It's Monday night, after the show Saturday night. Yesterday there was no music, wouldn't dream of putting any music on. Today i listened to Adam Again all day, the perfecta album. I needed to hear about lost love, doubt - i had to come down. No, i didn't listen to Yes, couldn't, not yet, probably not tomorrow. When i think about Yesmusic, i remember the show. And i remember seeing Jon Anderson backstage afterward. And then i can't do anything else.

One of many great things about Mrs. Ed is that she knows people. I don't know people: i have no social skills whatsoever, so if i don't have to talk to you, you can bet that i won't. I probably won't look at you, either. So i don't know people, but my wife does. She's good at knowing people. And one person she knows, knows another person who could get us passes to a pre-show meet-n-greet with Yes. I was petrified. I swore i wouldn't go. I hate the very idea of chatting up rock stars, trying to make conversation, asking for photos and autographs. I don't even understand the autograph seeker - he's like a different species. I'm not criticizing (i don't think), i just don't get it, it's not me. I can't talk to people, so how am i going to talk to Jon Anderson?!?

My wife knows these things about me, but she also has an idea how i feel about the music of Yes. Which is why she was surprised that i passed up a similar backstage opportunity at the show in Atlanta's awful Tabernacle last year. There was a huge fight, but i just went to the show. Then this time, surprise! semi-backstage passes! There was another fight.

I tried to work it out in my head, so i could explain it to her. That i don't want autographs, and what am i supposed to say? And who the hell am i to think i belong in the same parsec as Steve Howe? I thought, the most i could ever ask for would be the chance to look in Jon's face and say, Thank you. To have that opportunity would be the ultimate honor, and would satisfy one of my top five fantasies (the others being intensely private in nature and none of your damn business). Nothing more, not this schmoozy crap. "Gee, Mr. Howe, i've been a huge fan since i was like fourteen and yeah it was one of the Trevor records but you're so much better and when is Bill Bruford coming back 'cause Alan's good and all but you know and how did you guys make that explosion in Arriving UFO and can i have your autograph on this bootleg from the Union tour and what's the deal with Rick Wakeman anyway and holy shit i can't believe i'm standing here talking to Steve Howe omigod and where are you going? What a jerk, he wouldn't even shake my hand. Rock stars."

I had this argument with her and in my head all last week, and it only dawned on me late Friday: Hey, Ed, you stupid shit! You're being given exactly the opportunity you want! Take it! Go! You don't have to make an ass of yourself!

So we went. We learned that we should go to this certain gate immediately following the Kansas set for a short meet-n-greet with Yes. I steeled myself. I kept repeating to myself, You will not pass up this opportunity, and you will not make an ass of yourself, you will not pass up this opportunity, and you will not make an ass of yourself... Just as we thought the guard would open the certain gate, he informed us that the event had been re-scheduled 'til after the show. Are you sure? "Yes, i'm sure." You swear to GOD? You're not just screwing with us? "Go away."

I need a beer.

I've already told you about the show. What i haven't told you is how i dreaded the end of "I've Seen All Good People." We all know the setlist, so i knew what came next. I knew there would be the clapping, and that there would also be whistling, cheering, hooting, and the screaming of requests. And i knew they would return and play "Roundabout," and that would be it. And i would have to go backstage and make an ass of myself. You know how you get butterflies in your stomach when you're nervous? I had condors. All the giant, ugly, endangered California condors left on the planet were doing laps in my gullet. This is what dread feels like.

We were allowed through the certain gate and told to wait under this tent. Not really backstage, but between the two fences that separate the teeming masses from the backstage. There was a certain amount of waiting around. I sat on a picnic table, the furthest one from where the guys would have to come in. I put my face in my hands. I was not prepared. I heard a buzz, no a murmur, pass through the knot of waiting people and looked up - and there was Jon all alone in that throng, not twenty feet away.

My heart stopped. All the blood drained from my face. I literally could not move. I just watched, stared at his face. He seemed so small, and he was clearly exhausted. And yet he was so patient and gracious with each person's demands for attention. So Christ-like. Not in the behold-my-new-guru sense, but in the same way that we all strive (or say we strive) to be like the Christ. He was so forgiving of people who seemed to only want to take little bits of him. And he smiled. The whole time, he just smiled and gave his attention graciously, and he seemed so at peace. So peaceful and gentle. There were tears in my eyes, and that is beyond rare. I'm not too macho to cry - it's just something my body doesn't do. I really thought i was going to cry.

My wife prodded me to go over and get an autograph, or talk to him, or something, but i said i can't, i just can't. She made to take the t-shirt we'd bought before the show, but i said, No, leave him alone. Steve arrived, and much attention shifted his direction. Jon started edging toward the exit, and i positioned myself nearby. I thought, if i'm standing near him as he walks by, that'll be enough. I was still about to cry, and the nearer he got to me, the more convinced i became that if i opened my mouth, i would puke. You think i'm kidding or exaggerating, i know, but no - i was actually about to spew my dinner and 14 ounces of Sam Adams. Talk about making an ass of yourself, what if you yakked all over Jon Anderson?

Jon was moving toward the exit, and my wife was a pace or two closer to him. As he passed, now clearly aching to be away (but still peaceful, still gracious), he just brushed Mrs. Ed's arm and turned towards her. She said something about how amazing the show was, i can't remember, and then he turned back towards the exit, back towards me. Time. Stopped. He was no more than three feet away. I looked into his face and put my hands together as if praying. And i said, as if praying, Thank you. He smiled, (almost) nodded, turned and walked out.

When i became aware of my surroundings again, i realized i had returned to the far area of the tent and was pacing in fast circles like the social retard i am. So i sat back down on my picnic table, and my lovely (but clearly not observant) wife suggested i try for Steve's autograph. All i could do was shake my head slowly, i can't, no, that's all i have, i'm spent. So she took the shirt and the Sharpie. And the next i knew, there was Igor. She whipped out his Piano Works CD, which we'd bought along with the shirt and headed his way. As a matter of fact, she was the first non-industry-wanker to reach him (she's a huge Igor fan, and she thinks he's a pretty good organ player, too), and when she sweetly asked him to sign the front of the CD sleeve, he looked around to all the people and said, "Aha! My album! You should all go and buy it! That's it, i don't want to sign anything else!" This guy is cool. And he's right, you should go to his site right now and buy it (it's not in record stores).

The rest is just a blur. Steve, too, seemed small, and even more frail that he'd looked onstage. But he tried to be gracious; even when declining to be photographed, he was polite. Chris came in with a real rock star swagger and loud voice, and Steve sneaked out (i did see him accidentally shake one guy's hand on his way out). Alan arrived with no fanfare whatever and appeared polite. I couldn't talk to anyone, but Mrs. Ed approached them all and came back grinning like the Cheshire Cat. We left, and i drove home, and i can't even tell you what route i took. The rain that'd stopped just before the show started up again just as we got in the car and pelted us all the way, i remember that, but mostly i was in a daze. But, yeah, i've got some autographs now, thanks to the missus - everyone's, actually. Except Jon's. Which is as it should be.

So again i thank you, Jon. Thank you.

Thank you.