I met this lady when I was twelve years old. She would sit outside my hotel and every time I walked by her, I wanted to talk to her. I wondered about her. I wondered where she came from and if she had any family. I wanted to know why she was living on the streets.

But every time I saw her I walked past like she didn't exist. I went straight to my room and looked out the window at her.

I finally talked to her in August of nineteen ninety-eight. She was sitting outside of the hotel I was staying at, like I always saw her. I told myself that I had put it off long enough and I had to talk to her before something happened to one of us, and it ended up never happening. So I walked up to her with a smile on my face and politely introduced myself. She told me her name was Colleen. I hadn't expected that to be her name. I had been thinking more on the lines of Jasmin, or Julia. But not Colleen. There was a moment of silence. I didn't know what to say to her. I didn't know what to say to her to make her want to say anything back. I felt like this dumb kid who didn't know what he was doing. Which I guess was kind of true.

Before I could say anything, she flashed me a smile and said, "Hey Zac, you wouldn't mind loaning me a buck?" I fished through my pockets saying "Sure, sure." She laughed, then asked me where I was from. I told her Tulsa and she smiled. Then I asked her where she was from. "New York, born and raised." It didn't surprise me.

"So, why you here?" She asked me as I handed her a dollar.

"I'm in a band," I told her.

"You guys must be pretty famous then," I nodded. "I never know whats new anymore."

She looked away and I took my chance to study her. She had long brown hair that needed to be brushed. I had noticed her eyes were a dark brown, and her skin was light and fair, even in the summer weather.

"Do you sleep out here?" I asked. I immediately wanted to take the question back. It was stupid. It was obvious she slept out there.

It didn't seem to phase her though. "Yeah. I aint got nowhere else to go," she answered.

There were all these questions I wanted to ask her. I wanted to know why she was here. I wanted to know why she didn't have a home. I wanted to know everything. A part of me thought she needed to tell somebody. Even if it was a twelve year old boy.

"How do you eat?" I felt so naive and ignorant.

"How do you eat, Zac?" I felt slightly offended. Like she was insulting my intelligence. "I don't know you much kid, but you're good people," she said with a smile. I smiled back.

"Where's your family?" There I went with another stupid question. I kept wondering if I was invading her privacy. I was waiting for her to tell me to get lost.

"Somewhere in the tri-state area," Colleen said to me, squinting into the sun.

"Why aren't you with them?" I asked.

"You sure do have a lot of questions," Colleen observed. "I took off when I was 16, cause my stepdad was a dick."

"Didn't your mom come after you?"

"I don't think she cared either way, Zac. Not everyone's as rich and famous as you. With me gone it was just one less mouth to feed."

I didn't think her saying that was fair, but I didn't say anything. I knew not every one was as lucky as I had been. I realized things like that, and I didn't go around thinking I was holier than thou or anything.

"My family wasn't always rich, Colleen," I felt I at least should say something though.

"So you know what it's like," she said.

"I see you here all the time," I told her. I guess I thought she should know that piece of information. I expected her to make fun of me. To call me some insulting name and ignore me for the rest of my life, but instead she smiled that brilliant smile.

"I've seen you too, once or twice," she said. "How old are you?"

"I'm twelve. I'll be thirteen in October," I was too close to being thirteen not to tell her.

"That's what I thought. So what kind of band are you in?"

"It's me and my brothers. We play instruments and stuff," I said.

"You and your brothers? You guys must get along pretty good," Colleen observed. I didn't want to tell that we didn't get along very well, but I didn't want to lie. I felt like I had to tell her the truth. I felt like she knew when I wasn't telling the truth. So I just shrugged and said, "Well, you know."

She gave me this look. She knew I was lying! "You do not get along," she said matter of factly. "It's okay not to get along with people, Zac."

"I know," I said.

Colleen looked up and down the block as if she was waiting for someone to take her away. She had this brilliant way of making things seem less than they really were. She made me feel normal. She made me feel like it was okay to be ordinary.

"Why don't you get along with them?"

I liked the way Colleen talked to me. She seemed genuinly interested.

"I feel like a third wheel," I sighed. "In public, I get credit for stuff, but when it's just us, alone, I feel like they won't let me do anything. And it pisses me off. I doubt it would matter if I left."

"You wanna leave the band?" Colleen asked in disbeleif. "I hate to sound like I don't understand Zac, but if I was in a band and we were good enough to be staying at this hotel, I wouldn't wanna quit."

"I don't want to leave," I told her. It was true. I loved my fans, and the music, and the traveling. I wouldn't give any of it up for anything.

"Well, bud, you sound a little ungrateful."

"I'm not ungrateful . . . I just . . . I don't . . . just nevermind," I didn't see how I could make her understand.

"It's okay. Nobody said you had to like them Zac. It's not your fault you got stuck with them," Colleen said.

"But I do like them. I admire them. They are the best musicians I have ever met. Even if I do feel left out, I still like working with them. And I'm glad I got stuck with them. I could have been stuck with far worse brothers." As I said this, I realized it wasn't that bad. Feeling left out in the studio, or at the dinner table didn't compare to the way I felt when I was onstage, or online. The way the fans reacted to our music was enough. The way they would write letters addressed to only me, or the way they would send me birthday cards or "get well soon" cards when I was sick. I liked all of it.

"Well then what are you complaining for?" Colleen smiled up at me.

I smiled back. "I don't know."

"Well, it sounds to me you got it made. You're twelve and famous. I never met a famous person before," she kept smiling. Her smile made me feel important. It was like she hadn't smiled in a long time and I was the first person to see it.

I looked up the street. The sun had began to set and I could tell it was getting late. Reluctantly, I said goodbye.

"Goodbye kid. Maybe I'll see you around. I might even catch ya on t.v." She smiled at me and I smiled back.

I finally talked to her. And she made me realize that my brothers weren't what mattered. I was what mattered. I was doing this for me and not for them. If they didn't like what I contributed, they'd have to deal, because I was in it too.

That night, I was telling my mom about Colleen. I told her about how she sleeps out there and how I gave her a dollar. I even told her about why she left her home. I liked the look my mom gave me for telling her. It was like she thought I was a better person for having talked to Colleen. She hugged me and whispered to me. "You are a good person. We need more good people like you."

The next morning, we had a radio interview. I was looking forward to seeing Colleen again, but when I walked out the doors of our hotel, she wasn't there. The space she had occupied was empty. A sense of relief washed over me. Had she found a better place? Had she gone back home? I never found out.

To this day, I haven't seen Colleen. I still think about her all the time though, and how she made me realize I have everything I could possibly need, and more.