Heath Alexander Pine walked from the computer and washed his face. He couldn’t see himsel fin the mirror, because he had covered it with soap.
He didn’t want to see his face. Didn’t want to see the passage of time, the change of hair style, the way he now held his mouth, he couldn’t bear the sight of himself.
He washed his face to remove the tears and let the cold water cut emotion.
He returned the computer, to the email he had written, and began to edit, cutting it to a pleasant opening and friendly ending sentence and sent it.
The fan would receive what might seem to be a ‘form letter’, but there was no reason for him to expose his heart to a stranger.
He shut the computer, pulled on his coat, and began to walk to the theatre.
No one recognised him, of course.