Repacked and heading back out.
For a week, it's been late nights laughing with a friend who is almost a sister, books and music and coffee, and watching Kansas turn spring green from the back of a Harley. I didn't know this woman when I arrived, almost didn't recognize her at the bus station, and now I can't bear to leave.
A dozen days ago, I was sitting on the sidewalk outside a comic book shop, in line for a comic book signing. I wasn't sure I wanted to be there, but there the Fates had put me. I did my best to stay grounded, mostly by not thinking about the man inside.
Once inside, I found I couldn't really look at him. A glance, and that was all. Instead, I examined the figurines in the display case at my side. Until, that is, one of the crew members called to me, holding out his hand and indicating it was my turn at the table.
I wish I could report more about what followed, but the brief meeting (if one could truly even call it a "meeting") is half-remembered, as if my mind shied away from staring, too. But he was kind, even in that short moment his gentleness was apparent. All I remember clearly from the exchange was his voice. If I stop a moment, I can hear it now.
He signed my comic book (which I was getting autographed for a friend), and then thanked me for coming, and I thanked him in return, and bowed (I've done too much SCA curtseying and watched too much anime, I think.), and left.
That was my meeting with Gerard Way. And that (points below) is the photographic evidence of said meeting. Spiff, n'est pas?
That very same night, I was standing in front of him again, but this time I was one of the crowd he and his compatriots held in their hands, and I danced to their tune all night. I sang and jumped and pumped my fist in the air. I laughed at his jokes, and craned over the heads of the crowd to see Frank and Mikey on the other side of the stage. It was a perfect night. It was a magic circle.
And I got to repeat it, the very next night.
However, that show was different. I was closer, almost on the barrier, and much more distracted by Ray. That night, I didn't sing as much, nor did I jump (well, being wedged in the corner of the front barriers might have something to do with that part of it), but I still filled myself with their performance, and My Chem did what they always do -- they fed my spirit.
I have more to report -- details to share (including meeting Frank and Mikey after the second Portland show) and praise to heap on the support bands -- but my time on the computer is once again short.
My week here at Kansas has come to an end, and it's time for me to go back out on the road. My Chem is going to Cleveland next, and so I am too.
A dozen days ago, I was sitting on the sidewalk outside a comic book shop, in line for a comic book signing. I wasn't sure I wanted to be there, but there the Fates had put me. I did my best to stay grounded, mostly by not thinking about the man inside.
Once inside, I found I couldn't really look at him. A glance, and that was all. Instead, I examined the figurines in the display case at my side. Until, that is, one of the crew members called to me, holding out his hand and indicating it was my turn at the table.
I wish I could report more about what followed, but the brief meeting (if one could truly even call it a "meeting") is half-remembered, as if my mind shied away from staring, too. But he was kind, even in that short moment his gentleness was apparent. All I remember clearly from the exchange was his voice. If I stop a moment, I can hear it now.
He signed my comic book (which I was getting autographed for a friend), and then thanked me for coming, and I thanked him in return, and bowed (I've done too much SCA curtseying and watched too much anime, I think.), and left.
That was my meeting with Gerard Way. And that (points below) is the photographic evidence of said meeting. Spiff, n'est pas?
That very same night, I was standing in front of him again, but this time I was one of the crowd he and his compatriots held in their hands, and I danced to their tune all night. I sang and jumped and pumped my fist in the air. I laughed at his jokes, and craned over the heads of the crowd to see Frank and Mikey on the other side of the stage. It was a perfect night. It was a magic circle.
And I got to repeat it, the very next night.
However, that show was different. I was closer, almost on the barrier, and much more distracted by Ray. That night, I didn't sing as much, nor did I jump (well, being wedged in the corner of the front barriers might have something to do with that part of it), but I still filled myself with their performance, and My Chem did what they always do -- they fed my spirit.
I have more to report -- details to share (including meeting Frank and Mikey after the second Portland show) and praise to heap on the support bands -- but my time on the computer is once again short.
My week here at Kansas has come to an end, and it's time for me to go back out on the road. My Chem is going to Cleveland next, and so I am too.