Fan

You're already mentally on the bus, in that sweet post-concert emptiness. Your throat is scratchy, your arm aches from the endless swings, but your soul is singing. One last "thank you," one last wave—and it's time to go.

And then, from the continuous roar, from this living, breathing organism called "the hall," comes not just a scream, but a duet, a desperate one. You instinctively turn around, squinting in the blinding spotlight. Somewhere there, right by the barrier, are two figures. They're waving at you.

"What is it?" you shout back, instinctively raising your hand to your ear, even though you know you won't hear.

And then one of these silhouettes literally breaks over the barrier, his face contorted with something incredibly important. And the fan shouts it out. Through the roar in your ears and the murmur of the dying crowd, only the key, deafening words reach you:

"...AN A BECAUSE OF YOU!!"

Your brain, programmed to process thousands of standard concert phrases, malfunctions. You recoil as if struck. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the bassist frozen, staring at you with his mouth open. In the sudden, ringing silence, your own voice sounds alien, muffled, as if coming from a well. You hear it before you realize you asked:

• What?.. The child is mine?

And at that moment you see how that same fan at the barrier freezes, and his eyes become round-round from complete, absolute bewilderment.