Full of energy, I walked out the double doors having just seen Rihanna live in concert. While the majority of concert-goers exited out the building, I stayed with my friend; we had VIP passes that granted us access to meet Rihanna and take a picture with her after the show. Knowing that we would have to wait a while to meet her, I told my friend to wait while I went to the bathroom. The line to the bathroom was long, but I wanted to check my appearance one more time before meeting one of my favorite performers. Glancing in the mirror, I smoothed out my gray-green tunic, un-bunching it from up top, where it met my sleeveless white ribbed shirt underneath; I pulled it firmly over my black leggings that extended into my black high-top Converse shoes. The little curl that I once had in my freshly flat ironed hair had fallen, and my hair brushed the sides of my face. I must have been in the bathroom for a long time, because by the time I came out, the hallway was completely empty, like a deserted ghost town. Slightly worried, my friend told me to come on and we walked to the area where we were supposed to meet up with other VIP pass holders. A contractor stopped us, and asked to see our tickets. We showed her our tickets and passes, and she gave us a green sticker to place on our clothes to indicate that we belonged with the group. The lady then pointed us in the right direction.We ended up on a skywalk near a flight of stairs where personnel lined us up against the wall as we waited for Rihanna. Leaning against the wall, I stared down at my feet sheepishly while my friend talked to other fans. Slowly the line moved forward, and as it progressed, I looked over the skywalk. A sea of storage chests full with Rihanna’s outfits flooded the ground below. The line kept moving forward and down the stairs and finally Rihanna was ready to greet her fans. The meet and greet line moved very fast, and before I had a chance to figure out my emotions at that point, I was the next person in line to meet her.
Rihanna was standing in front of a large black banner that displayed a silhouette of her “LOUD” era “R” logo. The moment I looked at her, everything around me went gray and turned to white noise; the only thing that mattered was she and I. It was as if time stopped and we were the only ones in motion. I was in a daze, and I couldn’t believe that I was going to meet her in that moment. She was wearing white Keds, a black and red striped jersey dress, and had red curly hair and pink lip gloss. She greeted me, saying “Thanks for coming.”
In response I said “Hi” then stepped forward and immediately went in for a hug. I knew my time with her would be short, and I would not be able to say all that I wanted to say to her. So in preparation, I had a letter in my pocket detailing my feelings for her, and expressed my appreciation for her in that hug. I didn’t smile, I didn’t cry, and I had no emotions at that point. I just wanted to show my affection towards her in the best way I knew, so I wrapped my arms tightly around her waist and hugged her close. With this warm hug, I hoped to express my appreciation for her and her music.
She must have sensed the warm feelings because in response she wrapped her arms around me and pulled me in even tighter. The scent of her perfume danced along my nasal passages and I laid my head against her chest, inhaling the pleasant aroma. We embraced in that hug for about ten seconds, but to me it felt like an hour.
Despite this blissful moment, a part of me wanted to pull away slightly because I only intended my hug as just an embrace; I didn’t want to pose for my picture like that. I wanted a picture of her kissing me on the cheek, but, of course, I didn’t tell her this. I just turned my head towards the photographer, smiled slightly, and my photo was taken.
After the picture was taken, I began to feel a little anxious, because I knew that I would be rushed along so the next person in line could get her picture. In an attempt to buy more time, I asked her if she was sticking around after she was done greeting all her fans. Slightly taken aback, Rihanna said “Maybe,” cocking her head to the side and looking down at me as if judging my intentions. Her powerful hazel eyes peered deep into mine, making me vulnerable.
Feeling small and inferior to the renown popstar, I looked up at her and said quietly, “I have a note that I want to give you.”
“You can give it to me now,” she said, and reached her hand out to accept it. I pulled a folded piece of paper out of my pocket and handed it to her. That piece of paper contained a letter of my appreciation towards her on one side, and a portrait of her on the other. The letter explained how her music has helped me cope with certain situations, how I admire her strength and her ability to maintain her composure even in difficult situations, and how she has had an influence in my daily life. The portrait I drew was a modified-contour pencil drawing of her face.
After I gave it to her, the world went back to normal, the white noise became dominant and our little intimate moment was over. As I began to walk away, Rihanna unexpectedly grabbed me and pulled me in for one last hug and kissed me softly on the cheek. Before I realized what had just happened, my time was up and the next person was already posing for her picture.
Initially the day after the concert, I felt ecstatic knowing that I got the chance to meet Rihanna. I felt special because out of all the fans she met that night, she kissed me. Even though I didn’t confess my feelings to her face, I knew it was all contained within the letter I wrote her. The next couple of days, I checked my Twitter anxiously waiting to see if she would appear in my “followers” list. But as the days went by, she never followed or tweeted me about the letter, so I knew something was wrong. In my letter, I left my Twitter username and asked for her to follow me. I didn’t ask that just because I wanted a follow; it was there as proof so that if she read my letter, she would then be prompted to log on to Twitter and follow me as a read receipt.
It has been months since the meet and greet, and I’m upset that she still hasn’t followed me. I know it wasn’t because she didn’t want to, because she’s followed other people on Twitter who have asked her at the meet & greets. I have no idea what happened to the letter I gave her, whether she threw it away, misplaced it, or someone took it from her and never gave it back. It just hurts to know that she is unaware of how much she means to me. I’m not one to disclose my true feelings often; I usually keep my feelings to myself. For her to disregard them, it just breaks my heart. I feel like I opened my heart to her, and she pull it out of my chest and stomped on it. The one thing that would make it seem better is if she followed me on Twitter. I want the follow so I could lie to myself and say, “Yeah, she read my letter, that’s why she follows.”
Every now and then she goes on a following spree and follows a couple of fans on Twitter; unfortunately, it’s never me. No matter how many times I tweet her, or get other fans to tweet her on my behalf, she never notices. I don’t know what hurts the most; the fact that she never read my letter, or that she still hasn’t followed me on Twitter. I know that if I never went to the concert, or did a meet and greet with her, I wouldn’t feel this way. My expectations wouldn’t be so high. But because I have, I’ve grown emotionally attached to her. I think that I deserve a follow because I’ve proven that I’m a dedicated fan by going to her concert, meeting her, and purchasing her music.
If I could, I would re-do that moment over again and actually unfold the letter in her face and point to it, making sure she saw the part I wrote concerning Twitter. This whole experience has left me with a slew of feelings about Rihanna. I love her, I really do, and it’s not fair for me to hold her accountable for not reading my letter, as anything could have happened outside of her control. She loves her fans and never passes up an opportunity to interact with them whether that is on the street or on Twitter. But a part of me fears that I was nothing but a consumer to her. I paid a lot for that opportunity, and though I’m grateful, I wish things could have gone as I planned. I hope she follows me on Twitter soon so that I can be content.
