LoveandLogic
Refugee
Here is the next chapter! I hope you enjoy! Thank you for reading! 
Disclaimer: I own the Nikon FM2. Bono is not a camera.
Chapter Ten
Fluttering my eyes open and being blinded instantly, a groan deepened in the back of my throat. Where was I? Was I sleeping? Blinking rapidly and feeling crossed, I tugged at the white sheets covering my body. I wasn’t naked, so that was a plus. As loopy as I was last night, my mind couldn’t separate reality from fiction this morning. Bono was over, we had Chinese food and talked and…oh, shit, we cuddled! Did he stay over? Oh, please God…
Son of a!
You guessed it. Right there, on my living room sofa, slept soundly the lead singer of U2 himself. Smacking my forehead a few times I repeated myself, “Stupid, stupid, stupid.” Hm, then again, he looked so…peaceful lying on his back with his lips parted inappreciably, his eyes blanketed by an arm, the other hanging over the edge of the couch, ankles crossed.
Quietly, tip-toeing back to the kitchen, I grabbed my Nikon FM2 manual from the counter, adjusted the settings and snapped a few photos. Pausing, I froze and waited, sighing with relief when he changed positions, snoring. Chuckling, I put the camera back on the table, heading off into the bathroom.
It was nine a.m. and Brooke and I were supposed to meet for coffee at ten. Deciding to leave Bono to his restful state, I took a quick shower, straightened my hair and applied my makeup. Studying my reflection, I looked, well, good. The dark circles under my eyes disappeared, color flushed on my cheeks. Marvelous what a little bit of restful sleep and crying can do. Bono, as much as I hated to admit, was the one to thank for my freshness.
Sifting through my closet, I chose my everyday pair of skinny jeans and a black spaghetti strapped shirt. My wardrobe is plain, I can’t deny. I’m a not “dressy” type of woman. Comfort was more important than looking flashy. However, a pair of knee high boots were just begging to be worn! They looked nice overtop my jeans.
Bono was in the kitchen, scurrying through the cupboards, cursing under his breath. Leaning on the wall, I chuckled and he turned, blushing. He ran a hand through his hair and smirked.
“I was just looking for some coffee,” His voice was that of a child sneaking a cookie and getting caught. “I’m not trying to invade your apartment or anything.”
“You’re fine. I don’t have coffee here. Don’t look at me like that! I meet Brooke every morning at Starbucks so I don’t see a point in having coffee here.”
“I see. That is a good point.”
“You can join us if you want.”
“Uh, well, I would love to…I need to change, though. I’m in the same clothes that I was in last night. It’s just not sanitary.”
“We have fifteen minutes. Do you think that’s enough time to head to the hotel and still get to the café?”
“Probably not. I have to shower, too.”
My disappointment must have shown on my face. Why did I care so much if he went or not? But I did. I really, truly, unconditionally did. His presence, his face, his smile, made all my worries melt away into a puddle of nothingness. The top layer of my exterior discarded itself last night. No wonder why I wanted him around. He made me feel like myself again and I haven’t felt like myself in…I can’t even recall the last time.
“But,” He grinned, “if you don’t mind me being fashionably late by, let’s say, a half hour, I would be more than thrilled to join you.”
My heart skipped. “Aren’t you usually fashionably late anyways?”
“Hardy, har, har. I should get going then. Which Starbucks?”
“The one where I slapped you.”
His mouth dropped. “Oh, right. You’re never going to let that down are you?”
“Never.”
Laughing, I walked him to the door and he pushed on his sunglasses, opening the door. He then turned to me, his body language awkward and nervous. Don’t kiss me. DO. NOT. KISS. ME.
“Are you feeling any better today?” Bono near whispered. I nodded.. “Good. You look fantastic by the way. I’m digging the boots.”
Why was he talking about something as stupid as my boots? Nerves, I figured. “Thank you. And thank you for last night, too. I must have looked like a train wreck.”
“Not at all. And your welcome. You know I’m here whenever you need me. The sky could fall and I would still be there for you.”
“My sky was falling.”
He hummed, smiled and walked out the door. Twisting around one last time, we said goodbye. Pressing my back against the door and shaking my head with shamefulness, I asked myself what I was doing. What was my fascination with wanting to be around him? It went against everything I promised to myself after he left me.
“Just let it go. Just let it go and let someone care for you again, Jessica. Even if it has to be him.”
Brooke was sitting at a table outside of the café and waved my direction. I sat down across from her, a large cup of iced Carmel coffee waiting for me. Unwrapping the straw and trying my hardest to ignore my best friends odd gaze, I took a sip and glanced around. Did I have something on my face?
“You look,” She said, “amazing. Did you get laid or something?”
I snapped at her. “No! I got more than three hours of sleep last night.”
“No, that’s not it.” She leaned her body across the table, studying my face with sea-green eyes framed by long lashes. “There’s something different about you.”
“Really? I don’t know what it would be. Nothing happened.”
“Yes! Yes, something did happen! What is it? Oh, please tell me!”
Jumping up and down her seat, she was practically taking up the whole table with her upper body, pushing aside photos and papers. Her childish behavior was amusing and I gave in.
“Fine, fine. Bono came over last night.”
“I knew it!” She jabbed a finger at my chest. “You did get laid!”
“There was no sex involved, thank you! He brought over some Chinese food, we talked, I cried, he listened. That’s it, the end.”
“Where is he?”
“He went back to his hotel room to shower and change. He will be here soon.”
Brooke sat back in her seat, folding her arms over her chest. “What do you mean he went back to his hotel room? He stayed over?”
“Yes, he did.” I was just as confused as she was because I couldn’t remember all that happened last night. “I must have fallen into an extreme sleep because I woke up in my bed and he was on the couch. We didn’t even drink. Well, we had a beer with dinner but that’s it. Ugh, my mind is fuzzy.”
“You’re swimming in some deep water, girl. How can you even stand to look at him?”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“You lost your job because of him. You would still be working if he wouldn’t have pulled that stunt with you on stage last week. An-”
“Lucy cost me my job, Brooke. Not Bono. You do understand that she is getting more than half of the profit from those photos? She was planning on getting rid of me from the start. You even said that she used me! As my boss, I never thought she would do something like that. People are so two faced.”
“More than half? How did you figure that out?”
“She’s dumb. Rollingstone sent me a check and a letter yesterday. You will probably get yours today. Because she’s the owner of the business, she gained the most profit. Hell, her name is even on the photos! Which is completely jacked up because we did all the work.”
“Are you going to do something about it?” She was practically shrieking.
“What can I do? As the owner, she has every right to take some credit, if not all of it. If she would have taken all the credit she could get in big trouble though. Not to mention a nice lawsuit.”
Before she could say another word, Bono was pulling a chair from another table, sitting next to me. Looking handsome in a black button up shirt and dark jeans, we almost matched. I wonder if he did that on purpose?
He smiled his famous smile at Brooke from behind his sky-blue sunglasses and pecked her on the cheek. “Sorry I’m late ladies. Brooke, you look lovely as always.”
She couldn’t have turned more red. “Thank you. It’s nice to see you again.”
“Like wise.”
“Why don’t you have a trail of giggly, high school girls trailing you? It is New York, for Gods sakes!.”
“Exactly. That’s why I like it here. People leave me alone. New York is known for letting celebrities live their life without being suffocated. I get the occasional fan asking for a autograph here and there, but nothing extreme. Well, most of the time.” He changed the subject skillfully. “Congratulations on the Rollingstone photo! That’s very exciting.”
“Thank you. I would be even more excited if the situation was more in our benefit.”
Bono looked from me and back to Brooke. “What do you mean?”
Brooke and I explained to the rock star about Lucy and the name drop. His eyes narrowed and he practically threw his coffee cup across the table. “What the hell is wrong with her? Those are your photos! Not hers!”
“Calm down, Captain.” I placed a hand on his arm. “She’ll get what’s coming to her. Don’t you worry about that. Let’s just have a nice day, eh? I don’t want to talk about work.”
They both nodded in understanding and went on to discuss the nice, spring New York day. Apparently all of NYC thought the same thing, modeling shorts and tanks, shopping on the sidewalks and dining outside of restaurants instead of being trapped indoors.
Brooke had to leave at eleven for work and Bono helped her pack away her laptop and stacked her papers nicely. Only then did it occur to me how much of a gentleman he was. After she was gone Bono and I were silent, watching the passersby and enjoying the soft breeze.
“Would you maybe want to spend the day with me in the city?” Bono asked. “It’s such a beautiful day and it shouldn’t be wasted.”
“Sure,” I answered rather fast. “That would be wonderful.”
“Did you bring your camera?”
“Erm, no. Why would I?”
He shrugged. “I figured we could take a walk around Central Park and take some pictures.”
“I don’t know…”
“Jess, don’t forget who you are.” His eyes burned. “Have you forgotten about your love for photography or did that job take the passion away? You shouldn’t always have to take pictures because you have to. You should take them because you want to, because it makes you happy. Even off tour I’m always singing and writing.”
God dang it why did he always have to be right! We headed off back to my apartment, grabbed my Nikon FM2 and Nikon digital. I handed him the digital and he smiled at the device, looking in awe.
To the common New Yorker, Bono and I surly looked as if we were tourists with our heavy cameras, when in reality, we knew the city better than we knew ourselves. We took a subway into Central Park and right as we reached the top of the stairs from the terminal he was greeted, or should I say bombarded, by a large group of girls.
Being pushed away by the crowd, I stood in the distance and watched with amazement as Bono politely talked, signed autographs and posed for pictures. Feeling somewhat bad for him, the artistic quality in me found something picturesque about Bono and the look he gave his fans and I just had to capture the moment permanently. For over twenty-minutes he conversed with his fans before slipping away back to me, a dozen pair of eyes glaring my direction. With his hand on the small of my back, we continued our outing.
“I don’t know how you do it,” I admitted, rolling my eyes. “I would get annoyed.”
“It’s not that bad,” He said. “They made me what I am today. My fans, I mean. Without them I would be a salesman or something normal like that. And you know me, normal is not an option.” Bono said, winking at me. “I’m too arrogant, remember?”
“Oh, yeah,“ I winked back. “That’s right. Big headed, rock star. Don’t you ever want to say ’fuck off?’”
Bono laughed. “Sometimes. Only when it gets out of hand. Like, I took my old man to New York once and we were having a really good time, and that’s very rare for us. Well, these two girls came up to us and they would not leave us alone. I signed an autograph and they left. They came, I took a photo with them. They came back again and I talked. Then the fourth time they came back and my old man yelled out ‘Piss off, you mangy females!’”
Amused, a smile spread on my lips.
Bono said laughing, “Needless to say they left for good.”
Entering Central Park, our laughter trailed and people were peering at us, rubbernecking as if their eyes couldn’t believe that they were seeing a famous rock star with a non-famous girl. Yet no one provoked us, not even when we sat down on bench in Strawberry Fields. Together we took pictures of the mosaic “IMAGINE” monument in honor of John Lennon. A kid about my age with long, light brown hair, dressed in tye-dye and holey jeans strummed a guitar, playing the famous Beatles song “Let It Be.”
Bono sat next to the boy and began singing. Capturing the moment with my Nikon, the music attracted a large assembly, an audience of mothers, fathers, students and children. Some stood, some sat, but all sang along with the two men. It was sight I had never seen and it moved me in a such a way that I couldn’t stop my aching for the camera.
At the end of the song, Bono shook hands with the tye-dyed guitarist and signed his name on the body of the instrument. Proceeding on with our walk, we would stop if something attracted our eye. Bono took pictures of me taking photos of the Angels of the Waters Fountain at Bethesda Terrace. The Center of the park was overwhelmed with musicians, painters, and a man handed out hula hoops to kids. Bono joined a group of children dancing to an upbeat rhythm of a small jazz band.
As if in a trance, my camera wouldn’t stop clicking. My main subject of the day was the singer. I had only known him as the quiet and reserved man that stayed in my house for a month. Today showed me a whole different side of him that I had only read but never believed. He was comfortably social, kind, outgoing and not in the least big afraid to act ridiculous. The children gathered around him, watching and clapping and singing. He twirled a little blond haired girl like a ballerina, her small stature spinning, her eyes lingering on her partner. My camera loved him. My imagination craved him.
Losing track of time, Bono and I had spent over four hours taking photos, interacting with the sidewalk shows of New York and walking as many parts of Central Park until our legs ached. We stopped for lunch at the Boathouse and I watched the rowboats glide over the mirrored surface of the lake, gliding like butter. Bono was watching me and I tried not to notice. His gaze, however, was not easy to disdain.
“You still can’t look at me sometimes, huh?” Bono guffawed.
Play stupid! “What do you mean? I’m looking at you right now, silly.”
“Only because I’m talking to you. Do I make you nervous?”
I shrugged. “Sometimes.”
“Why? You know me.”
“I don’t know you. I only know of you.”
He folded his arms on his chest and raised an eyebrow. “You know of me? Did I not stay in the same household with you for a month?”
“A month is not long enough to get to someone thoroughly. You don’t know me.”
“I’m trying to but you keep pushing me away.”
The heat in my body sky-rocketed, a hot flush exerting my cheeks. Like he had any room to talk!
“Not to sound harsh but I’ve poured my heart out to you for over six years. You can’t even tell me about your engagement.”
Looking taken back, Bono flustered. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything. How you met her, why she’s never around, how long you’ve been seeing her.”
Propping his elbows on the table, he pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. “We met at a U2 show about a year ago in Los Angeles. She was doing a photo shoot for some big deal fashion company, don’t ask me which one, I could care less about major corporations at times. Her friend was a friend of a friend of Larry’s and he had invited them backstage. We met and clicked in a strange sort of way. By no means is she unique. Or particularly smart, Adam never fails to tell me how dense she is. But she has a bubbly personality and a caring heart. She’s in London right now on a Catwalk tour. That’s why she’s not in New York.”
“She never calls.”
“She does. I don’t always answer.”
“Because?”
Through his long lashes and blue lenses, he peaked at me. “Because I’m catching up with an old friend.”
“I see. Do you…” I found my words difficult to speak. “Do you, you know…”
“Love her?” He added.
“Yes.”
“Yes, I do. At times I think I could love her a little bit more than I do now. Not that we’ve grown apart or anything. She cares about modeling more than anything and, well, you know how that industry is. She lived off of sugar free jello and diet coke for months on end. She always needs to look beautiful. It’s tiring. I’m too old for that.”
“If you have doubts then why marry her?”
He bit his lower lip. I knew it was a nervous habit. “I don’t want to be alone.”
Oh, here come the tears! I didn’t think I had any left to shed.
“I’ve waited for you. It was your choice to be alone. I explained it all in that last letter, the farewell letter. I know you read I-”
Bono waved his hand. “Wait, what? What farewell letter?”
“You know, the really harsh one. I wrote it April 16, 1997.”
Bono gave me that ‘I-have-no-idea-what-your-talking-about’ look. “The last letter I received was in March of 97.”
“What…but…” It then occurred to me. “Ah, Edge. He must’ve stole it.”
“How can you be calm about Edge stealing one of your letters?”
“Bono, really, what difference does it make? You never wrote back anyway.”
“But I read them! I kept them all! They meant something to me.” His words shook. “They kept me holding on.”
“Holding onto what?”
Scorning, then smiling, Bono said. “Onto you. Those letters were the only way for me to know that you were ok and happy.”
“I wasn’t happy. Why can’t you see that?” I stood up, grabbing both my cameras and stormed off. Bono’s footsteps thumped rapidly behind. Grasping my arm, I pulled away.
“This is what I mean,” He remarked. “You’re always pushing me away! I say one thing and you’re off! You’re killing me!”
“Good. Now you know how it feels.”
?
Disclaimer: I own the Nikon FM2. Bono is not a camera.
Chapter Ten
Fluttering my eyes open and being blinded instantly, a groan deepened in the back of my throat. Where was I? Was I sleeping? Blinking rapidly and feeling crossed, I tugged at the white sheets covering my body. I wasn’t naked, so that was a plus. As loopy as I was last night, my mind couldn’t separate reality from fiction this morning. Bono was over, we had Chinese food and talked and…oh, shit, we cuddled! Did he stay over? Oh, please God…
Son of a!
You guessed it. Right there, on my living room sofa, slept soundly the lead singer of U2 himself. Smacking my forehead a few times I repeated myself, “Stupid, stupid, stupid.” Hm, then again, he looked so…peaceful lying on his back with his lips parted inappreciably, his eyes blanketed by an arm, the other hanging over the edge of the couch, ankles crossed.
Quietly, tip-toeing back to the kitchen, I grabbed my Nikon FM2 manual from the counter, adjusted the settings and snapped a few photos. Pausing, I froze and waited, sighing with relief when he changed positions, snoring. Chuckling, I put the camera back on the table, heading off into the bathroom.
It was nine a.m. and Brooke and I were supposed to meet for coffee at ten. Deciding to leave Bono to his restful state, I took a quick shower, straightened my hair and applied my makeup. Studying my reflection, I looked, well, good. The dark circles under my eyes disappeared, color flushed on my cheeks. Marvelous what a little bit of restful sleep and crying can do. Bono, as much as I hated to admit, was the one to thank for my freshness.
Sifting through my closet, I chose my everyday pair of skinny jeans and a black spaghetti strapped shirt. My wardrobe is plain, I can’t deny. I’m a not “dressy” type of woman. Comfort was more important than looking flashy. However, a pair of knee high boots were just begging to be worn! They looked nice overtop my jeans.
Bono was in the kitchen, scurrying through the cupboards, cursing under his breath. Leaning on the wall, I chuckled and he turned, blushing. He ran a hand through his hair and smirked.
“I was just looking for some coffee,” His voice was that of a child sneaking a cookie and getting caught. “I’m not trying to invade your apartment or anything.”
“You’re fine. I don’t have coffee here. Don’t look at me like that! I meet Brooke every morning at Starbucks so I don’t see a point in having coffee here.”
“I see. That is a good point.”
“You can join us if you want.”
“Uh, well, I would love to…I need to change, though. I’m in the same clothes that I was in last night. It’s just not sanitary.”
“We have fifteen minutes. Do you think that’s enough time to head to the hotel and still get to the café?”
“Probably not. I have to shower, too.”
My disappointment must have shown on my face. Why did I care so much if he went or not? But I did. I really, truly, unconditionally did. His presence, his face, his smile, made all my worries melt away into a puddle of nothingness. The top layer of my exterior discarded itself last night. No wonder why I wanted him around. He made me feel like myself again and I haven’t felt like myself in…I can’t even recall the last time.
“But,” He grinned, “if you don’t mind me being fashionably late by, let’s say, a half hour, I would be more than thrilled to join you.”
My heart skipped. “Aren’t you usually fashionably late anyways?”
“Hardy, har, har. I should get going then. Which Starbucks?”
“The one where I slapped you.”
His mouth dropped. “Oh, right. You’re never going to let that down are you?”
“Never.”
Laughing, I walked him to the door and he pushed on his sunglasses, opening the door. He then turned to me, his body language awkward and nervous. Don’t kiss me. DO. NOT. KISS. ME.
“Are you feeling any better today?” Bono near whispered. I nodded.. “Good. You look fantastic by the way. I’m digging the boots.”
Why was he talking about something as stupid as my boots? Nerves, I figured. “Thank you. And thank you for last night, too. I must have looked like a train wreck.”
“Not at all. And your welcome. You know I’m here whenever you need me. The sky could fall and I would still be there for you.”
“My sky was falling.”
He hummed, smiled and walked out the door. Twisting around one last time, we said goodbye. Pressing my back against the door and shaking my head with shamefulness, I asked myself what I was doing. What was my fascination with wanting to be around him? It went against everything I promised to myself after he left me.
“Just let it go. Just let it go and let someone care for you again, Jessica. Even if it has to be him.”
Brooke was sitting at a table outside of the café and waved my direction. I sat down across from her, a large cup of iced Carmel coffee waiting for me. Unwrapping the straw and trying my hardest to ignore my best friends odd gaze, I took a sip and glanced around. Did I have something on my face?
“You look,” She said, “amazing. Did you get laid or something?”
I snapped at her. “No! I got more than three hours of sleep last night.”
“No, that’s not it.” She leaned her body across the table, studying my face with sea-green eyes framed by long lashes. “There’s something different about you.”
“Really? I don’t know what it would be. Nothing happened.”
“Yes! Yes, something did happen! What is it? Oh, please tell me!”
Jumping up and down her seat, she was practically taking up the whole table with her upper body, pushing aside photos and papers. Her childish behavior was amusing and I gave in.
“Fine, fine. Bono came over last night.”
“I knew it!” She jabbed a finger at my chest. “You did get laid!”
“There was no sex involved, thank you! He brought over some Chinese food, we talked, I cried, he listened. That’s it, the end.”
“Where is he?”
“He went back to his hotel room to shower and change. He will be here soon.”
Brooke sat back in her seat, folding her arms over her chest. “What do you mean he went back to his hotel room? He stayed over?”
“Yes, he did.” I was just as confused as she was because I couldn’t remember all that happened last night. “I must have fallen into an extreme sleep because I woke up in my bed and he was on the couch. We didn’t even drink. Well, we had a beer with dinner but that’s it. Ugh, my mind is fuzzy.”
“You’re swimming in some deep water, girl. How can you even stand to look at him?”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“You lost your job because of him. You would still be working if he wouldn’t have pulled that stunt with you on stage last week. An-”
“Lucy cost me my job, Brooke. Not Bono. You do understand that she is getting more than half of the profit from those photos? She was planning on getting rid of me from the start. You even said that she used me! As my boss, I never thought she would do something like that. People are so two faced.”
“More than half? How did you figure that out?”
“She’s dumb. Rollingstone sent me a check and a letter yesterday. You will probably get yours today. Because she’s the owner of the business, she gained the most profit. Hell, her name is even on the photos! Which is completely jacked up because we did all the work.”
“Are you going to do something about it?” She was practically shrieking.
“What can I do? As the owner, she has every right to take some credit, if not all of it. If she would have taken all the credit she could get in big trouble though. Not to mention a nice lawsuit.”
Before she could say another word, Bono was pulling a chair from another table, sitting next to me. Looking handsome in a black button up shirt and dark jeans, we almost matched. I wonder if he did that on purpose?
He smiled his famous smile at Brooke from behind his sky-blue sunglasses and pecked her on the cheek. “Sorry I’m late ladies. Brooke, you look lovely as always.”
She couldn’t have turned more red. “Thank you. It’s nice to see you again.”
“Like wise.”
“Why don’t you have a trail of giggly, high school girls trailing you? It is New York, for Gods sakes!.”
“Exactly. That’s why I like it here. People leave me alone. New York is known for letting celebrities live their life without being suffocated. I get the occasional fan asking for a autograph here and there, but nothing extreme. Well, most of the time.” He changed the subject skillfully. “Congratulations on the Rollingstone photo! That’s very exciting.”
“Thank you. I would be even more excited if the situation was more in our benefit.”
Bono looked from me and back to Brooke. “What do you mean?”
Brooke and I explained to the rock star about Lucy and the name drop. His eyes narrowed and he practically threw his coffee cup across the table. “What the hell is wrong with her? Those are your photos! Not hers!”
“Calm down, Captain.” I placed a hand on his arm. “She’ll get what’s coming to her. Don’t you worry about that. Let’s just have a nice day, eh? I don’t want to talk about work.”
They both nodded in understanding and went on to discuss the nice, spring New York day. Apparently all of NYC thought the same thing, modeling shorts and tanks, shopping on the sidewalks and dining outside of restaurants instead of being trapped indoors.
Brooke had to leave at eleven for work and Bono helped her pack away her laptop and stacked her papers nicely. Only then did it occur to me how much of a gentleman he was. After she was gone Bono and I were silent, watching the passersby and enjoying the soft breeze.
“Would you maybe want to spend the day with me in the city?” Bono asked. “It’s such a beautiful day and it shouldn’t be wasted.”
“Sure,” I answered rather fast. “That would be wonderful.”
“Did you bring your camera?”
“Erm, no. Why would I?”
He shrugged. “I figured we could take a walk around Central Park and take some pictures.”
“I don’t know…”
“Jess, don’t forget who you are.” His eyes burned. “Have you forgotten about your love for photography or did that job take the passion away? You shouldn’t always have to take pictures because you have to. You should take them because you want to, because it makes you happy. Even off tour I’m always singing and writing.”
God dang it why did he always have to be right! We headed off back to my apartment, grabbed my Nikon FM2 and Nikon digital. I handed him the digital and he smiled at the device, looking in awe.
To the common New Yorker, Bono and I surly looked as if we were tourists with our heavy cameras, when in reality, we knew the city better than we knew ourselves. We took a subway into Central Park and right as we reached the top of the stairs from the terminal he was greeted, or should I say bombarded, by a large group of girls.
Being pushed away by the crowd, I stood in the distance and watched with amazement as Bono politely talked, signed autographs and posed for pictures. Feeling somewhat bad for him, the artistic quality in me found something picturesque about Bono and the look he gave his fans and I just had to capture the moment permanently. For over twenty-minutes he conversed with his fans before slipping away back to me, a dozen pair of eyes glaring my direction. With his hand on the small of my back, we continued our outing.
“I don’t know how you do it,” I admitted, rolling my eyes. “I would get annoyed.”
“It’s not that bad,” He said. “They made me what I am today. My fans, I mean. Without them I would be a salesman or something normal like that. And you know me, normal is not an option.” Bono said, winking at me. “I’m too arrogant, remember?”
“Oh, yeah,“ I winked back. “That’s right. Big headed, rock star. Don’t you ever want to say ’fuck off?’”
Bono laughed. “Sometimes. Only when it gets out of hand. Like, I took my old man to New York once and we were having a really good time, and that’s very rare for us. Well, these two girls came up to us and they would not leave us alone. I signed an autograph and they left. They came, I took a photo with them. They came back again and I talked. Then the fourth time they came back and my old man yelled out ‘Piss off, you mangy females!’”
Amused, a smile spread on my lips.
Bono said laughing, “Needless to say they left for good.”
Entering Central Park, our laughter trailed and people were peering at us, rubbernecking as if their eyes couldn’t believe that they were seeing a famous rock star with a non-famous girl. Yet no one provoked us, not even when we sat down on bench in Strawberry Fields. Together we took pictures of the mosaic “IMAGINE” monument in honor of John Lennon. A kid about my age with long, light brown hair, dressed in tye-dye and holey jeans strummed a guitar, playing the famous Beatles song “Let It Be.”
Bono sat next to the boy and began singing. Capturing the moment with my Nikon, the music attracted a large assembly, an audience of mothers, fathers, students and children. Some stood, some sat, but all sang along with the two men. It was sight I had never seen and it moved me in a such a way that I couldn’t stop my aching for the camera.
At the end of the song, Bono shook hands with the tye-dyed guitarist and signed his name on the body of the instrument. Proceeding on with our walk, we would stop if something attracted our eye. Bono took pictures of me taking photos of the Angels of the Waters Fountain at Bethesda Terrace. The Center of the park was overwhelmed with musicians, painters, and a man handed out hula hoops to kids. Bono joined a group of children dancing to an upbeat rhythm of a small jazz band.
As if in a trance, my camera wouldn’t stop clicking. My main subject of the day was the singer. I had only known him as the quiet and reserved man that stayed in my house for a month. Today showed me a whole different side of him that I had only read but never believed. He was comfortably social, kind, outgoing and not in the least big afraid to act ridiculous. The children gathered around him, watching and clapping and singing. He twirled a little blond haired girl like a ballerina, her small stature spinning, her eyes lingering on her partner. My camera loved him. My imagination craved him.
Losing track of time, Bono and I had spent over four hours taking photos, interacting with the sidewalk shows of New York and walking as many parts of Central Park until our legs ached. We stopped for lunch at the Boathouse and I watched the rowboats glide over the mirrored surface of the lake, gliding like butter. Bono was watching me and I tried not to notice. His gaze, however, was not easy to disdain.
“You still can’t look at me sometimes, huh?” Bono guffawed.
Play stupid! “What do you mean? I’m looking at you right now, silly.”
“Only because I’m talking to you. Do I make you nervous?”
I shrugged. “Sometimes.”
“Why? You know me.”
“I don’t know you. I only know of you.”
He folded his arms on his chest and raised an eyebrow. “You know of me? Did I not stay in the same household with you for a month?”
“A month is not long enough to get to someone thoroughly. You don’t know me.”
“I’m trying to but you keep pushing me away.”
The heat in my body sky-rocketed, a hot flush exerting my cheeks. Like he had any room to talk!
“Not to sound harsh but I’ve poured my heart out to you for over six years. You can’t even tell me about your engagement.”
Looking taken back, Bono flustered. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything. How you met her, why she’s never around, how long you’ve been seeing her.”
Propping his elbows on the table, he pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. “We met at a U2 show about a year ago in Los Angeles. She was doing a photo shoot for some big deal fashion company, don’t ask me which one, I could care less about major corporations at times. Her friend was a friend of a friend of Larry’s and he had invited them backstage. We met and clicked in a strange sort of way. By no means is she unique. Or particularly smart, Adam never fails to tell me how dense she is. But she has a bubbly personality and a caring heart. She’s in London right now on a Catwalk tour. That’s why she’s not in New York.”
“She never calls.”
“She does. I don’t always answer.”
“Because?”
Through his long lashes and blue lenses, he peaked at me. “Because I’m catching up with an old friend.”
“I see. Do you…” I found my words difficult to speak. “Do you, you know…”
“Love her?” He added.
“Yes.”
“Yes, I do. At times I think I could love her a little bit more than I do now. Not that we’ve grown apart or anything. She cares about modeling more than anything and, well, you know how that industry is. She lived off of sugar free jello and diet coke for months on end. She always needs to look beautiful. It’s tiring. I’m too old for that.”
“If you have doubts then why marry her?”
He bit his lower lip. I knew it was a nervous habit. “I don’t want to be alone.”
Oh, here come the tears! I didn’t think I had any left to shed.
“I’ve waited for you. It was your choice to be alone. I explained it all in that last letter, the farewell letter. I know you read I-”
Bono waved his hand. “Wait, what? What farewell letter?”
“You know, the really harsh one. I wrote it April 16, 1997.”
Bono gave me that ‘I-have-no-idea-what-your-talking-about’ look. “The last letter I received was in March of 97.”
“What…but…” It then occurred to me. “Ah, Edge. He must’ve stole it.”
“How can you be calm about Edge stealing one of your letters?”
“Bono, really, what difference does it make? You never wrote back anyway.”
“But I read them! I kept them all! They meant something to me.” His words shook. “They kept me holding on.”
“Holding onto what?”
Scorning, then smiling, Bono said. “Onto you. Those letters were the only way for me to know that you were ok and happy.”
“I wasn’t happy. Why can’t you see that?” I stood up, grabbing both my cameras and stormed off. Bono’s footsteps thumped rapidly behind. Grasping my arm, I pulled away.
“This is what I mean,” He remarked. “You’re always pushing me away! I say one thing and you’re off! You’re killing me!”
“Good. Now you know how it feels.”
?
So frustrating, so GOOD!!! 
) I know that the "age thing" is a big deal to some ppl. Since I'm a Snape/Hermione shipper (woah total geek admission! 
bless Ali for being the amazing woman that she is, coz Bono wouldn't be the same without her. Bono with a shallow model?! It's just sounds sooo impossible, never in a billion years. 
I'm really glad for that bit of "reality"
