I slept with my head propped up against the bus window for most of the way to Montreal. When I woke up, I saw the distorded, blurry sunlit fields reflected in the small television screen above. I blinked sleepily for several minutes and watched the country scenes whiz by.

Dana-Ève was sitting in a chair near the Ottawa departures area, looking as though she might be waiting for a bus herself. It was soothing to have such a good friend greet my arrival and join me for a casual supper of sandwiches on some concrete steps. A breeze was picking up, but the temperature wasn't showing any signs of going down.

Being alone, I made my way inside the grungy lobby early and, just as My Morning Jacket launched into their first song, I squeezed my way to the front of the stage. I was surprised at how they appeared, having never seen a photograph of the band members. The drummer and one of the guitarist looked like they were old head bangers from the early 80's, with tight dark jeans and long messy hair concealing their faces. The crowd grew with every song, and already I felt the wet patches on the back of my t-shirt. It was extremely stuffy, the kind of night to lie in bed naked with three fans on full blast surrounding you, not stand in a windowless room where people stand so close, you can feel hands other than your own at your sides. I was enjoying the music and the lead singer's voice, which was surprisingly angelic for a big man with a full reddish beard and floppy hair. I felt comfortable in the crowd except for the physical discomfort stemming from the combined heat, lack of water and sore back. I clapped loudly when they finished their short set, and looked around me as the lights came on and the roadies prepared for Wilco's show. I shifted from one foot to the other for long moments, impatient to see the featured band, and nervous at how long I might have to endure the heat while standing up. As time went by and the crowd grew tighter and rowdier, I licked my lips and started to crave water, scanning around for one of those crowd servers who go around balancing a dangerously high number of plastic cups of beer on a tray above people's heads. I saw a few pushing through around me, but I didn't want beer, I wanted water. Several moments went by and I heard the group next to me mention that intermission would be at least 45 minutes. I felt a pang of mild panic. I wondered if I should simply leave and get to the bar, and turned to consider the crowd behind me. All I saw was a sea of restless faces, bodies stuck together from one corner of the room to the other. I started fidgeting with the straps of my bag, which suddenly felt bulky on my shoulder. But I don't want to lose my place in the front, I thought anxiously. By this time my t-shirt was soaked and I was wiping the sweat from my face continuously with my shirt sleeve.

That's the last thing I remember, right before the faces around me blurred, like the scenery in the television screen earlier on the bus.

I'm going away
Where you will look for me
Where I'm going you cannot come

The first pair of eyes I saw when I came around belonged to Jeff Tweedy, frontman extraordinaire for Wilco. I felt stunned that I'd somehow turned off like a light switch and ended up lying on an old couch in a strange place, so seeing his familiar face was extremely comforting somehow.

"Hey kid, you allright? I think you need some water."

I looked around and saw a few other people standing above me. "Yeah, she's gonna be ok. Typical heat exhaustion, y'know," some guy was telling another onlooker. I started to regain my senses and I sat up, taking a cold water bottle that was handed to me. "You sure you're gonna be ok? Just tired and hot? Are you on anything right now?" It took me a second to realize that he thought I might be high, then I shook my head and spoke. "No, no, not at all. Just really hot and thirsty I guess." I rubbed my eyes and continued, "I came all the way on a bus from Ottawa, and I had a long day at work, and the bus wasn't air conditioned, and then I was in the crowd and looking for water..." I realized that I was prattling on and he probably didn't care about the details, so I stopped talking. "Are you with anyone here? The guys said that you seemed to be on your own." I looked at the other men, who were losing interest. "I am," I replied with a small shrug. Tweedy, who'd been crouching down next to me, got up and looked behind him. "Hey guys," he said casually, "It's all under control." I stood up next to him and he gave me a friendly, shy smile. He extended his arm towards a long hallway across the room: "Ok - come with me." I stopped for just a second to allow myself to look right into his eyes, which I'd been avoiding. I felt like my mind was thinking so many things at once, as though time was suspended.

I'm an ocean
An abyss in motion
Slow motion
Slow motion

We were sitting on another couch, this time in a smaller, cozier room packed with clothes, boxes and equipment. We'd been talking for about ten minutes when he paused and asked: "So if you could dedicate this show to anyone, who would it be?" I was intrigued by the question and tilted my head to one side in thought. There was something magical in the way he had asked the question, as though my answer might mean something to him. "Well, could I dedicate it to two people?" He laughed. "That's a very generous thing to do. Sure, go ahead." I gave him an embarassed smile and then looked down at my feet. "This isn't mine to dedicate, but if it was I would dedicate it to my twin sister Manon, " - he grinned - "and to [name removed], who doesn't love me anymore." The air felt completely still in the silence that followed. His face was soft and full of wonder. We sat around for another minute or two without exchanging a word or a glance. Then he turned to me and said, "Thanks for that. I'll remember that at the end, so keep an ear out for me."

They thin my heart with little things
And my life with change
In so many ways
I find more missing every day

Somehow, I found myself back at the front of the stage for the show. The lights were dimmed, the crowd screamed and the band came out. I looked up to Jeff Tweedy's face and he seemed startingly serious in contrast to the softness I had just witnessed. But the show went on, and Tweedy started gesturing, and dancing, and smiling as he belted out amazing songs. Before I knew it, the encore was nearly over and he announced the very last song. "Hey thanks for comin' out!" I saw him look down and scan the crowd, but by then I was sure I was just lost among a sea of sweaty faces. But our eyes suddenly met and locked, and he held my gaze for a few moments. "Je me souviens," he finally yelled out in broken French.

Illitterati lumen fidei
God is with us everyday
That illiterate light
Is with us every night

The song was ending and I checked my watch to make sure I'd make the midnight bus on time. But I took a good last look at his face as he sang out the last words: "It's good to be alone." The people around me probably thought I was weird, but I stuck my hand up in the air and waved goodbye.

No one's ever gonna take my life from me
I lay it down
A ghost is born
A ghost is born
A ghost is born