The Differences Between a Violin and a Guitar

Warm Hands and Charcoal Eyes

Song: Party at Ground Zero by Fishbone (1993)

I can't believe it. I'm finally here.

Even through the foggy glass windows of Santiago's van, Maeve can feel the energy. The liveliness is a tangible tingle on her fingertips. Looking outside, she sees hoards of people carrying an assortment of instruments, speakers, and bundles of black cords. Their nails are painted with an ominous color while gaudy silver jewelry encircles their hands and wrists. Skin is embroidered with decorative black ink and their feet are heavy with exhilaration. Hundreds of footsteps burdened with thick leather soles are all taking them towards a massive complex of run down brick buildings. To the side, a fresh reservoir runs smoothly along the perimeter with wild grass growing near the edges.

Santiago briskly shuts off the car, roughly pulling his keys out of the ignition. "Alright everybody, time to get the fuck out!" He twirls his keys around his finger, before crisply catching them in the palm of his hand. With a snappy click, Santiago pushes his door open and quickly exits the van. He jogs around to Eleanor's side door and swings it open, offering an outstretched hand with a toothy grin.

"M'Lady."

She jauntily chuckles, "Yeah, yeah, yeah", she reaches to grab his hand. Her fingertips can only barely brush his palm before Santiago cheekily wraps his arms around her waist and lifts Eleanor from her seat. Her mouth flies open into a large beaming smile, her cheeks fashioning themselves the same color as her hair. He lightly throws her over his shoulders and playfully slaps her butt, a proud smirk clear on his face. Surprised, Eleanor succumbs to a fit of flirty giggles, softly hitting the back of Santiago's shoulders.

"Stop it you knob! Put me down!"

She definitely does not want him to stop, Maeve thinks to herself. Santiago's help is very much unneeded help, but sweet nonetheless. From inside the van, Fish sweetly hums a cheerful tune and unlocks the back doors, swinging open the loud creaky metal slabs. Muttering under her breath, Lee loudly sucks her teeth, shoving her switch into her trench coat pocket and quickly exiting as well.

With his hands now free of Eleanor, Santiago learns through the back doors. "We gotta hurry up and unpack so that we can set up in time." He declares then crouches down to start helping Fish unload a clunky set of cherry red drums.

Undoing her seatbelt, Maeve opens her own door and slides out. Gently shutting it behind her, she quietly looks around in genuine awe. An electrifying current of energy ripples all around her. Brusque guffaws, loud cursing, and mirthful chit chat fills the crisp evening air. A cool wind whips past her face and dances through the jaunty coils of her hair. The sweetness of wild grass swirling together with the bitterness of fag smoke billows thick in the air, slithering up her nose.

Her curious hazel eyes dart from person to person. Although everyone looks different, there appears to be a shared consciousness buzzing throughout the crowd. An exhilarating feeling Maeve can't quite place her finger on. A rippling current of vitality that seems to unite everyone together. A rebel yell is on the tips of their tongues, defiance in the arch of their brows, resistance tacked to their bodies like piercings, and rebellion stitched into the fibers of their clothing. As if everyone is made differently but from the same materials.

To her left, a tall lanky girl with a series of eye tattoos snaking up her arm is chatting with her friends, her sharp almond eyes lined with cursive green eyeliner. To her right, a stocky bloke with locs wound to look like devil's horns is blasting a raging tune on an old fashioned boombox, his necklace of silver chains and cowry shells jingling rhythmically to the thundering beat. Party at Ground Zero by Fishbone plays loudly from his speakers in a ricochet of soulful rhythm. Everyone looks like an Underground Conversations model, Maeve muses excitedly to herself.