shake my head. No matter how much I may love a band, I’m not going to make a poster that says “I want to fuck you!”

The set is soon over and the boys quickly exit the stage. They’re all a little sweaty and panting a bit, but huge smiles are on all of their face.

“Sie Kerle klangen groß!” I compliment, grin spreading across my lips. Gustav nods at me, still smiling, as Tom and Georg say thank you.

“Danke! Ich bin Sie genoß ihn froh.” Bill says, turning his gaze to me. His eyes are light up with the adrenaline rush and he’s smiling a crooked smile I’ve never seen in any of the pictures posted in magazines or on the web. My stomach twists and look down at it questioningly. It starts grumbling and I cover my mid section with a hand, a sore attempt at quieting it. I grimace as Dunja and the boys look at me.

“Ich bin traurig.” I mumble, still grimacing. I hate it when my stomach grumbles in public. Ever since I was little I thought it was so embarrassing.

“Ich bin hungrig, auch. Gelassen erhalten Sie etwas Nahrung!” Bill announces, still smiling as he turns to everyone. There are grunts and nods of approval and five minutes later we’re on our way to the closest burger joint. Seeing as how it’s only seven fifteen, we’re planning on eating at the restaurant, something I wouldn’t expect them to do with crazies out and about. I start to think about it and I come to the conclusion that it’s a bad idea. I mean, people can follow the car to the restaurant. But when Tom and Bill are Hell bent on getting something, they obviously get it.

“Außerdem ist das, warum wir Körperschutz haben.” Tom says to my argument, slinging an arm over the top of my seat and looking down at me. I roll my eyes I look at Bill. He just smirks and raises an eyebrow at me. Being sandwiched between two six-foot or so tall twins when you’re merely five-two can be a bit intimidating.

“Was auch immer. Sie passen gerade auf!” I state, shaking my finger at them. Georg and Gustav start laughing in the seats in front of us, but not saying a word. They don’t want to get involved apparently. Tom makes a move to bite my finger, but I pull it away and glare at him. Both him and his brother start laughing their identical laughs as I cross my arms across my chest, an all-knowing expression taking over my features.

“Wir sind hier.” The driver says, steering into a parking lot. The laughing dies down as the boys get ready to leave the car. They all put on sunglasses and Bill pulls a hat on over his lion’s mane, brushing is down with his hands. I look out the window to see a neon sign flashing in the window of a small, old-fashioned restaurant. It looks like one of those ma and pop ones from the fifties.