In 2012, I spent a summer in Bonn. Knowing how I loved music, my hostess presented me with a DVD. She said it was the music of a new group of ten instrumentalists and one solo singer, who had become very popular in Germany. They were performing for free on the banks of the Rhine next evening.
I listened to the DVD several times during the day. The voice of the singer was enchanting. Whether it was a romantic song or a humorous ditty or a semi-classical melody, those silver tones echoed in my mind all day.
The next evening, I arrived at the venue where the band was to perform and found a seat in the front bench, which gave me a close view of the musicians. The singer was a young slender thing, with curly shoulder-length hair and a charming face. There was pin drop silence in the crowd whenever she belted out her songs. She noticed me looking up at her, and our eyes met for a moment before she moved away to another part of the stage. But she was back again with her next song and she winked at me with a smile. I could feel the flutter in my chest. I wanted to meet her. Perhaps she’d oblige me with a selfie.
But even before the music ended, she vanished from the scene much to my disappointment.
The next afternoon, I was biting into my burger at McDonalds when someone slipped in beside me.
“Hullo! You were at our performance last night.”
“Good God!” I could have died of shock.
The singer was a boy after all.
“Disappointed?” he asked, as he swung an arm over my shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll want a selfie as a keepsake.”
© Eva Bell