Story: Don't Give The Ghost Up: Brandon Flowers .:10:.

The next thing I knew I was at the arena, buying tickets from some shady scalper out back.

I honestly believe that scalper was god or something, because he sold me the best possible ticket for an unbelievable price. I managed to get myself a front row ticket to a sold out show—the last show of a major tour. I had no idea how it happened. I still have no idea. It was too unrealistic. Impossible.

But because of that ticket, I was thrown back into the old world again, only in a way I never expected.

I was blindly pulled around that night, as if by a string, and ended up getting from place to place, hardly remembering how I got there.

The next thing I remember I was in my seat, looking nervously around, waiting to wake up from the surreal dream I was having.

I was startled out of my trance by a man with a seat next to mine.

“Hey, what are you doing here all alone? You look concerned, are you ok?” he yelled over the noise of the crowd.

“I’m fine,” I yelled back, “God, I don’t even know what I’m doing here! I haven’t heard The Killers in years!”

“Why not?”
“Well, I guess it’s for the same reason I look concerned. Lots of memories. It all reminds me of a person I used to know.”

“Need me to keep you company? My friends all wandered off. I’m free to take your mind off things, if you want it.” He seemed really nice so I figured I’d give him a chance.

I smiled, “I’d like that.” I thought that maybe I was brought to that concert that night not to reunite with old love, but to find new.

The man and I talked and flirted. It felt good. I hadn’t talked like that with a boy in years. But after a while, his charm vanished, and he was swept away by his “buddies” who had found some drunk high school girls to hit on. Or so I gathered from their conversation.

And to think I never even learned his name…what a shame.

I wasn’t exactly disappointed, though, as the moment he left, the stage lights began to flicker, and the show began.

It was an odd feeling, really. For all my thoughts that I knew them, I realized that I had never seen The Killers in concert. I had only seen a few small shows. I had only known them for a year of our lives. And that year was three years ago. So how was it that they had such an impact on me?

I was lost the moment I saw Brandon, he was dressed in gleaming white, and had about himself a more serious tone than the boy I used to know. He had definitely changed. At that moment I knew we would be able to speak once more.

The first song they played I did not recognize. It, like Brandon was more mature than the old material, less pop-y than anything they had played in the past. I was left as astonished as I was the first time I heard them play.

Somehow, perchance by the same miracle that had brought me there, amidst the screaming girls and rabid fans, Brandon managed to look directly at me, and I noticed him falter—unseen by most, but not by me.

In that split second that our eyes met, I was rushed with emotions. On one hand, all the hurt and pain we had suffered came flooding back, but on the other, I felt, and I somehow knew that he did too, that we could talk again, that we could maybe work things out. Though neither of us had forgiven the other and we were both still hurting, there was an unspoken truce, though there was an undertone of a slight uneasiness. Still, I felt that it was a good thing I went that night. Of course, now, I’m not so sure of that, but what’s done is done. C’est la vie.

During most of the show, Brandon avoided looking in my direction, especially in the old songs, laden with memories.

Except for once. Toward the end of the concert, Brandon cleared his throat and leaned in to the mic—

“This next song is dedicated to someone I used to know.” He glanced over at me, and began to play a few notes, eyes not leaving mine, while the drums gradually grew louder in the background. Then, he started to sing.

“Let me wrap myself around you,

Let you show me how I see,

And when you come back in from nowhere,

Do you ever think of me?

Your heart is not able,

Let me show you how much I care

I need those eyes to tide me over

Take your picture when I go

Gives me strength and gives me patience

But I’ll never let you know

I’ve got nothing on you baby

But I always said I’d try

Let me show you how much I care

And sometimes it gets hard

And don’t you know?

Don’t give the ghost up

Just clench your fists

You should’ve known by now,

You were on my list.

When your heart is not able

And your prayers they’re not fables

Let me show you

How much I care.”

It may have been presumptuous, but I seemed to know that the song was about me. I felt tears coming on, and forced myself to look away. I had to focus on breathing. I couldn’t be the weird girl sitting alone in the front row, tears in her eyes. It would just be too strange.

By the time the concert was over, I was frozen. Frozen by the fear of not knowing what it all meant. Why had he written that song for me? Would we finally speak that night? Would my questions be answered? Would we be finally happy, or would my deepest fears be realized? By now, I know the latter to be true, and I know that I should have just left that night. Just turned around at that moment, and said, ‘You know, I saw him. He seemed good. Now I can move on.’ It would have saved the both of us tears and pain. And heartache.