FanGirl Squeal (RockStars of Romance Book 1) (7 page)

I sat my beer on the table and glared at my best friend. “When
someone does that shit to you then you can ask me why I’m still dwelling on it.”
My jaw was clenched so tight that it actually started to hurt. “I was planning
to spend the rest of my life with Jacoby. I loved him and he didn’t show up to
our wedding. No phone call, no note. He just did not show up. Writing about my
experience helps me deal. Shut up about it.”

“But you’re not dealing,” Troy argued. “You’re entire life
is centered around work. You only date guys your father sends your way. When
you’re not working, you’re obsessing with your Facebook friends-”

“Friends,” I snapped. “Don’t trivialize my friendships by
reducing them to just Facebook friends. I will not have this conversation with
you if you’re going to be a dick.”

Troy huffed. “Fine. You’re obsessing with your friends over
Cash Myers. I like his music too, Savannah, but you act like that man is God.
It’s not healthy.”

I wrinkled my nose and sipped my beer before speaking. “I
appreciate your concern, but I’m not obsessed. And I’m fine,” I assured him. “Stop
fussing over me like I’m your child. I’m the same age as you. I have a career
that I enjoy and a social life. I’m not dwelling on Jacoby. I’m dealing with it
the best way I know how. Just remember that every time you bring it up, you’re
opening the wound. Just let me handle it like I need to handle it. I’m okay.”

I couldn’t tell if I was trying to convince myself, my
friend, or both of us. All through dinner, the question stayed embedded in my
mind.

Am I okay?

I thought I was. Personally, I don’t think two years is that
long to be sad over something horrible happening to you. But I can say Jacoby’s
name without crying so that should mean something.

After our parents introduced us, Jacoby and I had a
whirlwind romance. He was everything that I was programmed to believe was best
for me. He was an engineer, a card carrying member of the NAACP, had earned all
of his degrees at a Historically Black college, and his parents, like mine, worked
hand in hand with the majority of Black leaders in this country. My family
adored him.

None of that mattered to me. I loved the way his lips curled
up into a small smile when I walked in the door. I loved the way his hands felt
on my hips when we slow danced to Etta James. I loved how he brought me lunch
when he knew I had too many deadlines. I loved how he never considered my blog
a hobby.

We were together for six months before he popped the
question. I’m still wondering if I said yes because I genuinely wanted to be
someone’s wife at age twenty-five or if Ashley’s wedding to her doctor had
anything to do with it.

We had planned a large wedding in upstate New York. I don’t
know what happened. All I know is that I was sitting in the dressing room of
the church surrounded by my bridesmaids and in my wedding dress when Troy told
me that Jacoby wasn’t there.

An hour passed then two...still no Jacoby. Finally, my father
told everyone to go to the reception and have a good time since there was no
way he was getting the fifty grand he spent on my wedding back. I flew back to
L.A. and tried to avoid suicide at all costs.

I leaned on music to cope. I couldn’t burden my friends with
the task of trying to find the right thing to say. I see nothing wrong with
using music to get through a difficult time. Musicians write lyrics that we’re
supposed to relate to. Isn’t that the point?

I will admit that my connection to Cash’s music has gotten
stronger since that day, mainly because he’d just put out an album where every
single track touched on the emotions I was feeling. My heart was broken. I was
embarrassed, humiliated, hurt, and traumatized. It took every ounce of energy I
had to get out of bed every day. Some days, I didn’t. I hate that no one
understands that.

Later that night, when I was sure that Troy was asleep, I
sat on the living room sofa with my earbuds in, Cash’s
Shed a Tear Today
on repeat and my laptop in my lap. I finally figured out what I wanted to write
about.

Tears poured out of my eyes as I typed. My soul was being
cleansed with every keystroke. Three million subscribers and anyone who visits
my site were about to get a very personal look at the person behind
FangirlSqueal.com
.
I don’t know why it was so important to share, but as I closed my Macbook, I
felt a hundred times better.

FanGirlSqueal.com

The Power of
Song

By Savannah Ford

From the
beginning of time, music has been a constant element in societies all over the
globe. Is it so surprising that people become attached to music and the people
who make music on the same level one may become attached to a person?

Imagine a
world without song. Even if you’re a person who only hears music in the
background, imagine how silently uncomfortable life would be.

I’ll be the
first to admit that I have an emotional attachment to music. Music is my best
friend, a melodic security blanket that I carry with me everywhere. It comforts
me when I’m sad, uplifts me, and parties the night away with me. Music is the
boyfriend who never cheats, the friend who always has your back. It’s the
Hammer of Thor, Captain America’s Shield, and Superwoman’s cape. It’s the pulse
of life.

I am not a musician.
I can’t play an instrument and you don’t want to hear me sing. What I am is a
fan. Over time, I’ve evolved into what some would (and do) call a fangirl. For
some artists, I am considered a SUPERFAN. Titles don’t bother me.

Every year, I
dedicate a portion of this site to my tour experiences. I’ve covered everyone
from Nicki Minaj and John Mayer to Cash Myers and Beyoncé. These “Road
Sessions” have been noticed by the artists themselves because they give a true
account of the fan experience.

However,
since music is also the threat that weaves together friends and relationships,
it doesn’t give a complete account of the fan experience. Through the power of
music, I’ve met the most incredible people all over the world. Fans like me who
not only hear the music, but also embrace it. We let it in and allow it to
touch the deepest parts of our souls.

The power of
song is magical. At times, music has transported me to a place where my
insecurities didn’t matter. Lyrics have taught me lessons that my parents
failed to teach. Songs have empowered me to become the woman that I am today.

We all have
those significant moments in life that we mark with a song, a movie, or even a
book. My significant moments can always be linked back to a Cash Myers song.
His words and melodies have propelled me through the most difficult moment in
my life. His songs thwarted a suicide attempt and encouraged me to be better
than the person who hurt me. Cash Myers music is the soil in which my
relationship with my best friend was planted and has flourished into a
beautiful friendship that I guarantee will last forever.

I come from a
family of intellectuals and I will always be “just a blogger” to them. But I
also remember a lyric that said, “I will be more than what you expect of me
because my greatness you will never see.”

There were so
many times when I wanted deactivate this site and find a job that would pay my
rent without me having to survive on hot dogs and frozen French fries. There
have been times that I feel like I’m going to be single forever, but it comes
back to a song lyric that reassures me that I’m not.

That is the
power of song. That is why people grow attached to artists in a way that may
seem unnatural or even “crazy” to others. We’re given labels such as fangirl
and SUPERFAN that brings on a negative connotation that isn’t fair. Music isn’t
just something we hear in the elevator or on the radio. It isn’t something that
we just dance to at parties. It’s a part of our being. We’re not crazy or
obsessed.

We just
believe in music the way some people believe in fairy tales.

****

The next morning, I walked into the kitchen for my coffee,
Phoebe and Joey trailing behind me. Troy was already gone, but there was a
Post-It on the microwave.

Loved the post about Cash. I get it now. I hope he sees
it.

xoxo

Troy

I smiled to myself as I took my Starbucks and went down to
my office. I’m happy that Troy gets it, but my piece wasn’t really about Cash.
It would be nice if he saw it though.

While my desktop was booting up, I took my work phone off
the charger and logged into my social media manager. I had over fifty messages
in my Facebook box, hundreds of Twitter direct messages, and ninety-five
messages on tumblr.

What the hell?

Before I even attempted to tackle that mess, I called Amy to
wish her Happy Birthday. She answered on the first ring.

“Hey Savannah Banana!” she screamed in my ear.

“Happy Birthday Amy!” I shouted. “Did you get my gift yet?”

“I did! I can’t believe you sent me thirty pairs of skater
socks! I love them!”

“Good. So, what did I miss on the east coast? Something had
to have happened. My Twitter and Facebook are crazy right now. Any news?”

“You’re the news, Banana,” Amy answered.

“What?”

Amy went on to tell me that our entire group had read my editorial
and have been tweeting about it while I was sleeping. Sometimes, I really hate
that the majority of them are on the east coast.

“What? Why? They know my story and how I feel about Cash,
well, music in general. What’s the big deal?”

“Savannah, you’re an amazing writer. You have a gift at
capturing what we all feel and putting it into words. Have you not logged on to
your site? There are so many comments from people sharing their own stories, it’s
crazy. Your server went down for like an hour. Where have you been?”

“I’ve been in bed,” I said slowly. “It’s eight in the
morning here.”

While Amy was recapping some of the comments, I logged onto
my website to see for myself. I’ve never had a post generate so much feedback.
I’ve had successful posts that generate traffic, but never this many comments.
I am seriously blown away. People were thanking me for “breaking it down” and
calling me inspiring. There were hundreds of people talking about what music
has done for them. There were more stories about Cash Myers and what his music
has done for people than I could count. Some were from my friends and some were
from people I never talked to before on any social media forum. I was in tears
while I read about people who left abusive relationships, lost weight, or followed
their dreams simply because of a song he wrote. It was beautiful.

“Amy, he needs to see this.”

“He does!” Amy agreed. “But how do we get him to see it? It’s
not like he’s been on Twitter lately.”

“I’ll just email his publicist the link. She can forward it
to him.”

“We have to do something bigger, Banana. He’s been MIA and
he just broke up with his fiancée. I’m sure our boy is a little depressed.
Since all these stories and comments are sorta like Thank You letters, we
should put them together.”

“Like how? On another website?”

“No, something more personal. Like a collage of some sort,
made up of all these comments and stories. That would be nice. We’d frame it
and then could send it to him, like a Thank You gift from his fans.”

I pondered that idea for a minute. It’s not too crazy. I’ve
never sent a celebrity anything, but I know people who have. They seem to like
it. But a giant collage seems like it would be too much.

“What if we put together something smaller than a collage,”
I suggested. “Maybe a coffee table book or something like that!”

“I love that!” Amy shouted. “Then he could put it in his new
apartment!”

 “Are you going to help with this?” I asked. “It feels kind
of time consuming.”

I could almost hear Amy’s shoulders shrug as she dragged out
an “I don’t know. I’m swamped with work stuff, but how hard can it be? Plus,
you know his publicist. You can probably get it to him better than anyone.”

I have no idea how hard putting a book together is, but
since I love the idea, I decided to move forward. After hanging up with Amy
before she got fired, I abandoned all work related responsibilities for the
rest of the morning and reached out to my friends via phone, text, and email.
This just wasn’t something I wanted to post on Facebook.

I haggled with Nicole about doing the typesetting and
designing a cover for the book. By the time I really had to get to work before
I missed a deadline, I had twenty-five Dear Cash letters in my email.

Even for SUPERFANS, this idea is over the top. Why am I
doing this?

“That sounds good. That sounds pretty damn good.”

Cash was alone in his piano room, but it didn’t matter. He always
talked to himself when he was writing songs. Now that he was single and not
touring, he didn’t have a lot of other things to occupy his time so he started
to work on the next album. He wasn’t one of those celebrities that opened
restaurants or took up acting. Cash didn’t involve his name in anything that
wasn’t music related.

he’d been playing since was six years old when he sat at the
piano at his church and banged out Scott Joplin’s
Maple Leaf Rag
, a song
he remembered hearing on a cartoon just days before. His mother immediately
enrolled him in piano lessons then added guitar and drum lessons when he showed
an interest in them too. Jennifer Myers would do anything to keep her boy from
running the streets.