Chapter 8

The Guadalajara concert was the next evening, and it was the first of many that I would experience. I slunk around the stage and backstage, trying to get good pictures while still staying out of the way, and I managed greatly. The next morning, we left Guadalajara and moved onto Puebla and then to Mexico City to have more concerts and meet-and-greets, and then we left Mexico altogether and went to Venezuela. We moved quickly, never staying more than a few days in one location, and the rush was both exciting and tiring.

I fervently applied myself to Il Volo, always rushing around to get good angles and try new ideas for the photos. I immersed myself entirely in the world of Il Volo, surpassing what was expected of me. There was not another time when I resigned from my duties, and I always anticipated and received great reviews on my photos from the boys, Barbara, Michele, and the fans-the Il Volovers.

The boys always cooperated with me whenever I asked anything of them, and the four of us kept up a friendly dialogue, though I always refused to accompany them on their personal, non-business related outings. I shied away from them outside of our travels together, keeping myself in place as their mere but attentive photographer.

Though I fully immersed myself in my new responsibilities, the portraiture quickly became mundane for me. I was not excited and energetic as Valerie had predicted, but instead was restless and anxious. Every morning, I had to make myself go out with the boys, and I separated myself from my longings to force myself to embrace the work assigned to me. As I worked, I refused to entertain daydreams and pinings to be elsewhere, and I chastised myself for acknowledging weariness. Though I pretended I was interested in the work to try to convince myself it was the truth, a constant boredom nagged at me and tried to slow down my progress. I constantly had to remind myself that I was the one and only photographer of Il Volo, and then untangle myself from any differentiating dreams while I was working.

Though I was disappointed with the mundane nature of the job, I was exhilarated with the rush of traveling. I was determined to get pictures of every place we visited as training for my future career, and I went out early in the mornings and, if I could, during sunset to get the pictures I needed. These were the times when I felt free and ambitious, and I could run over the earth pounding it with my red high-tops as my camera bounced against me. I searched for the best photo locations, exhilarated by the pleasure of capturing the environment on my screen. I released myself from the bondage of being a portrait photographer for a short while each day as I allowed myself a brief glimpse into the beautiful future.

I lived for these moments and dreaded the end of my free time, when I had to accept back my job and identity as Il Volo's photographer.

Il Volo traveled faster and faster, flitting from one location to the next and putting on concerts so rapidly that it made me question how the boys could do it. Every concert was perfect, their voices stunning and their attitudes excited and confident.

As the schedule tightened, the time that I could slip away and get my landscapes grew narrow and strained. The whole Il Volo team worked late into the evenings, especially at meet-and-greets after concerts that could last past midnight. Then by the time we were back in whatever hotel we were staying at and in bed, it was early in the morning and we were exhausted. The boys always slept late into the morning, before whatever event, interview or practice they had during the day, but I got up to review my pictures.

We moved so quickly and worked so diligently that keeping up with everything I was doing grew more difficult, and it came to be that I had to choose between going out and getting my landscapes or sleep.

I did not choose sleep.

I got out of bed early in the mornings and left the hotels to immerse myself in the landscapes. There wasn't one tour stop that I didn't photograph, and though I immensely treasured my time capturing the world around me, the lack of sleep began to take its toll on me.

I felt tired all the time, and this grew more and more intense as my routine continued through the month of September. I couldn't remember the last time I had lain down and really slept for a long time. I felt as if I had to sneak in time for naps whenever I could, but eventually even that time was taken away from me as the Il Volo schedule tightened even further. I was always in motion, and I was left feeling weak and sluggish. I refused to submit to my weariness while I worked, but on returning to the hotel, I was prone to sink onto the ground as the aching of my muscles overwhelmed me. I yawned incessantly and had headaches that frustrated me because they threatened to disrupt my work. I caught myself staring into space occasionally and chastised myself by working even more diligently. The rush of interviews and concerts prohibited me from sleeping during the day, but I was prone to doze while in the shower or while uploading Il Volo's photos to social media.

The constant tiredness was persistent and exasperating, and the coffee and energy drinks I hyped myself up on quickly left me feeling even more tired, forcing me to abandon energy aids. I snuck in naps whenever possible, but overall I just had to bear the fatigue and force myself to work as September slowly trudged by.

On one occasion, at a concert rehearsal in mid-September, I felt so weak and tired after getting Il Volo's photos that I settled into a seat in the front row of the theatre, cradling my camera in my lap and leaning my head on my fist on the arm of the chair. I felt small and cold, and I shivered and rubbed at the goosebumps on my legs, peering up in frustration at the air conditioning vents on the ceiling.

I sighed softly to myself and looked up listlessly at the boys on the stage, and I saw that Ignazio had broken away from the group and was coming toward me. I watched as he came to the edge of the stage and hopped down, approaching me and giving me a smile that I did not return.

He walked up to my seat and I peered up at him as he shrugged out of his jacket and then held it out to me. I looked up at his gentle smile in surprise, and my first impulse was to refuse it, but the longing for warmth made me reach out and accept it. I sat up and put it on, sliding my arms into the fabric that was warm from being around Ignazio. He slid into the seat beside me, and I turned and gave him a small grateful smile, which he immediately returned.

"Tamzin," he said, leaning toward me, "I need to ask you something."

"What's that?" I asked wearily.

"Are you okay?"

"What? Of course I'm okay."

He was quiet, studying me.

"I'm worried about you, Tamzin."

"Why? I didn't do anything wrong."

"I didn't say you did anything wrong. You just look…so tired!"

"What are you saying?" I snapped.

"Simply that you seem tired, my dear," he responded, unfazed.

"My dear?" I asked sarcastically.

He didn't acknowledge my comment and continued, holding my gaze to prod me to listen.

"I've been watching you. You yawn, you rub your eyes, you stare into space… Yesterday you dozed off in the car."

I stared at him in stunned silence.

"I know, I watched you. You woke up after a little while when we went over a bump, but you had fallen asleep only after a few minutes. Did you know that falling asleep within five minutes is a sign of sleep deprivation?"

I didn't respond, and he reached out and gently fingered his jacket that was now around me.

"And you're more sensitive to cold."

"Is that a sign of sleep deprivation too?" I asked, accidentally sounding more curious than sarcastic.

"Yes, it is. So, Tamzin, why are you so tired?"

"I'm not tired," I said, but I sounded sleepy even as I said it.

"You are. Why are you so tired? What are you doing instead of sleeping?"

"It's none of your business!" I snapped.

"Hmm…" he said playfully. "Snapping at me. Another sign of sleep deprivation."

I glared at him and stood up quickly.

"I'm going outside for a walk. It's too cold in here."

"Oh, Tamzin, don't get frustrated with me," he said, reaching out and taking my arm. "I just want to know if you're alright."

"I'm fine!" I snapped, pulling away and shrugging out of his jacket. "And here's your jacket back! I'm going outside!"

He reached out and caught the jacket when I tossed it to him, and stared after me as I turned and walked away, struggling stubbornly against my fatigue.

When I woke up in Costa Rica a few days later to my blaring alarm clock, I was frightened to find myself almost immobilized by the desire to go back to sleep. I reminded myself that if I did not get up, I may not get another chance to photograph Costa Rica, so I forced myself to roll over, tumbling out of the bed with a frustrated cry. I trudged through my hotel room getting dressed and eating breakfast, and when I stood up quickly from the table, everything went blurry and I almost fell. I was able to regain my balance, and I grabbed my camera and stumbled outside into the vast expanse of vegetation that covered the country.

I found that I moved more slowly in my weary state, and I found it hard to focus on the land as I was overtaken by spells of dizziness. I pressed on, increasing my pace and gripping my camera, determined to capture the scenery.

When I returned back to the hotel after sunrise to get ready for the interview Il Volo was headed to, all I wanted to do was lie down on the floor and take a nap, but I knew I couldn't. I got myself ready to go and left with the boys, struggling to stay awake.

The day stretched out before me as the desire to sleep persisted. I tried to forget about being tired, but I couldn't rid myself of the unrelenting fatigue. I made myself work, but groaned inwardly as I forced myself to move about and get good angles. I felt as if a stronger part of me was dealing with a stubborn child as I ordered myself around, feeling overwhelmingly frustrated at times with the work set before me.

In the late afternoon the boys had to practice for their concert the next night, and the dim lights of the theatre subdued me and thrust me into a sort of trance that I was unable to shake off. I moved around the stage, stumbling at times and growing frustrated as I took photos and tried not to long for the quiet of my hotel room.

As the manager of the theatre arrived and came to talk with the boys, I sat on the edge of the stage and reviewed the photos I had taken. They were great, but I was too numb and listless to feel a sense of pride. I flipped through them, unamused, deleting ones that hadn't come out right. I looked up and my vision slowly focused on the huge empty theatre in front of me. Realizing it might be prudent to get a few pictures for the website and social media pages, I struggled to my feet and got the photos.

Michele was now talking to the theatre's manager, and the boys were wandering around onstage and talking, moving the microphone stands and discussing the concert the next night.

I stood at the edge of the stage and watched Ignazio play around with Piero. He was wearing his casual blue polo shirt and jeans, and as I watched he laughed and then grabbed a microphone stand and moved beside Gianluca. The three boys talked softly and then looked out over the imaginary audience as Gianluca began to sing. The other boys joined in after a moment, and I smiled at the beauty and richness of the sound, standing still on the stage.

I focused on Ignazio as he began to sing, and a sudden wave of dizziness washed over me. I felt myself sway a little and held my hands open at my sides at I tried to regain my balance. My vision began to clear, and Ignazio caught me gazing in his direction and smiled brightly at me, his strong voice surrounding me. I turned away and looked out over the empty theatre, and then made the mistake of looking downward as another wave of dizziness overtook me.

I felt as if I was floating, and I squeezed my eyes shut in fear that I would collapse. I didn't fall, and the panic gradually lessened.

I needed to sit down. Quickly, before I fell over and made a fool of myself. As the ringing in my ears blocked out the angelic harmonies of the boys, I turned and sought out an escape, quickly starting toward the passage leading backstage as I reached up and held my head in my hand. I stumbled and quickly caught my balance and sped up again, especially when I heard someone call my name behind me. I hurried down the backstage hallway, moving nimbly and unnoticed past the busy stagehands.

Feeling overwhelmingly dizzy, I looked into a dim dressing room and then stole inside, slipping my camera off of my neck and placing it safely on a makeup table that I leaned over and gripped for support, my head spinning. I heard my name echoing down the hallway and I whirled around, startled and feeling weak, as the door was shoved open and Ignazio appeared in the doorway, his shoulders blocking the light behind him.

"Tamzin, are you alright?" he asked, looking concerned, and I nodded quickly and waved him away.

"I'm okay, Ignazio, go back and rehearse."

"Are you sure? Why did you leave?"

"I'm fine!" I insisted, "Go, Ignazio!"

"Tamzin, you look pale."

He moved foreword, and I drew quickly backward and swayed, reaching for my head as Ignazio took my elbow. My head pulsed with the effort of keeping myself from falling in front of him, and I pleaded internally that he would go away so I could sit and…faint?

"Tamzin?"

"I'm fine! Go away!" I snapped, and immediately the dim light of the room darkened as I was overcome by dizziness. I lost my footing and fell, shamefully dropping to the ground as Ignazio immediately reached out and wrapped an arm around my middle and placed another firmly on my back to catch from hitting the ground. As I fell into a desperately needed sleep, I felt myself lifted and wrapped tightly in warm, gentle arms.