I Can Still Be Your Superman

Truthfully, I wasn’t really nominated for a Grammy. Uncle John was though; the new Switchfoot album that he produced before I moved out here. The only reason why I was nominated was because I wrote two songs for Katy Perry’s CD. I mean, I’m only eighteen years old. Being nominated for a Grammy is something musicians aspire to their entire lives and some don’t reach it. I couldn’t believe it.

The months leading up to the Grammys were crazy. Uncle John and I were working on three different albums, while writing another one, while trying to find something to wear. Even though we weren’t walking the carpet (thank God), we still had to look good. For Uncle John, it was easy; all he had to do was buy a suit. I had to search through hundreds of dresses to find the perfect one. I really didn’t want to spend a lot of money, spending thousands of dollars on a dress was insane. But Uncle John insisted. I ended up buying a simple silver strapless floor length dress. It had a little beading around the bust and waist and the torso was slightly layered. It was tight fitting until it hit my knees were it cascaded slightly and fell into a small train. My slightly tanned skin popped against the color. Black satin fingerless gloves ran up my arm to my elbows while black strap high heels adorned my feet. It made me feel beautiful.

The days arrived faster than I expected and, surprisingly, I was nervous. Uncle John won his Grammy the night before at the ceremony for the ‘non-popular’ Grammys. Was I going to win? Would I have to go up there? I better not have to.

“Morgan, breathe. You’re going to pass out if you don’t.” I heard Uncle John say, breaking me out of my bubble.

I took a deep breath, noticing that he was right; I wasn’t breathing.

“You’ll be fine. Just relax.” He assured me.

“It’s just nerve racking.” I told him.

He laughed slightly, “Trust me, I know. The first time I was nominated I puked.” I grimaced. “But I made it through the night and you will too.” He continued.

“I really hope I do.”

Once we arrived at the theatre, we were escorted through the back entrance and to our seats. We were placed relatively close to the stage and as I looked around, my excitement grew. Reality hit me: I was at the Grammy’s. This was really happening. I had a chance that I would be going home with a gold gramophone with the words “Album of the Year” on its black base. This couldn’t be happening.

As time passed, people began filling the empty seats around Uncle John and me. Katy arrived with Russell and I wished her my luck. John Mayer sat in front of me and Jennifer Lopez sat behind me. The few seats to the left of my stayed empty until ten minutes before the show started.

I wasn’t paying attention when they arrived; I was talking to John Mayer about guitar riffs.

“Morgan?” I voice cut through the air, hitting my ears. A mixture of disbelief and longing filled that one word.

I turned, mid-sentence, and looked into the eyes that I haven’t seen in months. Those eyes that I’ve missed since that day after Florida. This really couldn’t be happening.