The shouts and whistles of the crowd were as a low hum to him as he stood in the wings, waiting for the signal to take to the stage. The satisfying cold weight of his guitar’s body laying in the small of his back was his anchor. He focused on the picture in his mind’s eye of his lover’s face and imagined her resting her hands on his shoulders, squeezing gently and wishing him a good show.
Music had kept him sane when she had died, well music and his family of music. The band had been amazingly supportive and understanding, as had their fans, but in the end there had been a lot of good material to take from his grief and, feeling sure that she would have approved, he saved himself from his grief by telling the world about her.
The signal was given and he walked out into the lights. The roar from the crowd was genuinely palpable; it made him rock back on his heels and he could feel wave after wave of excitement and adoration. He turned to check that everyone was in place, plugged in and stepped to the microphone.