God, what a day! Three tests and yet another term paper due. I had
been up until three o'clock in the morning the night before trying to get
everything done. I fell asleep during calculus and microbiology, and caught
myself about to nod off during English. I wasn't even sure I was going to
make it home without falling asleep at the wheel.
As soon as I walked into my house, I made a mad dash to my bedroom.
Well, as much of a mad dash as I could make while still running on only three
hours of sleep. I was out like a light in less than a minute.
When I woke up two hours later, I started my homework. Luckily, I
didn't have much, and after only a half an hour I was done. I walked into
the kitchen and plopped myself down at the kitchen table. "Damn it, Dad!" I
said, out loud, to myself. "When are you going to stop putting the newspaper
on my chair?" As I picked it up to move it, I glanced at the front page of
the Entertainment section. A headline caught my eye.
"Backstreet Boys to come in concert," I read. All right! I kept
reading: "Teen pop sensations the Backstreet Boys will perform at the Ice
Palace in downtown Tampa on December thirtieth. They'll be singing all of
their hits, such as 'Quit Playing Games,' 'As Long As You Love Me,'
'Everybody,' 'I'll Never Break Your Heart,' 'All I Have to Give,' and more.
Tickets go on sale tomorrow at five o'clock and can be bought through all
Ticketmaster outlets. Expect them to sell out quickly."
I smiled to myself and started to grow excited. Tomorrow was Friday,
so I could head downtown to Ticketmaster and get in line as soon as school
got out. I wasn't going to try to call through the phone, because, frankly,
I had zero chance of getting good seats that way.
Speaking of the Backstreet Boys, I wondered what was going on in that
chat room of Ryan's. I booted up my computer and logged on. There were only
a few people there, and I didn't know any of them. I was about to leave when
I got a private message. In retrospect, I can safely say that the instant I
got that message was the instant my life changed.
Someone I had never heard of before messaged me and said, "Hey...umm
could you help me out with something?"
"Sure, what can I help you with?" I said.
"Well I think I have the email address of one of the Backstreet Boys
and I was wondering if it was real or not."
I raised an eyebrow. "Which Backstreet Boy?"
"A.J."
Okay, now they definitely had my attention.
"I'm gonna go out on a limb here," I thought to myself. I knew that
whoever this person was had no idea who I was and was just looking for help.
Probably some twelve year old who was obsessed with these five guys she would
never meet. When people love something blindly, they grasp at whatever
chance they can get to, somehow, get closer. They do this because it gives
them hope, however momentary or fleeting. This girl wanted, needed,
reassurance that there was some chance she was ever going to come in contact
with a Backstreet Boy. The least I could do was give this hope to her, even
if it was a lie.
"Well, what's the address?" I typed.
"I can't tell you that...It could get spread around and then
everybody would know it."
I blew out a breath of air through pursed lips. "Listen, first of
all, I won't tell anyone," I typed. "And I can find out for you if it's real
or not."
"How?"
Time for the big lie. I slowly typed, "My best friend's uncle works
for an internet company. He can find out for you if it's real." Well, there it was. A lie, but a lie wrapped in hope for this person and for me.
The girl gave me "AJ's" e-mail address, and I left. I never heard
from her again. I never even learned her name. I wish I could have, so that
I could thank her for being my angel from heaven.
That night I wondered what to do with this new information. Should I
send an e-mail? Should I just ignore it and follow my skeptical
instincts-believing that it could never be real?
"For once in your life, Rebecca Jane Hammer, take a chance and live a
little," I said to myself with conviction. I sat at my computer and began to
compose the most important e-mail I would ever write. I talked aloud as I
wrote.
"Hello," I began. "You don't know me, but right now that doesn't
matter to me very much. I refuse to allow myself to believe that you're
really A.J. McLean, because it would mean too much hurt for me if I turned
out to be wrong. But for the purpose of appearing civil, I'll pretend you're
really who you claim to be. So, Alexander James, I have something to tell
you. How many times have you heard it - a thousand? A million? But I'm going
to say it because it's true: I'm a big fan. I'm not writing this letter to
get a response, but rather to prove to myself that I'm crazy to be writing it
in the first place. However, if you're for real, I'd love to hear from you.
Yours, Becky." I clicked SEND, and...poof...it was gone, flying through
cyberspace at a million miles per second to end up in the e-mail box of a
total stranger. Funny how these things work.
Go...
