Michael J Mallen

IT WAS A cool autumn night as I fingered the steel strings of my Martin D-28 and felt the warm spotlight shine down on me at the Bluebird Cafe.

I was in the middle of my set when I heard some commotion in the room. I later realized that was when Taylor Swift walked in.

I hadn’t noticed her at the time—my eyes were shut, blocking out everything but the raw emotion about a girlfriend killed in a car wreck. I sang from a deep place and felt my grief lighten as I shared it with the audience.

     As I struck the last chord, I opened my eyes and the crowd burst into spontaneous applause, with Taylor more enthusiastic than anyone else.

     I kept my composure and finished the set. As I was packing up my guitar, I looked up and saw her standing a foot from me.

     “You have a great feel and sound. You had me wishing for more.”

     “Thanks so much—I really appreciate the compliment.”

     “Would you like to grab a coffee? I’d love to learn about your background and writing.”

     “Sure thing,” I said, trying to hold back my excitement at this unforeseen turn of events.

     We drove to Barista Parlor in my slightly beat up ‘95 Toyota  Corolla— she didn’t seem to mind. We got a corner table and after we ordered, I told her about how I got into music, my influences, and what my goals were.

     She listened attentively with the warmest of smiles. Out of the blue she asked me if I’d like to open for her on the next leg of her tour.

     I was ecstatic—on top of the world. Just as I was about to say yes, I seemed to be transported to another dimension as I awoke from my dream.