Morning all. I hope everyone is ready for the start of a new day. I actually woke up wide awake about ten minutes before my alarm went off today. I’m sure around two I’ll decide that getting up those ten minutes early was a mistake, but at the moment I am taking advantage of the alertness while I can. So let’s dive into the morning writing prompt and get the day started. Pens above paper? Fingertips above keyboards? Excellent, then let the timers go.
Tuesday, March 9th: The wait was long.
The wait was long. We stood in line for hours, just to wait. That was before the line began to even move. Once the line started to move it moved in a steady fashion. Half a step forward, wait for a count of ten and then move another half shuffle step forward. The pace didn’t change.
In some ways it was comforting. It meant that everyone ahead of me, no matter who they were was being granted the same amount of attention. There was no one who warranted longer than a ten count. No one was getting even a twelve or fifteen count.
The wait was long, but it was at least one we all shared equally..
As I half shuffled stepped forward, I tried to picture the ten count with the man himself. How had they arranged it so that everyone received the exact same amount of time? Did they practice? Was there a room in his basement where the publicist and other assorted team members met with him to go over it.
“Okay sir,” I could picture them saying. “We wave the fan forward, you shake hands, turn for a photo and wish them well. We’ll send them off and wave the next one forward.”
I imagined them practicing as all of the staff lined up and they practiced. How could they insure the camera was handed over at the right time? Did their timing account for different types of cameras? While most of us had cell phones, there were some with digital cameras and even one person I spotted with a polaroid. No matter what the equipment the shuffle step ten count remained the same.
Maybe they practiced with different sorts of cameras so the person taking the photos knew how they all operated. Maybe there were a string of people, each one well practiced in the photo timing of a specific camera. They would line up strung out between the great man and his fans, I imagined that with cell phone’s being dominant whoever was best with those would take first position and then just summon the others in when a different camera appeared so that the line could continue forward at the shuffle half step ten count pace,.
Were we even called fans? I knew that some musicians had different terms for their flocks of fans. Some what they were termed in public and no doubt some not so polite names they used in private. But he wasn’t a musician. Were fans only for those in the entertainment industry? Were they or rather we, called something else when the celebrity wasn’t a member of the entertainment industry, but a political, diplomatic figure?
I thought about it as the line continued to inch forward. Fans didn’t sound right, but no other term fit ether. Devotees made me think of visiting the grand old church on the corner with my grandmother and lighting candles on the set up towards the front. Enthusiasts made me feel as though we were trying to replicate what he did in an attempt to be like him. Of course we couldn’t, no one could, which is why he had gained so much fame.
Whatever we were, all of us waited in line, half shuffle step forward to the ten count as we waited for a glimpse and a possible handshake. A moment where we could touch the hand of the man who was, for good or ill, reshaping the world.
Ten til Midnight 