xvoice-mailx

She calls it hope.

They call it obsession. The posters on her wall. His picture on her binders. A framed photograph above her bed and a box stuffed with tell-all biographies.

Her drawer overflows with concert paraphernalia: bent ticket stubs from thirteen concerts; wristbands from the ushers at the door; broken Glo Sticks in rose, violet, and gold. She saved every one.

Her stereo plays the same CD. Pause, rewind, play. Pause, rewind, play. She's listened to it six times all the way through since breakfast.

She's not as bad as some fans. She's never thrown herself on top of his tour bus, and she's never done him bodily harm. A few months ago, a fan tackled him, clipped his hair, and sprinted away. He limped for a week.

She owns the t-shirts from his world tours, the watches inlaid with his face, the socks from his short-lived clothing line. Whenever he updates his Twitter, her phone pings. She reads the Tweets, rereads them, reads them again, imagining him at a computer five hundred miles away.

He has a special phone line just for fans. She dials the number by memory and waits for the familiar voice-mail message: Hey! It's your favorite rock star! Leave me a message after the beep.

"Hi," she says. "It's me. It's me again. I just wanted to say that I got up this morning and my life was a wreck, but when I listened to your music, I forgot about that and everything got better. I'm a huge fan and I can't wait to see you when you come back to Chicago. You're all I have to look forward to. Bye."

She sits down to read the lyrics booklet that came with his CD, although she already knows all the words.

The phone rings.

She frowns at the unfamiliar number. "Hello?"

"Hey. I, uh, don't usually do this, but I just heard the voice-mail you left me on the fan phone line."

She drops the phone.

"Are you still there?" he asks.

"No." She fumbles to put it back up to her ear. "Yes."

"I haven't heard any of your other messages--I get a lot--but...my manager's not around, and I have some downtime before my next rehearsal. Do you need to talk about anything?"

They call it an obsession. She calls him a dream come true.


A/N: Just got Twitter. Follow me at genuinelyjamie to be in the know. :)