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Weaving through the crowded halls, apprehension grips you.Why? you ask yourself. Why bother? Despite everyone’s insistence that he’s “the nicest man you’ll ever meet”, you know your history. So often you’ve been ignored, neglected, pushed aside like a nobody; why would a stranger—no matter how "nice"—treat you like an old friend?You want to turn on your heels, but you can’t. You’re here. Behind a concrete wall Colin sits at his table, old glamour shots arranged meticulously before him. He sits perched, his back straight and hands folded as if he was waiting for your grand entrance. He locks eyes with you and—
shit.
It’s too late to turn back now. Your legs push you towards him. He greets you with a joke while you respond with a stutter. Everything you’ve wanted to say has escaped you, but, upon removing the humble item you’ve brought (the object that will thereby be sanctified with his signature), it’s he who initiates conversation. He’s pleasantly surprised by what you’ve uncovered, and, without your exhaling a breath, he says you’re something special. Appreciation comes flowing out of you, you can’t restrain yourself! Embarrassment will hit you like a freight train later, but he maintains his enthusiasm. He welcomes you into his world with open arms.“Shall I sign or would you like it dedicated?” he asks, and you give your name. He uncaps his pen and whips his hand across the cover. The anointed is returned to you with a smile, a laugh, and a tight hug. It’s a transaction, but money is not the sole currency.When you say goodbye, you think you’ve returned to being another nobody. But then you look at what he’s signed, and you wonder why you ever doubted him.No, he said, you’re a star.