Not a Second Time -COMPLETED-

Epilouge: Two Years Later

Two Years Later:

          Alonzo tugged his tie to straighten it and then stood in front of the mirror, looking at nothing. His clothes had been tailored to fit him perfectly, and it was made with the most expensive fabric imaginable.

            Still, it felt too tight in the shoulders, and it itched. He shifted, trying to reconcile who he thought he was with this person staring back at him from the glass. He was no longer a shaggy-haired kid with a dream and an old guitar.

            Suddenly, two arms twined around his middle and a head rested on his shoulder. Alonzo smiled slightly at his beautiful girlfriend, Nichole, another part of his life that he couldn't believe was his.

            "What are you thinking?" she asked. "You look way too depressed. You should be excited! This is your big night!"

            Her accent was exotic. Alonzo had met her in France on his first world tour. She stepped out from behind him and took his hand in hers, tangling their fingers together.

            "Don't be nervous, Alonzo. You'll be great," she said softly.

            He hesitated before he nodded. "Maybe."

            Alonzo wasn't thinking about the upcoming award's ceremony. His mind was on a night almost two years ago to the day. He'd been walking down an Ohio sidewalk in the rain when something had blown him backward.

            It was as if some invisible person had grabbed him under the armpits, dragged him a dozen feet, and then dropped him. He had clambered back up, Andy's tinny voice still coming out of his cellphone.

            "Al? Are you there? Al..."

            Alonzo had not answered, but stood face to face with two beautiful blonde girls.

            "You're back," he had said flatly, clicking the phone shut.

            Decuma and Nona had regarded him somberly, not saying a word. Then Nona had reached forward and touched him lightly on the brow.

            "There," she had said. "They would want you to have this."

            Alonzo's vision had gone white. A minute or an hour later he had come to, drenched and dirty, lying on the sidewalk.

            That had been the beginning. And now here he was.

            He didn't realize Nicole was talking until she slapped him lightly. "C'mon, Alonzo. We're going to be late."

            Alonzo glanced at his watch and realized she was right. Of course. Nichole was always right.

            Outside the hotel, a limo was waiting. They got into the back seat and sat quietly for a moment as the car pulled away from the curb. After a few minutes, Nichole broke the silence.

            "You look like you're headed to a school dance," she said. "Andy is going to be furious."

            Alonzo shrugged. "Andy's not my personal stylist. Besides, I like this better."

            He was wearing a pair of dark jeans and a scuffed pair of Converse. His dress shirt had the top button undone and the sleeves rolled up, the tie had been loosened. His hair probably needed to be cut and hung into his eyes. He nervously brushed it away.

            Nichole, who looked like an A-list glamour girl, reached into her designer purse and came out with a small bottle of gel. She dumped some out into her palm and rubbed her hands together. "I thought this day might come."