Get It Straight, Or Say Good Night

America- Fangirling

"Ticket please, have your tickets ready. Come on people there's a lot of you. Come on, have your tickets in your hands people!!" The ushers to the upper levels yelled the same words over and over as Louie neared the entrance, her body jettisoned along, shoved and pushed and nudged by the hundreds of girls that were desperate to get to the better seats, even if they had to be rude and nasty to the other fans around them.

It wasn't some big love in that was for sure. 

Lou was quite surprised to tell the truth, she had this idea that the fans would be chattering and nattering to each other, all loving and eager to get their glimpse of the number one band in the world, not this... this melee of vicious animals... no a stampede of cows, yes cows, thank Christ there were none with horns, only a few with sharp heels on their feet.

"Ouch!!" And there it was, a heel sliding across the top of her foot "Careful" Lou was desperate to slide her hand over the broken skin but she would likely be pummelled into the ground, pushed over to never stand again. The offender gave her a filthy look, Lou wasn't likely to get any compassion nor sympathy in the near to distant future.

A few days ago she was floating about in a luxurious, humongous pool... granted two thrill seekers jumped out of a helicopter into the pool nearly drowning her but at least she was feeling nice ...... cool, relaxed, wonderfully chilled after the encounter with a little cube of sugar soaked in some cockamamie liquid that sent Lou's heart to her mouth and that mouth did develop some noise..... she prattled on about shit for hours on end.

She ended up punching Peter Fonda in the neck cause she couldn't reach his eyeball. He was a dead-set fruit loop going on and on about dying and knowing what it's like to be dead, George wanted to shove a sock in his mouth but Lou went for the straight forward route and nearly collapsed his voice box, well that's what the doctor said when he was called.

"Ticket?"

Oh yeah "Here you go" Lou handed the ticket over and was eyed for her out of town accent, John had said she should stay at the house and not come but where's the fun in that. Guess this- right now, wasn't that much fun either...

He was worried about her being mown down as opposed to not being at all worried about the soaked sugar cube and dying episode...... but he worried about the fans... sometimes wonder about that boy, Lou mused shaking her head.

The poor supporting acts rattled through the frenzied minutes before the main course. Girls and guys ignoring the music, which was very good... that was another downer.

The band members struggling to get an ounce of attention fled through their sets with wailing girls calling out for the boys 'Johhhhhhhhhn' 'Paullllllll' GeorgeeeeeE' Ringo!'

Over and over, Lou covered her ears then, to try to catch the music, sat cupping them for any sound that may waft toward her. Sounds Incorporated were working the saxophones, their synchronised footwork was the only way of telling they were even playing most of the time.

A screech went up and the compere of the night walked onstage, boo's followed him as he roamed from side to side as he spoke trying to advertise his local radio station to garner more listeners.

Should she? Should she put aside the 'I've seen them a hundred times before in my lounge room farting and leaving crumbs all over' cap and become one of the marauding fans that howled like banshees. 

Become a fan for the night, let the sights and sounds engulf her.

Why not....When in Rome......

Picking up the camera from around her neck Lou poked her tongue out and stared happily into the lens, holding it away from her body at arm's length she took a photo of herself, whether it turned out or whether she had captured half her face and all the strangers beside and behind her with gaping mouths, she would eventually find out.

Leaning forward for a glimpse of them, the first sighting, her hands followed that of ever girl in her row, clutching the back of the chair in front and straining ears, eyes, forever forward to be that inch closer to the epicentre. To be that smallest of millimetres nearer them, the boys that tossed the world on it's head and made sounds unheard of before.
A roar exploded to the right carrying left instantly...and they were there, lifting guitars, waving drumsticks, Johns little jig, the spastic bounce he perfected as a teen.

Lou's vocal cords joined the rest of the Beatlemaniacs... and she screamed.

And darn....it felt so good.

So cathartic.

Lou grinned like a goon and let her head shake side to side in ecstasy and she screamed wildly like everyone else in the crowd.

Louise let her heart float and bob about in the euphoria abounding around her, she screamed for John, clutched her heart with a hand for them all. They were hers and the worlds, she was but no one in this time, she was nameless, she was one of thousands.

She felt wet, hot, horny... for John. Lou glanced around, she felt dirty in a way. Watching what should be a bedroom scene... many hands were in the air but others clutched their breasts, their thighs....nails digging high into their thighs with un-quenching want.

She knew he was sex on a popsicle stick, knew he was hot even if he was an idiot at times. Lou knew Johns pull was magic, potent, primal and now half, or was it all, of America was wet for him.

He smirked, they swooned. She could feel it, even if she could hardly see it.

And the audience screamed, the sexual tension that should not be bared so wantonly was laid out in front of them, twenty thousand, no fifty thousand girls, women, boys even .... wanted her lover.

The innocent ones would want him to kiss them fleetingly, the rest.... would open their legs for him.

Lou looked away before a trainwreck occurred, she couldn't rightly maim fifty thousand screaming fans so she picked up her camera and recorded it instead, to laugh at, to make the boys see what they create closeup. Even if the boys thought all the world barmy they might see also that their sound made each and every person happier, perhaps a little too happy.

Lou took pictures she knew would blur, took them of the boys as she heard the twang of A Hard Days Night, then more as Richie sang and John and Paul joked about with gestures and hand movements so outlandish and silly. George, back to the audience, trying to keep up with the pounding drum beat Richie laid out.

She took many of the fans too, the tears in their eyes, the primal want of a few moments in a favourite band members company or perhaps a glittery life with the boys in their hearts. Their screams emitting, tears in rivers down their cheeks, mouths open, hands waving, hands reaching, craving them.

Louise couldn't hear well but she could see.

They were winding into the third last song of the night, the slight bob of John, she recognising the position of his fingers high up on the fret-board. The timing as Paul and George closed in and then moved away from the shared mic ... twenty minutes down a few fleeting more to go, how would the fans be when it was all said and done. Could they even walk .... or talk? Lou would have them all laughing at her voice no doubt, John scrunching his nose when he realised she was one of them.... 'one of the mad cows' as he called them some nights.

She screamed for him anyway, his name burning her throat. Oh God, she thought, he would mock her so, but it was so emotionally wonderful to let her voice strain and her lungs bled as she let her body rattle through an outpouring of emotions that were usually so bottled up inside, reserved for never.

No one let's go like this, no one lets the guard down in such a way til now...... til those four boys bound on stage and say 'it's ok to be free.'

Then they were gone.