Noondarkly

He had noticed her on a summer evening. He still remembered it vividly, as he was just preparing to step up the stage after his walk through the crowd when he saw her standing there. Silently, almost invisibly. She was not moving like the rest. She was not reaching her hands to grab him or touch his shirt. She was merely looking at him, into his eyes, with a very sad and gripping smile. He had smiled back at her that night before he went on with his show.

Now, after countless more occasions, she was there again. She had been there more times than he could remember. Sitting in the front row, looking up to him, unmoving. He paced up and down singing “Alla luce del sole”, sending glances at her, as if by mistake. He had to admit he was intrigued by her. She was nothing special, not exactly pretty, or young; in fact, she looked like an average woman. A little plump, wearing glasses, with long, straight hair, held together in a tight ponytail. There was nothing pretty about her except her eyes. The look she gave him each time he caught her glance was intriguing to the point of being scary. Why was she there all the time? She never touched him, but she was always there. She was always there after the shows too, standing in line, but each time he got to her, she stepped back and lowered her eyes. Was she shy? Was she scared? Was she one of those serial killers whose father used to beat and rape them, so that they were taking it all out on men? Should he be afraid of her? He had notified his security personnel to keep an eye on her. He had not managed to speak a word with her, and he was really not sure if she was a threat or not.

The song ended, and they clapped, and cheered. She clapped too, and stood with them. She smiled, and her eyes spoke to him- what was she trying to say? He searched her eyes for as long as it was possible without making it look like he was obsessed, but he could not detect anything tangible in those pools of dark emerald green. Was she in love with him? Was she preparing to harm him? Was she there to tell him something?

He sang on, and the time came when they rushed up to the stage to stand before him, and just absorb his presence. He loved to have them there. He loved to see their eyes and feel their love and their warmth, and smell the scent of their sweat mingle with his own. They were one in those moments, and he would not give those moments away for anything, even though security people had warned him how dangerous it was to let them so close.

Yes, she was there, again. Standing straight, immobile, amidst the entranced faces. She was not exactly at the stage, but a little away. Yet, she was close enough for him to really see her this time. She was slight, and heavily-built, and not exactly young, or old, or ugly, or pretty. She seemed calm, and it almost freaked him out. All the others were sweating, and screaming occasionally, and groping to touch his thigh, his knee, his shoe, his hand that rested on his jeans. She was just standing there, watching him, with a strange, inscrutable smile on her face. The dark green eyes behind her glasses were fixed on him without stop, and he looked into them as many times as he could, trying to catch her off guard, or see anything that she was ready to let him in on. What was she doing there? What was her secret?

After the show, he was exhausted. The sweat, the buzzing in his ears, the tingling in his legs, the muscles hurting. But worse than anything, the overpowersing sense that something was over, something that he would have to do all over again the next day. And the next one. And the next one after that. The smiles, the cheers, the gifts, the smell of humans, the music. It was his life- he loved it- but sometimes it was a cage he could not get out of.

He sat in the bus, trying to make himself stand up and get out and smile for their sake. But he was so tired. He also knew they expected him to meet them, and he did not want to disappoint. The knowledge was a certainty he had been living with ever since he started performing. And it was stronger than anything else he was feeling, so, once again, he overcome his exhaustion, and opened the door of the bus.

They were sweet. Eager to say stuff he might be surprised at. Trying so hard to present him with gifts he may not have received from anyone else. They were so eager to make a difference that he felt touched by it, as always. He smiled, and chatted, and posed, and signed, and hugged. He was tired, but each gesture, each word he received, and returned, gave him back his strength, little by little.

By the time he got to her, it was almost the end of the line. He saw her from the corner of his eye. She did not have anything in her hand. She was only standing there, as was her custom. In a dark green skirt and black jacket. Her hair tied together.

He was in front of her, and was prepared to ask her if she had anything to be signed, to stop her from fleeing.

But then everything happened very fast.

There was a slight noise and commotion on his right, coming from the crowd. Instead of stepping back, she stepped closer to him, and before he could protest, she was already holding him tight, her arms around his neck, her slightly perfumed body pressed against his chest. He was so surprised that his hands were hanging in mid-air, and the next moment-

A muffled sound.

And then, another.

He felt a sharp pain in his right shoulder. Her weight was pulling him down, and he fell, and she fell over him. The pain was getting stronger- there were screams- it hurt- it was horrible- and she was not moving- and then, blackness.

~~~

The path was narrow, and it led away into the distance, to his left, and to his right. On both sides, there were tress, black-trunked, falling-leaved trees. The path was an endless blanket of rustling rust and bronze and gold, and he took a few steps, enjoying the soothing sound of leaves crumpling under his heavy soles. The air was crisp, fresh, calm. There was hardly any wind. Or any other sound except what that of his shoes against the dead leaves.

And then he saw her, standing on the other side of the path, facing him. She stood there as usual, straight, not moving, dressed in her green skirt and black jacket.

-Hi –he said, curiously eyeing her.

-Hi –she replied in a calm tone. Her voice was the most soothing sound he had ever heard.

-Is the concert over? –he asked, looking around.

-Yes –she said, taking a step closer. She looked on her right, where there was a bench. –Shall we sit down?

-Okay –he replied, and they walked to the bench at a leisurely pace.

They sat for a few minutes, breathing in the crisp autumn air, watching the leaves turn and twirl in the air, when the breeze took them up playfully.

-Why are you following me? –he asked, turning to face her.

She looked at him with a sad smile.

-I really like your music.

-You never ask for an autograph or a photo with me. You never want to touch me –he said, feeling he should be vexed, or annyoyed, but the only thing he felt was a calm serenity. Weird, he thought.

She nodded, looking ahead, slightly lifting her eyes to stare at the endless canopy of rustling branches above them. She closed her eyes for a moment, and breathed in deeply.

-Beautiful –she whispered, opening her eyes to look at him. That half-smile again, he thought, and wanted to be irritated, but was unable to. His feelings did not work as they used to.

-Do you want to harm me? –he asked in a matter-of-fact tone. The words came out straight and unhindered, and yet, he felt no fear, or sadness.

-No. I would never harm you –she replied, looking at him. Her eyes were deep, soothing, perfect. He gazed at her, enjyoing the sight of her eyes. He noticed her glasses had disappeared. And she seemed to be exceptionally pretty. Her lips were full, her nose was dainty, her eyebrows were softly arched and dark, like her velvety hair streaming down her shoulders.

-Then why are you following me? –he asked again. He had to know. And why was he not feeling anything?

-I had a task to do –she replied, folding her hands in her lap. –One task only, but if that task hadn’t been there, my life would have been purposeless.

-What task? And why are you talking in past tense?

She looked at him, smiling. Sadly. Her eyes were darker, and moist. She stood up, and touched his hands. He stood up to meet her glance. She was very tiny, and beautiful. Her hands were holding his, and they felt icy. She stood and watched his face, as if drinking it in. She was so close he knew he should have felt her breath, but he didn’t. Her eyes drank him in, and he felt dizzy, but she held him steady. He wanted to hug her, but his arms did not move, and her eyes were holding his will captive.

-Can you hear that? –he asked, turning his head to listen to the low murmuring in his ears.

-Yes –she replied. –You are awaited.

-Where? –he asked, looking back at her. –By who?

-You are needed still –she said, squeezing his hands with her cold fingers.

He looked at her, wanting answers, but he got none. He wanted to ask her about herself, but the noise was getting stronger. And she seemed to be pulled away from him. He felt a tug in his stomach- his shoulder- pain- then he heard noise- screaming- sobbing-

~~~

So many people were standing around him. A doctor, Darren, the band, fans. His shoulder hurt. He was nauseous. Extremely weak. His tongue was stuck to his palate. He was thirsty.

-Don’t move. We need to get you to hospital –the doctor said, trying to keep him on the ground.

-What happened…? –he asked. His voice was weak and tense.

-The first bullet went through both of you –the man said. –It exited through your shoulder, but we stopped the bleeding. A few minutes and you’ll be on your way to the hospital.

-The first…? Both of…?

-She stopped the second one –the man replied quietly.

-She…? –he asked dumbly, his vision blurry. He was very weak, he could hardly utter the words.

-Just take it easy, Josh –the man replied. –Don’t talk. Okay?

He lay on the ground, and memories of her green eyes floated before him. He felt her cold hands on his feverish fingers. He closed her eyes to try and call her back from the path where they stood together, to see her again, and ask her name, who she was.

They lifted him, carefully, and he felt the pain in his shoulder. He gasped, and a heatwave rushed through his body. His temple throbbed, his eyes were watery, his mouth was dry.

When they were lifting the stretched into the ambulance, he turned his head.

Scared faces, sobbing people, people clinging together. He saw them through a mist, and felt sorry for them, but there was nothing he could do.

Before the door of the ambulance was closed, he made an effort and lifted his head to look at them. It was then he noticed her.

Black boots, green skirt. Her long hair was spread on the cold pavement, her glasses shattered by her side. Her eyes were closed, and so were her fists.

She was on a stretcher, just like him. But before they lifted her, they covered her completely with a sheet.