I Might Even Be a Rock Star

                It’s a warm day today, and warm days make me tired. The last thing I want to be doing right now is walking home with a huge backpack weighing me down. I’m just so tired. I’m tired all the time, lately. It’s not like my classes are any more stressful from the past two semesters. Maybe it’s the new commute. I used to drive for an hour to get to school, but ever since the move, I walk all the way there and back. It sounds like a fair trade, but I walk through downtown to get there, so it almost isn’t.

                I can see my family’s apartment from here. It isn’t hard, to spot I guess, considering that we have a huge penthouse. I guess the apartment’s nice. There aren’t any dogs and its pretty quiet living up in the sky. The adjustment was difficult, though. One minute, Mom’s running around the house with wild eyes, waving some scratch card over her head, and the next, we’re moving into a penthouse downtown with lots of fancy art. I don’t know how much we won, but based on the way Mom smiles when I ask her, I know it’s a lot.

                I hitch my backpack up on my shoulders and duck under some yellow tape that’s in my way. There are barricades in the middle of the street that say “road closed,” but it’s probably just road construction or something. Nothing I can’t handle walking through. I’m sure I could flatten a steamroller right now through sheer will power. I get angry when I’m tired. I don’t think there’s a word for that, yet. There’s “hangry,” but as much as I love food, lack of it doesn’t usually upset me. It’s being tired that gets me all riled up. There should totally be a word for being angry because you’re tired. Get on that, internet.

                There’s something going on in the plaza. It looks weird. There are giant boxes, and… a tree? It looks almost like a playground, with all the bright colors. Well, the color I can see underneath the huge piles of white. They can’t be installing something new. The plaza is in the middle of downtown. It’s where the city lets local bands play. It’s where the city holds all their big festivals. Heck, it’s even where they hold the farmer’s market on early Saturday mornings. They can’t take all of that away and put a playground there. It’s part of the city’s cultural history! They can’t replace it with… with…

                Christmas?

                Oh my heck. I’m such an idiot. Mom warned me about this as I was scarfing down my bagel before class. We all got the notice that one of the large department stores was shooting a Christmas commercial out here this afternoon. There’s no road construction, just sleighs and banners and presents. And that means that there isn’t anything keeping me from walking in the middle of the road.

                I try to walk in the middle of the road as often as I can. It’s a liberating experience for me. I’m exactly where I’m not supposed to be, and nobody can stop me. Plus, I’ll have cross the street at some point anyways, so why not just start walking that direction now? It’s like killing two walking related issues with one road closure sign.

                For now, I’m walking in the middle of the road, one foot in front of the other, trekking on the way home. I can hear someone walking behind me. Apparently someone else had the same idea as I did. I guess they could also be coming to kick me out of the middle of the road. The director or someone could be pulling a diva fit because there’s an extra out of place. The person is walking faster. I’m not going to try and run away. I’m going to be off the street soon enough, so they can calm down for thrww minutes and let me get home.

                “Long day?”

                I don’t turn towards the woman’s voice. Instead, I kick a pebble. “You have no idea.”

                “Yeah, man, I know how that goes.” She chuckles. “So what’s up?”

                I shrug. “I’m in college, and I walk there every day. Either one of those alone is bad, but put them together, and—“

                “Damn. That is long.”

                I glance up at the lady. She looks genuinely surprised. I’m sure I do, too. My family doesn’t swear, and neither do any of my friends. At least, not very often.

                “Yeah,” I say slowly. There’s something weird about this lady. And it isn’t just the fact that she’s decked out in a bunch of furry winter gear. It’s that she looks familiar. She’s just old enough that I know I don’t recognize her from high school, but she’s young enough that she doesn’t look like a teacher. “Sorry,” I finally say after this long internal debate with myself, “I really don’t mean to stare, but you look incredibly familiar.”

                She grins. “Well, it’s nice to hear that for once. I usually get screams of ‘oh my God‘ and ‘sign my boobs!’ I take it you don’t listen to Top 40 radio?”

                “Well, I do, actually, but—“ Her lips are bright pink. She has bright pink lipstick on. Top 40 radio and bright pink lipstick can only mean one thing.

                The one and only rock goddess Magenta is standing in front of me.

                “You—“ I stammer, “you’re Magenta.”

                “Hell yeah I am!” She’s laughing. “Oh man, you should see your face right now. It’s golden.”

                I’m walking down the street with a rock star right now. This is real life. Sure, I don’t know many of her songs or obsess over her, but… she’s a rock star. She’s met the president of the United States of America.

                “I’m like… wow. I’m so sorry. You must be—and you’re in,” I point halfheartedly towards the plaza, but I can’t stop staring at Magenta. My best friend from middle school would be flipping out right now.

                “Hey, don’t worry about it. It isn’t often that I get to talk to someone like a person, even if it is for only thirty seconds. I’m just sorry I don’t have a signed headshot or something for you. Do you have a phone? We can totally take a selfie or something. I’m supposed to be heading to the set, but I can stop for a few. What are they gonna do, fire me?”

                My head is still reeling. “Actually,” I hear myself say, “I live up there, in the penthouse of that old casino. You’re always welcome to stop by. Do you want to have dinner with us? Mom’s making spaghetti.” I sound like I’m in kindergarten and asking for my friend to stop by. This is absolutely the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. Now I will live my whole life knowing that I was an idiot in front of the rock goddess Magenta.           

She laughs. “You know, I just might. I’m heading to set now. See ya later, dude!” She waves as she jogs to set. I stand there and watch her leave for a moment, then immediately run home.

                Just wait until Mom hears about this.