Lifeline

The Concert

The Concert

It's a big night. The band tunes their instruments, the drummer – a tall, lanky boy with long black hair hanging in his eyes – idly tapping his leg with his drumsticks as he sits in the back room. The singer, who has dyed his hair an interesting shade of green and has serious grey eyes, is pacing. It may be a big night, but he seems extremely agitated and stressed. The guitarist and bassist sit together as they tune, sharing a silent conversation of head nods and gestures at the singer. They look worried, but don't say anything. The guitarist places his guitar next to him on the couch. He runs his hand through his blonde hair with a sigh, shaking his head and turning his hazel eyes to the ground. He checks his watch, looks back at the singer, and checks his watch again. The opening band is practicing in the next room, and the sound of a drumbeat comes through the thin walls backstage.

The bassist does a few scales on his instrument, his long fingers moving easily over the strings as he follows the singer with his curious blue eyes. His hair, although black like the drummer's, is shorter and better kept. Although he is the youngest in the band, he is the tallest and when he stands up he towers over the keyboardist, who is checking the cables leading to the stage. The keyboardist is the shortest, but he has enough of a presence to keep up with everyone else. He looks harmless, someone people would call cute with his curly brown hair flopping over his forehead and his warm brown eyes not unlike those of a puppy. He tries to sneak looks out to the stage and past to the area open for the crowd. Almost show time. 

As of this month of September, Lifeline has been together for a year. A year ago, they were just another little band from Seattle trying to make it. Who knew they would be here, in California a year later with an album and a national tour? But here they are.

The doors open. A little ways back in the line, a group of friends pushes their way in. Two of the girls can't speak, they're so excited. The other three, another girl and two boys, follow their hyper friends through the doors and towards the stage. One of the girls pulls the other forward to the very front of the crowd. She is so excited she's got tears building in her lashes, and she keeps taking deep breaths as she moves forward. She is clutching her backstage pass possessively in one hand and her best friend's hand in the other. Her light brown hair is in her eyes and she is already starting to sweat because of the warm summer weather, but she's smiling and laughing and squeezing her friend's hand. The other girl is pressed up to the barrier, trying to see if she can touch the stage, and she smiles in triumph as her index finger scrapes against the platform. She has her darker brown hair pulled up in a practical ponytail, but her brown eyes are ringed with black makeup and she tugs at her hair as they wait for the band to come out.

Finally, the other three friends fight through the crowd and meet them. The taller of the two boys is holding onto the shortest girl, and they walk to the left of the small group. His black hair is carefully styled but he has messed it up in the struggle to get to the front of the room. His brown eyes are intelligent and he looks a little nonplussed as he is jostled by the crowd. The shortest girl looks a little lost, but she seems so relieved that they made it to the front because she's only barely 5' and the floor is packed. Her blonde hair is perfectly straightened and styled, and her green eyes dart around nervously as she tightens her grasp on her tall friend. The second boy walks around to the right, and slips his hand into the first girl's. His brown hair is askew, and he struggles to run his fingers through it a few times before he rolls his eyes and puts his hand down. Even with his hair a complete mess, his blue eyes and attractive face are getting him plenty of stares and he turns towards his friends.

After a little more pushing and shoving, and once the room temperature has risen about ten degrees, the opening band comes out. There are four of them: the tall, fair skinned singer with dark brown hair framing his face, the skinny little bassist with bright red hair and big gauges in his ears, the handsome, tan guitarist with black and white dyed hair and guitar to match, and the drummer, sitting far back on the stage – you can just barely see his black hair flipping as he pounds on his drums. They are a pop punk band, and the speakers pulse as they play. It smells like sweat and perfume and so many people and the lights are shining in their eyes. They aren't as well known as their friends backstage, but they play their hearts out and the crowd seems to love them.

Once they get off the stage, the lights dim. A few of the venue's personnel, dressed in all black to blend into the darkness, rush out onto the stage to do some rearranging and set up for the next act. There is relative silence – the crowd is hushed, waiting, and there is slight feedback from a microphone. A silhouette comes out onto the stage and seats itself behind the drums. The black figure raises its arms, crossing its drumsticks in the air as the stage is backlit and two, three, four more silhouettes appear. A familiar chord rings out from the guitarist, the keyboardist plays the melody, and the crowd goes crazy. They are screaming and jumping and suddenly two hundred people become one pulsating mass; the energy in the room is palpable.

The lights come up and the vocalist begins to sing, moving around the stage with his microphone and getting more and more energetic. He is smiling, and he gets close to the edge of the stage to reach towards the crowd. He's smiling and singing and seeing the people in the front row and they smile back at him. He connects with a pair of eyes when all of a sudden the world is falling and he is falling and he hits the ground, hard. He's in the black space between the stage and the crowd and he holds his wrist and blinks a few times, a tear squeezing its way down his cheek. The audience gasps and the music stops, and silence falls as if the whole room is holding its breath. A buff security guard comes hustling from the side of the stage, asking if he's okay. He waves his good hand, asks if he can get a boost back onstage. The guard nods, making a step with his hands and leaning down for the singer. He clambers back up after finding his mic, shouts out a quick 'thanks,' and the show goes on.

It is evident that, by the time the band says goodnight and goes offstage, his hand is broken. It has swollen up, turned purple, and when he tries to move his fingers he sits down and winces, hissing quietly. They slap some ice on it and he lies down on the couch, trying to fight through the pain so they can head to the hospital after they pack up. All of a sudden, someone announces that the backstage pass people are coming back, and he groans. There's no way he can do this right now. Right as he tries to get up to leave, the door flies open. About ten to twelve eager faces come in, bringing the noise of the exiting crowd in with them. He forces a smile and signs whatever they need him to, and he lets a few of them hug him. He's so exhausted, and his smile appears more and more forced the longer he stands there, surrounded by movement.

He finally snaps when a sobbing teenager comes up to him. He rolls his eyes as she gives him a hug and tells him all about how his music has saved her and that she just loves his band. He tells her to get off, and as the girl – who locked eyes with him right before he fell – slowly pulls away with a look of absolute confusion on her face, he tells her to piss off, that no one cares about her melodramatic hysterics. He grabs his ice and storms out of the room, blinking back his own tears. It's been a long night.

The girl looks all around her, her face flushed and mortified. She cries harder now, aware that everyone is looking at her. She struggles to control the tears building up in her eyes and turns to run.

Just as she hits the doorway, a hand catches her wrist. She spins around to find the bassist holding onto her. He apologizes, giving her a hug and a shoulder to cry on. After a minute he pulls away and puts his hands on her shoulders. He tells her not to take what the singer said personally. He signs her ticket, and a poster she has. He also gives her his black bandana and another hug before the backstage pass people are ushered out. She still has tear tracks on her cheeks but she's smiling now, and she finds her friends again. Quietly, she tucks the beat up bandana in her pocket. They head out the doors, talking about the concert and looking for their ride.

The opening band goes out for drinks, inviting their friends who decline – they excuse themselves to find the lead singer. They go out to the tour bus to find him sobbing in his bunk, and they talk him down before trying to figure out what's going on. He is crying and hiding his face, holding his hand to his chest. After ten minutes without a straight answer, they pull him into the car that they brought on tour and drive to the nearest emergency room. Two broken bones in his hand and a sprained wrist is the diagnosis, and he gets a green cast (to match his hair, he halfheartedly jokes) and an order to rest up before the next show. He falls asleep as soon as he's back in the bus, and the tour goes on.

It's been a big night, after all.