On meeting Neil for the first time, I was worried that I really did look an awful lot like my twin. And we were one of the few that were not wearing dark coats or making out like lizards with other dark-coated people things.

And I waited very long, and I felt jealous of Neil for his irreverence. He amusedly scolded the audience for thinking that Terry Pratchett was the humor man in Good Omens. I conceded, upon hearing Neil's speaking voice for the first time, that yes, this chap is indeed funny.

So my sister and I waited for number 1,000,099 to be called so we may see Neil, and I could tell him, gosh, what a cool guy, and are you single and available? Can you tell sister and I apart? I had a great deal many questions.

And the moment was coming and there were flashbulbs in front of us, and Neil looked visibly tired, but compliant. And I finally was up to the table and I looked at Neil and my first thought (probably the 100,000,099th instance of this thought that night) was "Gracious me [yes I talk like this], he has lovely eyes." And I banished the thought instantly, and tried to ask an authorly question, such as, "Who is your inspiration" or some such fluff.

And I leaned in and gingerly asked, "May I ask a question?" (Which, if there were a Question Accountant in the midst, I would have already been ushered away, having used a question as preamble.) And Neil, very tired indeed, smiled a little, and said, "Yes of course," and he summoned some generic lady to his side, made a C with his hand, pointed to his cup of tea, and said, "I do need about this much less water in this." There was a lime there too. I never had tea with limes. Or is my memory corrupted and was it something else? No, it was a lime. And I was amused.

My version of tea is dark stuff that looks like essence of horse. And I put mint leaves in it. It is a bit pleasant. And horsey.

My sister ended up complimenting Neil's jacket, and I ended up asking a rather lame question about whether or not Neil writes with living representations in mind. (I really wanted to know this, because when I write, I'm always thinking of all the crazy people I know, and just dialing up their craziness a titch. Just a little. My boss at work is Godzilla. But her cry is more of an ambulance honking. Have you ever heard an ambulance honk? Or the driver saying to the cattle stuck in front of him: "What if this was your mother back here?!" And all of a sudden, cars scurry? It's amusing on some observational level.

I was altogether very disappointed that I could not linger and tell Neil that Anansi Boys really is funny and lovely and sweet like limes in tea, but I was overtaken by so many people behind me, and it seemed like there were more than 100,000,099 people that shared the same thrall.

C

I love the way you've desribed this. I know the feeling a bit. Not having met him though, but the 100,000,099 people feel. It makes one feel so small, as if you're a drop of water in an endless ocean. A part of the soul wishes it could radiate light like a beacon on the shores, so that a tiny glimpse of it could connect with that one person you've come to see. If only one spark of light; then no words would be needed and one would be seen amongst all of these others. Everybody likes to become a good memory to someone one considers special in one way or the other. That's simply human. The need to connect. But I thought you described the moment well, I felt I was standing there too, with you.