One question that I have never once answered honestly is, "So...'Gavin?' What is it with you and that name, anyway?" Especially in connection to Alien Water Torture. And my insistence that I'm going to name my firstborn son that (provided my husband doesn't have any major objections). Now, I'll tell people just about anything other than the truth on this front. I'll tell them that I read a fanfiction by a friend that had a lead character with that name. I'll tell them that I knew someone with that name in my public high school (which is actually true). But what I didn't tell anyone, until now, was this: I have had a secret (or as secret as I can be, considering that I'm about as subtle as a tidal wave) crush on Gavin DeGraw for a loooong time. Like, since I was fifteen years old.
Yeah. That long.
I won't bore you with the story of how I discovered Gavin's music. I'll just say it was a stroke of luck, and leave it at that. But when I was writing Alien Water Torture--and I swear to God, no one knew this until this blog post--I would listen to Gavin DeGraw on my laptop, whenever I got tired of listening to Red Jumpsuit Apparatus. So, when I had to name my main characters, Gavin and Ronnie (lead singer of RJA, for anyone who doesn't know that) practically named themselves.
Now, I've always thought Gavin was a nice name, ever since stumbling across it in a Gail Carson Levine novel. But I loved the sound of Gavin DeGraw's voice long before I knew what he looked like, so it really was the kind of crush that just grew organically, without the whole "celebrity crush who I just like because he has a cute butt" aspect. So it seemed like the perfect choice to name my romantic hero after him.
The reason I'm telling this story now is because...well...
Yeah, that's how close I was to him last night.
Yesterday started out absolutely awful. It was my day off but I couldn't go anywhere because I don't have a car on-campus like many of my older counterparts in the HSG division, so I was more than a little testy because of that. That led me to be very unnecessarily snippy towards my co-counselor (I'm sorry, Steve). Then I didn't have money in my account, so I couldn't get tickets to the Gavin DeGraw concert that was literally going to be happening right outside my door (God bless Interlochen). No problem, I thought, I'll cash my paycheck. Problem: Yesterday was Saturday...and in what alternate universe is any bank open on Saturday? So, my friend drove me to a grocery store so I could cash my check there. Only that didn't work either. On top of all of that, a very close friend of mine casually reported that he was going out into the hurricane-grade storms in his area, because he's an EMT and since the storming was so bad there were bound to be plenty of accidents and injuries. Translation: riding in an ambulance going God only knows how many miles an hour in tree-crushing storms, at night. Can you imagine how worried I was about him?
And, as if all that wasn't enough, my camper caught me crying when she came back to the cabin earlier than I thought she would. Humiliated, I retreated to the headquarters building, where I continued crying because really, had there ever been a worse day off? (I'm sure there were, but at that time I wasn't really thinking that way.)
That was when another counselor, who was going to be chaperoning the concert that night, offered me her ticket. Let me back up there and explain, counselors can get free tickets to shows, but it's kind of a lottery process, and I didn't put my name on the list because I didn't want to leave it up to chance. (Ha. That turned out real well, didn't it?) I protested--I didn't want her to think she had to do that. (This is why I hate it when people I don't know very well catch me crying.) But she told me it wasn't that big of a deal, she wasn't really much of a fan, she just wanted to check him out, and gave me the ticket. I almost started crying again. Instead I gave her a big hug and promised that if she ever needed me to take over a shift for her, I'd be glad to do it.
The concert in itself was breathtaking. Gavin DeGraw is one of those beautiful singers who sounds exactly the same live as he does on his records--and he does not suffer from the "turn up the amps so loud our acoustic guitars make people experience sonic booms in their chests" syndrome that seems to afflict ninety percent of the touring popular bands today. So I was happy about not getting blasted by the amplifiers. His opening act was fantastic--I'd never heard of Andy Grammar before, but he was pretty kick-ass. But it was what happened at the end, after his encore (which freaking ROCKED, by the way) that truly made my night.
There aren't many artists who will happily, voluntarily stay after the show to give autographs or take pictures; that's what the billion-dollar VIP meet-and-greets are for. But after his show, Gavin did just that. I didn't realize at first, until there was this giant crush of people down by the stage. Then I saw what was happening, and I ran for it and threw myself into the crowd. It took what felt like a million years, but I actually got right up to the stage (he was perched on the edge of the stage--smart move, I thought, considering that he might've wound up crushed AGAINST the stage otherwise) and eventually, FINALLY got to him. The reason it took so long was because he, much like my longtime idol Ronnie Winter, actually takes a minute to talk to each person. It's not just like "Oh hi, here's my signature, now move along so I can get through this and go to bed." He talks to someone. Even if it's just for a minute. He looks right into each fan's eyes and asks their name. And yeah, if you're waiting in line, it's a pain, but when you're on the receiving end of it, it's absolutely lovely.
The woman who'd been behind me in line for the last forty-five minutes, who had gone to the fan club meet-and-greet before the show, assured me there was no need to be nervous, that he was a total sweetheart. I believed her, but I was still nervous. Meeting Ronnie Winter, I had no need to really be nervous. I knew, already, that he was a kind guy no matter what...unless you hurt someone he cares about, which I had no intention of doing. This was different. This felt how I imagined I'd have felt if I'd met Joe Jonas when I was fifteen. (But, thank God, that never happened.)
I approached him, shaking and trying hard to smile. He gave me one of those heart-stopping smiles and asked, "What's your name, dude?" Yes, dude, like we were gym buddies or something. Only on a guy like Gavin DeGraw would that work. I told him my name, in a trembling voice, and he calmly replied, "Nice to meet you, Avery, I'm Gavin"--as if I didn't already know that--and shook my hand. Like we were just two normal people, who just happened to be meeting, like he had no idea that just about any of the girls there would have gone home with him in a heartbeat. If he noticed my hand shaking, he didn't say anything.
I held out my lanyard, hands still shaking, and he asked, "Do you want me to sign this?" I said yes, of course, and while he signed it, of course I had to say something, so I told him, trying to sound at least semi-normal, "I was a student here..."
"Yeah?" He was just signing the lanyard, didn't even look up.
"The first short film I ever made, my main character was named after you," I told him.
Well. That made him look up. "Get out!" He looked genuinely surprised and, unless I'm very much mistaken, also quite flattered.
"Yeah," was my ever-brilliant reply.
"Thank you so much," he said sincerely, and gave me a high-five. I'd touched him twice! My inner teenage girl was going crazy.
"It's called 'Possession,' if you ever want to look it up," I told him as I took back the lanyard.
He said he'd look it up--I don't think he will, obviously; he's far too busy to even remember something like that--but the fact that he actually gave a damn overwhelmed me. He thanked me for coming, but I wasn't quite ready to let him go yet. "Can I have a hug?" I asked shyly, half-expecting him to say no.
"Sure." He reached out and pulled me in as close as the height barrier, thanks to the fact that he was sitting on the stage and I was standing at least two feet below him, would allow. But as he pulled me in, he said, "Hold me baby," and I almost squealed in his ear (thank God, I didn't). He was soaked with sweat from the two hours he'd been on the stage. I didn't care.
"Thank you," I breathed as I staggered back and prepared to walk away. "You just made my day."
He said something back, but I couldn't hear it--his reply was swallowed up in the crowd now separating us. I didn't mind. I'd heard all I needed to hear.
I'll tell you what, though--I'm never letting this lanyard out of my sight again.
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