Laura and an amazing handsome (but not too tall) guy exited the most rocking concert of their lifetime by the side door. Everyone else was filtering out of the building into a slow drizzle. Laura looked at him; probably the cutest guy she had ever seen. Not too tall, but craigy. She didn’t know his name, but now, in the moment, that didn’t seem to matter. Somehow she had ended up holding his hand as he puller her from the building, adrenaline still coursing through both bloodstreams.

Oh, it had been a concert. Right. Not a concert. The concert. The concert to end all concerts.

They collapsed at the side of the building, both laughing. It had been a rush getting to the exit — quite literally a rush. Under, over, around people.

He pointed. “That’s my car.” Laura looked, and there it was. An old brown minivan of the Aerostar variety. Here, it was a rarity.

“You call that a car?” she asked, laughing again.

He grinned like a kid. “Oh yeah, quite.”

Then he pulled her again, over to the van. Suddenly, a beeping. Cellphone. Pulling it out of his pocket, the guy flipped it open. His eyes filled with concern. He said something soft, something almost frantic, and flipped it closed again.

“My mum,” he said, getting into the driver’s seat. “She’s had a stroke.”

Oh, thought Laura. A stroke.

He turned the key. Engine started. Into gear. He didn’t let the clutch out. Instead, he handed her the phone. “Take this,” he said. “Call me.”

She watched him go. Watched him circle the parking lot. Felt drops on her shoulders. When the van came back, she wondered if he wanted the phone back. But no. He leaned out the window. Asked her what her name was.

“Laura,” she told him. “I’m Laura.”

He nodded. “Take this, too.” He leaned out the van window and kissed her on the lips. Then waved. Drove off.

She put a hand to her lips. Strange.

Flipped the phone open. Caught a glimpse of a few numbers. Watched the battery die.

Smiled.

Cried.

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