Anna Et Romy

I eventually found my way back to the stage, my hands shaking from my encounter. Why was I so stoked about this? I wonder if this is how stalkers feel...oh shit, i'm a stalker. I lowered my camera to my side so I looked less like one. My sister was near the back of the crowd now, a permanent pout on her narrow face as she stretched to get a good look at the band. They were warming up now and the front of the stage was packed.

"I came two seconds too late, and now some twat took our perfect spots." She complained yanking bobby pins from her hair. I strained my eyes to see the band, but they were too far away. They wrenched into another song, I could feel that much.

"I wanna go home Anna, they're good, but not THAT good." my sister reasoned. I pretended not to hear her as I watched the bassist skillfully pull a low twang. She yanked on my sleeve. "Anna! Come on!" She whined. The lump on my head throbbed and I decided maybe it was for the best to go home. So I let her drag me away.

* * *
Juliet hailed a taxi as I curled the toes of my converses over the curb. Her pale hand flailing around like a surrendering flag. She muttered to herself paying me no attention as she slid into an open taxi. She had a car, but It was still in the shop after she had a fender bender on sixth avenue.

Juliet sighed stretching her arms out luxuriously.

"1582 Prince Street." I told the Indian Cab driver. All the music I had saved in my head from the concert were unceremoniously pushed out by some Punjabi beats. The cab driver's eyes would roam to the rearview mirror occasionally, his wide eyes squinting at my sister.

"Begging your pardon miss." He said turning the volume down on the stereo. My sister rolled her head over looking at him. "I wanted to know if I could ask you something." He asked sheepishly in a thick accent.

"Shoot." My sister said.

"Well...Are you the famous dancer from the Kitty Kat lounge?" My sister laughed, pulling a Parliament cigarette from her bag.

"That is me." She said lighting it, the orange glow of the flame disappearing. The cab driver's face cracked into a wide smile.

"I knew it! I knew it! I'm your biggest fan! My brother in law brought me to one of your shows for my birthday and it was the most spectacular thing I've ever seen!" He exclaimed. My sister pulled her autograph signing pen from her bag and a receipt off of the floor from the previous riders and signed it.

"What's your name?' She asked, letting a piece of ash crumble to the floor.

"Sanjay." He said proudly taking the scrap of paper and tucking it with his other memorabilia on the cluttered dashboard.

* * *

That night, I laid in my bed watching the thick air of night crawl over my windowpane. I rolled all over my sheets, sleep not even close. I ran a hand over my face, unsure of what to do. I climbed out of bed, my pajama bottoms dragging along the floor as I grabbed my camera from the nightstand.

"Develop some pictures." I grumbled eyeing the neon red numbers on my clock. It read 3:15 in the morning. I crept out of my room, making sure my sister was snoring from hers. I was pretty sure I heard Geoff come in the middle of the night, but maybe it was my imagination. I closed myself into the spare room that we converted into my photo studio. I switched on the red lights hearing my old enlarger hum to life. Photos I had hanging on a line were now dry, but it wasn't those photos I was interested in.

I took the film out of the camera, going through the process of developing it and enlarging it and before I knew it, I had almost a dozen shots of the mystery bassist. I swallowed watching his murky face become clear in the fluid. There he was, I thought, Gotcha.

* * *

The next day I hurried off to school, extremely late since I only got about 20 minutes of sleep. I had to walk to school since the bus didn't come close enough to where I lived, and I almost tripped numerous times over my maxi dress. The photos I had developed were clenched in my embrace so I wouldn't drop them.

Checking the time on my phone I realized that I only had about five minutes to make it 6 more blocks. I could feel my throat burning and taste the blood coming up my chest. My glasses slid down my nose from the sweat building. I was nearly there when I slammed into someone, my photos fluttering to the air and spinning like helicopter leaves.

"Oh no!" I yelped, more desperate to capture the loose pictures than to be late for school. The person I slammed into fumbled to grab them as well. He set his guitar down and scraped them off of the filthy concrete. My beautiful shots. I thought sadly. I titled them and even signed my name too, but the ink dragged down the glossy front as the man handed them to me. I sighed looking to him.

I gasped, clutching the photos to my face, It was the singer from Wooden Animals...he scratched a partially bald part of his head picking up his guitar case. I didn't know he played guitar...he still held one photo, examining it with a creased expression. His face exploded with recognition. My face blanched as he pointed to the close up of the bassist.

"Oi, that's me mate." I nodded mechanically, staring at him in amazement. He was British? Maybe Australian?

"You was at the concert, yeah?" I managed a tight smile as he flipped the photo over and read, "Lost in Translation" aloud. I almost cried with embarrassment as he nodded his head and smiled. "He really is lost in translation, that bloke." I wondered what he meant by that, but was too humiliated to ask. I started to walk away, tears burning behind my eyes.

"Anna Franco." He said loudly reading my signature as I hurried away. "Anna Franco is the portal to a mans soul!"

Little did I know, that was not the last I would see of him.