My Hero

I sat there in the dark. On the spot lit stage, a stool, a single microphone, a guitar on a stand and a table with a tumbler and a jug of water. I’d waited over forty years for this, after regularly listening to his albums and tapes.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome …” I heard no more because of the adrenaline in my bloodstream, the pounding in my ears.
He stumbled on stage, staggered to the microphone and picked up his guitar. From the first chord, he made the instrument sing. The notes burned into my soul and I wept.