Saved By Bruce Dickinson

14 Apr

The arena was open air and full of people. I don’t like being around swarms of people. Neither of us did. We were walking around town and ended up inside after a few wrong turns. It was a sports game or a concert or some sort of jousting show. We didn’t know. We didn’t care. We just wanted to get out of there. But there was no way to the door through all the people. We realized we’d have to go up.

We tilted our heads back. The sky was blue and we felt warm summer sun on our faces. We have to go up to get out, I said. As I spoke, the ceiling started to close, window by window, little screens sliding toward each other. Where did the windows come from? Fuck. I looked out across the arena. My eyes locked with his and his voice echoed in my head. Come with me, he said. He reached out a hand. We walked toward him, took his hand, and he guided us onto an escalator. I have VIP access, he said. It wasn’t the first time I met Bruce Dickinson. But it had been a long time. He tends to show up in crisis moments after I’ve been binge listening to my Iron Maiden tapes.

We got to the top of the escalator just before the last window closed. Go out through this one, he said. Lift your bodies. We lifted and floated out the last open window into the blue sky and flew away. Bruce always saves the day.


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