I sat across an aisle from Kurt Vonnegut one time. He was speaking in the gym at Oklahoma City University, and some friends and I got there early to get good seats. Before the program started, a volunteer brought him out to sit in the stands, and led him to a spot on the pull-out bleachers directly opposite me. I could’ve reached out and patted his shoulder, and from what I could tell, no one else who was sitting around us seemed to notice his presence, which would’ve shocked the everloving shit out of me had I been paying any attention to something other than the fact that I was sitting two and a half freaking feet from Kurt Freaking Vonnegut.
I clam up around famous people; I’m pretty sure Maya Angelou thought I had Aspergers for the three weeks I was in her class. There I was, next to Kurt Damn Vonnegut, and all I could do was catch his eye and give was a smile that I hoped said, “YOU ARE A GOD I ACKNOWLEDGE YOU FULLY,” but which probably said, “I FOUND A RACOON IN MY TRASH CAN AND I TRIED TO PUT A HAT ON IT AND NOW IT’S IN THE FREEZER.”