8pm. The climax of my Easter had begun. I showed my ticket to a security guard. He pointed towards a smaller entrance to the side of the building away from the masses. Two guards wearing black suits stood by the entrance yet not seeming to be checking at people’s tickets. I walked through the black curtain flaps to find myself in an indoor-rock-climbing-room-turned-waiting area. Nicely dressed mature French people stood around elevated tables conversing with each other with champagne, wine, or beer in hand as the rock climbing walls around us changed colours. The room became white, then yellow, then green, and finally pink. The white of our clothes changed to the colours of the walls, connecting us, the strength of colour the same from the bottom to the top of the high walls, transporting us to a different world. I bathed in the light, admiring the ambiance and the moment.
8:10pm. I walked to the concert hall. A beautiful French woman looked at my ticket and gestured me to follow her to my seat. We walked past the back section of the hall that was already full of people. We walked past the middle section and headed to the Argent (gold in French) section. The further forward we walked, the more excited I became. Block A – O16. We had arrived at my seat. I thanked her and she quietly left to assist more people to their seats.
Chairs seemed to fill up quickly after I had sat. Soon, all the chairs were occupied. The piano and other instruments lay asleep on the stage, with their mouths open, unaware of the happenings below. The stage they slept on would be lighted by several equally-sized rectangular lights that were mounted at the top front of the stage. It was a beautiful stage.
8:30pm but no performers yet. My eyes wandered from the lights to the stage to the people sitting in front of me. They were all older than me. As a matter of fact, I couldn’t see any other young people besides me, confirmation that I shared many tastes with people more mature than I. Confirmation also of my belief that I was an old soul in a young body. My heart beated a little faster. My pores opened a little wider. In any moment, I was going to see Norah Jones perform live in the flesh and a dream would be realised. My eyes fixated more and more on the stage, sensing the time was near, and when my gaze was elsewhere, she entered the stage like a thief in the night. She waved and smiled at the audience while walking to the piano. The crowd applaused and the tension was lifted. Two black men wearing black shirts accompanied her. The skinny one sat down behind the drums and the big one took hold of the bass.
Norah shared one or two lines with the audience, and then, her fingers awakened the piano to begin ‘Little Broken Hearts’. The voice I had fallen in love with began to sing. Sultry, powerful, effortless, unique, and sounding better than I had ever heard it. It entranced me and romanced with me, transporting me to paradoxical place of bliss and melancholy. She raised her voice…her tone became more serious, more desperate…♫ Did the darkness of their days…make them let go of their light?…♫ Then she whaled but for a second, as if seeing her child killed before her eyes and being silenced by a person putting their hand over her mouth. It was but for a second, but it cut to the heart. The deepest of emotions within me exploded out as if being confined in a pressurized container. ♫ When the beautiful awake…see the sadness in their eyes…will they want to find a way…to make it all right…to make it all right?♫ She sang those words with such sincerity…
My view of the sides of the stage were blocked by two tall men. Fortunately, I could see Norah between them. Unfortunately, I was too far away to get a good picture of her. Several songs had been played by now and I noticed an empty seat, two rows in front of me and past the tall men. It was past the midpoint stage of the performance and no one had claimed it. I decided that I was going to take it. I waited for the current song to finish and the clapping to start, and made my move, sitting down just before the next song started. The lights went down and I was clear. The whole stage was unhindered from my sight, and to my delight, it seemed that all the people in front of me were somehow shorter than me.
Norah continued to play a variety of songs, old and new. The duo behind her played masterfully with animated faces and joy, smiling at each other and at Norah every now and again. ‘Out on the Road’ came on, a song from my favourite album of her’s. I took out my phone to record a short video. Photos were not going to be enough. I needed to get at least one video. A one minute video was the plan to be courteous to the viewers behind me. But a minute came and past…it was just too good! One minute and twenty seconds. I pressed the ‘end record’ button, my video cut short from the guard who tapped me from behind to give me a warning. My media recording of the concert came to an end, but I was satisfied. The video had captured Norah’s dynamism, her quick and slow, her ups and downs that had drawn me to her music when I first heard it.
I pretended to be the phone, trying to store every shot, every note, every gesture in my memory. My ears tuned in more to the sequence of sounds that made them swoon. Ethereal…tender…then the man next to me spoke to me in French. “English?” I said. He continued to tell me that he had paid for the seat I was sitting in and whether I was meant to be there. In a hushed voice, I explained the situation and that I would move if the person supposed to be there showed up. The man had an annoyed face, but didn’t say any more after that. The person, I’d imagine a girl, never showed up. The man was clearly a little bit frazzled, watching his phone for new messages as often as the performance.
A few for songs were played. I focused on the piano and the fingers that were playing it. How many hours had those fingers danced with the keys? Thousands upon thousands. Piano was her long-time friend. They were inseperable, and one could tell that they could spend time with each other for ours on end. There was a deep trust between them, with Piano letting Norah be both rough and delicate with itself, hard and soft, and the result was magical. Indeed, one’s first thought of Norah Jones could not be none other than her behind a piano.
The end was near. “Thank you. This will be our last song,” she said. ‘Don’t Know Why’ was going to be their last song, one of her most well-known singles. The excitement levels in the hall elevated. Some sat straighter while other’s faces lit up. There were a lot of fans of the song in the room. Norah played her last note…”Thank you. Good night.” She left the stage as quickly as she had entered, and the audience gave a standing ovation as she did. We clapped and clapped for over a minute, with big smiles on our faces. We wooed and whistled and the next thing we knew, Norah and crew were back on for an encore. Two more songs were played for us. We were overjoyed.
The stage was empty for good now. I walked out to the street. The crowds went out in all directions, some walking back home, most to their parked cars. I walked slowly back and forth on the street I’d been dropped off on with mind in a cloud. Christmas trees with white christmas lights at the corner of the road glorified the night. It wasn’t Christmas time, but it seemed so fitting that they were there at this moment. I walked to a loading bay at the side of the hall, watching the last few people leave to their cars.
There was almost no one around me now. A black van drove in to my left and a security guard stood by a black door some 20 metres away from me. Then, the missed chanced that still haunts me happened. The black door opened, and three people walked quickly into the van, one of which, looked like Norah Jones. 10 seconds past. I tried to look inside the van, but it had black tinted windows. 20 seconds past. I pondered to myself if I should run to the van, heart beating faster. 30 seconds past. I decided that I was going to approach the van…but it started moving, and I knew it was too late. I watched the van drive onto the road and past the Christmas trees. I had missed the chance to possibly meet Norah Jones. I had missed the chance to take a photo with her. It was something I prayed for, but didn’t expect to happen. The opportunity was created for me, but required some courage on my part, courage I could not muster in time. The lesson was loud and clear. Just go, don’t hesitate!
Geanine called my name from the other side of the road. The night had in store one more surprise, a halo. A white halo arounf the full moon. It was otherwordly…a light effect never seen by my eyes. We became silent, admiring the phenomenon in the sky. It was the perfect image for a night that felt like a dream…an overwhelmingly incredible dream.
