’ Suddenly, she calmed down greatly. She still sounded tearful, and also sounded exhausted, but was now coherent. ‘You’d do that?’ she asked in amazement. ‘Yes’ I said very assuringly. She broke down and cried while talking in a shaky voice. ‘No one’s ever been this good to me. Why do you do it?’ ‘Because I’m crazy about you, Honey.’ Still very emotional but now with a clearer voice, she replied ‘I’m really crazy about you, too. And I promise that someday I’ll pay you back.’ ‘Honey, I don’t ever want any money from you. I just want you to pay me back by always being my friend giving me access to your amazing soles.’ ‘It’s a deal!’ she said enthusiastically, sounding happy and fully at peace for the first time in this conversation. She then told me her location – at a BP station right off of I-65. She said that her car started overheating and that she quickly exited and parked at the gas station, being afraid to park on the side of the interstate, especially while alone. I told her to. The moments ticked by in a haze, as my eyes bore into his face, willing him to find me again. They did, and the shock of recognition was unmistakable this time. He had only seen one picture of my face - a badly taken, hastily sent photograph sent over the net at his request, in a moment of weakness for my usually controlled emotions. But he recognised me all the same. Ever the professional, he managed to finish the song, to the outrageous applause of the audience. The set over, and an imminent break on the cards, he lifted his guitar over his shoulder and got up to walk off stage again. I waited, holding my breath to see if he would make contact. Still walking, he turned his head toward where I was standing transfixed, and looked straight into my eyes. "Ruby?!" he mouthed an astonished whisper. I smiled cheekily and nodded as he turned back and exited the stage, glancing back more than once, to ensure I was not a figment of his imagination. I was in a quandary. What to do NOW?!.
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