Angie is freaking her brains out.
'OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD.'
She was going on like that for 5 minutes straight.
'ANGIE, SHUT UP! YOU'RE KILLING ME!' Alison was the first one to say it.
'NO, YOU'RE KILLING ME, SINCE YOU ARE ALL ALREADY DEAD!' I explode.
Bad timing, because it was right when this Sound Tech-looking woman entered the toilet. She tried pretending to not have heard me going, uh, berserk.
'SHUT UP YOU, YOU.... CHEESEBALL!' Angie says like a 12-year-old.
Matt laughs. He laughs so loud I can't even hear my own thoughts (literally). Then Alison giggles. It starts as a very low, dry giggle, and it ascends to a I-can't-even-breath type of laugh. I can't keep myself together and do what I do every time I find something funny: bend my chest to knees, tapping the nearest surface around me violently and clumsily and make pig noises.
'Rron, rron' Angie now mimics me.
This is when none of us can handle it anymore. Even if it doesn't sound funny to you, it was hilarious. Among all of the craziness and nonsense, I realised there was something to laugh at and up until that moment, I didn't know much I - or we - needed this.
I pull myself together after a few minutes and exhale, inhale, exhale, inhale.
'It's BackStreet Boys time.'
--
'Ok, look. Here's what you're gonna do: go up to them and like, say hi and stuff. Be cool, okay? Then, say 21st March 2005.' Angie says.
'Should I ask why?' I ask.
'No need. You will see for yourself.'
Okie dokie. I walk out of the bathroom and act like I own the place. You see, I never listened to Backstreet Boys. I don't even know their names. I see the VIP room, where I assume they are at. The door is open and I see a tall person, blonde with a stylish haircut. Angie points out frenetically said haircut belongs to 'Nick' ('the cutest of all!!', I quote). Realising these 5 men were in a circle (ready to sacrifice a virgin to Satan to keep their eternal beauty, probably), I walk slowly towards them, still pretending to be the French Costume woman.
'Hi.' I say.
'HI? YOU'RE A DORK! OMG JESUSCHRISTHELPM-' Angie went on in my head.
'Uhn, what's up?' Nick confusely asks me.
'21st March 2005.'
'Oh my God.' They said, almost in unison. Shocked and speechless, the Backstreet boys opened their circle and stared at me.
'OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD.'
She was going on like that for 5 minutes straight.
'ANGIE, SHUT UP! YOU'RE KILLING ME!' Alison was the first one to say it.
'NO, YOU'RE KILLING ME, SINCE YOU ARE ALL ALREADY DEAD!' I explode.
Bad timing, because it was right when this Sound Tech-looking woman entered the toilet. She tried pretending to not have heard me going, uh, berserk.
'SHUT UP YOU, YOU.... CHEESEBALL!' Angie says like a 12-year-old.
Matt laughs. He laughs so loud I can't even hear my own thoughts (literally). Then Alison giggles. It starts as a very low, dry giggle, and it ascends to a I-can't-even-breath type of laugh. I can't keep myself together and do what I do every time I find something funny: bend my chest to knees, tapping the nearest surface around me violently and clumsily and make pig noises.
'Rron, rron' Angie now mimics me.
This is when none of us can handle it anymore. Even if it doesn't sound funny to you, it was hilarious. Among all of the craziness and nonsense, I realised there was something to laugh at and up until that moment, I didn't know much I - or we - needed this.
I pull myself together after a few minutes and exhale, inhale, exhale, inhale.
'It's BackStreet Boys time.'
--
'Ok, look. Here's what you're gonna do: go up to them and like, say hi and stuff. Be cool, okay? Then, say 21st March 2005.' Angie says.
'Should I ask why?' I ask.
'No need. You will see for yourself.'
Okie dokie. I walk out of the bathroom and act like I own the place. You see, I never listened to Backstreet Boys. I don't even know their names. I see the VIP room, where I assume they are at. The door is open and I see a tall person, blonde with a stylish haircut. Angie points out frenetically said haircut belongs to 'Nick' ('the cutest of all!!', I quote). Realising these 5 men were in a circle (ready to sacrifice a virgin to Satan to keep their eternal beauty, probably), I walk slowly towards them, still pretending to be the French Costume woman.
'Hi.' I say.
'HI? YOU'RE A DORK! OMG JESUSCHRISTHELPM-' Angie went on in my head.
'Uhn, what's up?' Nick confusely asks me.
'21st March 2005.'
'Oh my God.' They said, almost in unison. Shocked and speechless, the Backstreet boys opened their circle and stared at me.
I felt myself blushing and immediately stupid, like a little girl that was too astonished for being on the presence of her lifetime idols. I guess I reflected Angie's feelings.
'Who are you? What do you want?' the tannest of them, his beard shaved in what I've heard people call a 'Rap Industry Standard'.
Now, everything you will read from now on was carefully dictated by Angie. She ordered me what, how, in which tone of voice and when to pause methodically. It was surprising how efficient she was, considering the fact she was finally meeting the reason she was stuck in Limbo/my head/whatever.
'I'm Angela Senfield's younger sister.'
They kind of gasped and swallowed, echoing a 'gulp' sound in the silent VIP room.
'Oh my God, I'm so sorry. I speak for all of us when I offer my condolences for your loss and how I wish I could've done sooner. The lawyers were following our every step and didn't allow any of us to make any contact...'
'Look, I'm not here because of that. Your guilt money helped my family a lot, despite the fact I told them it was wrong to take it. I'm here to thank you, in name of my sister. She found her passion - you guys - and let it kill her, even if not completely conscious. All she ever wanted was to meet you, and as she can't, I will do it for her.' I took a deep breath, my heart racing, my sweat breaking through my black shirt. Adrenaline lit up my entire body.
They exchanged looks and nodded agreeing. I gave them my best smile and said,
'Hi. I'm Ally Senfield. Nice to meet you.'
