Sparkler Snapshots

XIX | Fête de la Cymbals

"Let me ruin your favourite song by playing it 15 times a day, 7 days a week!" – The Radio

Date: June 21st, 2017

Occasion: Fête de la Musique

Country: France

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XXI | Fête de la Cymbals

Flashes of psychedelic neon lights cast their glow on the arena. Wild screaming pierces the air from every direction, accompanied by a pounding beat and the melodic runs of an electric guitar, shaking the Earth with powerful soundwaves. He struggles to differentiate between voices and instrument, each blending into an mass of sound.

Êveryone crowds around the stage, like a group of excited puppies who haven't seen their owner for days. Their screeches linger in the air for seconds after they close their mouths, while the riffs bounce off every surface and reverberate obnoxiously, letting the audience know who's boss. He forces himself through the throng and stumbles outside.

The blast of fresh air is a relief, chilling the surface of his skin, leaving it raw and numb. Even so, it's better than suffocating. He hates being trapped in an enclosed space with random bodies being pressed against his, polluting the air with carbon dioxide from their annoying screams. In fact, he hates concerts so much that his parents suggested he didn't go, but when someone says you shouldn't do something, you just want to do it even more.

"Emerald or scarlet?" someone asks right beside his ear. He jumps three feet high in shock and backs away from a girl who's clearly invading his personal space. Her caramel eyes are as smooth as a chocolate waterfall, and she's unfazed by his rude gesture. "Am I being creepy? Sorry, I do that sometimes."

"Don't apologise!" he says far too loudly and glances around to see if anyone is near them. Instead, all his eyes met is a neatly paved road with no occupants. It's peaceful, beautiful. The contrast between the packed concert and this breathtaking place shocks him, like he somehow stumbled into a foreign utopia. "I mean," he clears his throat with a sheepish smile. "Sorry, that was really loud."

"Erm, you're a strange one," she says, though her tone is different from those he usually hears. She doesn't judge, she only observes. She doesn't spin a web of lies, but only a spindle of truth, which sends a prick of humiliation under his skin. Even so, the truth's far more valuable than a sugarcoated fib. She studies him closely, frowning. "Are you okay? You're super pale and awkward. Like my brother, but more attractive. Wait no, I didn't mean it like that. Woah, steady!"

Letting go of any sherd of dignity he had left, he almost collapses on the ground. Every time he encounters his claustrophobia problem, it takes him hours to get past it. The only thing that stops him from tumbling onto the concrete is the girl, who grabs him and sets him back on his feet. He quivers like a spinning top and says, "sorry," while gasping for breath. "Claustrophobic." He gestures shakily in the direction of the concert.

"As if I couldn't figure that out myself," she snorts, though her forehead is creased with worry. "Don't like concerts?" He nods faintly. "Music not so hot on your priority list either?" His head weakly bobs up and down again. To his surprise, since he was expecting a negative reaction from her, her mouth twitches, and he's certain that she's fighting a smile. "We'll soon fix that. Close your eyes."

"Maybe breathing exercises will help," he suggests, eyelids drooping shut. Even though her appearance was unexpected, this quirky girl may be the one person who can help him enjoy Fête de la Musique for the first time ever. His inability to attend crowded events has haunted him since forever, and an attempt to get rid of it was long overdue.

"Under these circumstances, I agree," she laughs, before her tone shifts, and she suddenly sounds like a yoga instructor. "Find your happy place. You got that?" He nods, imagining the cozy bookstore where he spends most of his time sifting through new reads. But now, there's a new figure beside him, reading with him, reflecting the beam on his face. A figure he suspects would be identical to the person he sees if he just opens his eyes, and the one who's currently murmuring, "now breathe in... breathe out... breathe in... breathe out..."

Still disconcerted by his happy place, he doesn't notice at first, that the instructions have melted into a gorgeous harmony line, strummed by an acoustic guitar. A sweet voice chimes in, singing softly, "I'm sorry if I seem uninterested, or I'm not listening or I'm indifferent, truly, I ain't got no business here, but since my friends are here..."

It lulls him into a dreamy state as her voice floods his ears. "I just came to kick it but really, I would rather be at home all by myself not in this room, with people who don't even care about my wellbeing..." The lyrics speak for him. Never has he heard a voice so enchanting and pure. He's never been a fan of music, but he feels like he's finally found his voice. Is this how music touches so many people around the world? If so, he understands why.

"Question time. What do you think of music now?" she says, but he continues to sway stupidly on the spot. Suddenly, every sound converges before him as a crash shatters his eardrums. His eyes shoot open, afraid that they're under attack, but his vision simply lands on the girl, who holds up a pair of golden cymbals and smirks. "I guess my question's already been answered, huh? Now," she says briskly. "Emerald or scarlet?"

"Um, why do you–" he finally registers the two guitars she holds, one rich scarlet and the other vibrant green. "Woah, hold on, do you play in a band?" she doesn't answer, but merely hoists the two guitars higher. "Okay then, scarlet. It suits your personality more."

"Excellent, maybe you can catch my next concert if you're up for it," she chirps, sneaking through the back door of the concert he'd escaped from before and sending him a cheeky wink. "Happy Fête de la Musique!"