The man’s finger poised over the iPad’s delete button.

Delete or not?  After several years on Twitter, he still wasn’t sure what to do.  The Infamous Picture had kicked off his rise on the platform and to his surprise, the subscriber number had increased despite everything.   He’d been careful ever since, but that seemed to be the problem.  Was he too careful or not careful enough?

His hand dropped to the leather seat.  He gazed out at the German countryside as the limo sped to Schönefeld Airport.  For the past few days, he and his colleagues from his latest project had celebrated his birthday in style.  After his fandom had sent so many birthday greetings, he thought they might appreciate a peek into his life.  So he’d shared some harmless pictures with them. 

Harmless.  Right, he thought. 

He’d enjoyed the days before social media when he’d sent long missives through a designated website and that was that.  Nobody interfered.  It was just me and the fans, he thought.  Now it’s me and fans and the world.

He admired a lovely selfie he’d snapped of himself and a few colleagues.  The production PR said it had not authorized any release of cast and crew photos.

Damn it.

If he were honest, he really missed the silence for days and weeks after clicking “send.”   At least until he received mail in reply or curiosity killed him and he consulted the forums.  Now, the responses came fast and he just couldn’t not look.

“Nice pic!”  Hmm, yes it is.

“Is that your new girlfriend?”  Heh, not if her husband has anything to say about it.

“Were you drunk?” Wait – what? I was sober as a judge.

Sheesh!  Click. Delete.

Next, a picture of an abstract sculpture depicting a man, he was told – a cast gift.  The sculptor alerted him that the painting behind the piece was not available for public viewing.  Oops!

“Nice pic!”   Of course.

“Love the painting!”   I know, right?

“Was the sculptor drunk?”   What?  Hmmm.  No clue.

Click. Delete.

Oh.  A selfie of himself on set.  Could the production PR tell? Best to be safe.

“Nice pic!”   Right.

“Thanks for sharing!”   You’re welcome!

“You don’t have to photoshop your selfies.  We love your wrinkles!”  What??? Like I would be vain enough to rub out my  – wait, the lines aren’t that bad, are they?”

Shit.  Click. Delete.

There.  Four tweets left for the week.  That should take care of everything.

Oh wait. The funny one is still here.  He perused the entry containing a selfie with plant leaves sticking out of his ears and mouth followed by a quotation.  He wasn’t sure if everybody got the reference.  He wasn’t sure if he got the reference.

“Nice pic!”  Who is this person?

“Goofy dude!”   Yes, yes it is.

“Were you drunk?”  Am I getting some sort of reputation?  Well yes, yes I was.

Click. Delete.

Three entries left.  He smirked at the selfie of himself trying to pinch a liquor cart.

“Nice photo!”  Oh, that’s a change!

“Very cute!”   I thought so.

“Hey, you’ve deleted three entries!”  And one more makes four.

Click. Delete.

He looked at the last two entries: an innocuous quote and a selfie of him showing off some wild looking socks. Should he leave them? They were harmless enough.  But would he be giving them significance by not deleting them?  Would fans read something into it all?   Surely not.  He’d leave them.

His eyes shifted to the flurry of comments hitting his Twitter timeline.

Why do you keep deleting tweets like this?”

“You know once you post, it’s out there forever, right?”

“Are you drunk?”

The man sighed.  He had to do what he had to do.  If it meant deleting posts, then so be it.  He just couldn’t leave things on his timeline if it caused problems.  Besides, he’d noticed that the deletions gave his fans something to discuss.  They seemed almost as important as his posts which was handy during periods when he really had nothing to say.  His finger hovered over the quote entry.

Click. Delete.

“I loved that quote!”

“Dude! What are you doing!”

“You gotta lay off the sauce, man!”

He eyed the socks entry.  On second thought, the socks seemed controversial – verrrrry controversial.   He had a right to change his mind didn’t he?

Click.  Delete.

The man smirked.   That should hold them.

[Hi all!  I know it’s been four months.  Will explain later but first, here’s what you’d rather see today.  Enjoy.]

***

The man looked at the gray sky again and sighed.

He perched on the railing, feeling all elbows and knees as he tried not to bump the two women on either side.  A young brunette to his left chattered nonstop with her companion.  On his right, a mature woman in a baseball cap sat reading a pamphlet.  He didn’t want to disturb either of them.

Around him, the excited flow of chatter rose and fell as experts on little mobile screens discussed the imminent first total solar eclipse of the century.  Everybody seemed to have prepared for the event with bagged lunches, information pamphlets, eclipse glasses and extra batteries for their mobiles.  Of course, he had come only with sunglasses that offered no protection. Don’t stare at the sun, experts warned.  So he’d spent the last hour glancing up at the sky for a only second or two. Not that it really mattered now.

His impromptu trip to this college town to personally witness the phenomenon had turned out to be a waste of time. He’d taken the needed the break in his schedule and arrived that morning unprepared.  The morning dawned with blue skies.  Now, ominous clouds had rolled in, blotting out the sun and threatening to make the thing a non-event.  It’d put him in a worse mood – just the opposite of what he’d hoped for.  Story of my life, he thought. 

Squirming on the metal bar, he managed to jostle both women.  Damn it. I’m not in the mood for small talk.

Both budged over just a bit.   The chirpy one threw him a toothy grin . “It’s packed and jammed, huh?” She waited for an answer.

He blinked at the American, trying to process the slang and the accent.  Oh, she must mean it’s close quarters here.  No shit. I should just leave. He managed a weak smile and a nod before studying the sky as if there were something to see.  He felt her turn away slowly to turn address her companion.  The woman on his right closed her booklet and looked off into the distance.

So now you’re moody and rude.  He felt like a tosser.  He should apologize somehow, or at least try to chat Chirpy up – only he couldn’t bring himself to do it. 

The man’s head dropped and he gave a sharp exhale.  It was that time of year again when he felt his mortality.  Well, not so much his age – he had reconciled himself to growing older as a fact of life.  But his youth oriented profession pressured him to strive and achieve his goals before The Powers That Be perceived him as too old.  He’d gained success later in his career; that maturity had helped him cope with it but now he felt behind the eight ball, as the Americans say, as if he had to achieve it now, whatever it was. 

He stared at his clenched hands.  What was his looking for? He had no right to complain.  He’d appeared in a play off-Broadway to positive reviews, snagged some roles in feature movies and even worked in independent films where he could hone his skills and stretch himself.  He was breaking into the US market. His agent touted him as a new kind of rising star.  Why did he feel as if aging was blotting out his star, much like the clouds blotted out the sun overhead -that he was running out of time? Damn it, was he always going to become so maudlin this time of year?

“Damn it, damn it, damn it, ” he hissed.

“Are you okay?” A soft voice on his right. The baseball cap woman.

The man glanced at her, readying a brushoff but stopped.  Two brown eyes gazed back.  No, not just brown but big and soft, steady and caring.  They seemed to pull him in.

It was out of his mouth before he knew what had happened.  “Tomorrow is my birthday!”  Alright.  Now, that explains everything.

He expected his behavior to elicit the surprise but he didn’t expect the rest, as her eyes registered consideration and then knowing.

“Ah,” she said, her lips curling into faint smile.  She nodded and regarded him for a moment.  “You need to look up.”

He blinked. Look up? What did that mean?

“Here.  Take my eclipse glasses.  They’re certified,” she stated wryly.

He donned the glasses and looked up. “But they’re completely dark. I can’t see a thing!”

He reached to take them off, but she stayed his arm. “Keep watching. Never mind the clouds.  It’s almost time.”

The man looked up.  Was something happening? Yes! Against the dark filter slowly appeared a vivid sliver of orange crescent. The crowd cheered.  The clouds have parted, she murmured.  He grinned. The clouds had parted just in the nick of time.  The moon moved in front of the sun leaving nothing but the sun’s corona. 

“Totality!” somebody yelled and the crowd cheered louder.

“It’s quite dark now. Like dawn before sunrise,” she murmured close. “But there’s always dark before light.”

“Amazing,” he breathed.

The woman murmured again.  “Now, you only have to wait for the light. When it comes, it will be brilliant.”

As the moon rolled away from the sun, a pinpoint of orange began to glow bigger and brighter until an engagement ring of light burst into view. The crowd cheered again.

The man whipped off the glasses and turned grinning to the woman.  “A total eclipse.  That was absolutely amazing!”

She smiled back and squeezed his arm.  “Don’t forget: you only have to wait for the light. When it comes, it’s brilliant. Enjoy it.”

He stared as she jumped down from the railing and turned back to him.

“And don’t forget: have a happy birthday.”

***

[Have a happy birthday Richard Armitage, wherever you are.]