Boring Girls(123)

As the afternoon progressed into evening, the musicians in the band building started getting drunk. Especially after dinner. The voices echoing and calling got louder. We’d hung out after our show in the dressing room for a while, gone out to the autograph tent shortly after that, and then we were free to do whatever we wanted for the rest of the day. I’d gone onto the fairground for a while, wandering through the rows of vendors. It was cold outside, but there were thousands of people out there. There was booth after booth of rock shirts, boots, jewellery, belts, candy, all kinds of crap. The ground was muddy, and with so many people walking around, it was getting pretty torn up. Everyone’s feet were covered with mud, so the floors in the stage buildings were a mess.

Just before DED was scheduled to go on, I was in the dressing room with Fern and Edgar. Socks and Toad had disappeared, probably to go drink beer on the fairground. I couldn’t sit still, and I had smoked so many cigarettes that I felt light-headed and sick.

But that didn’t stop me from lighting another. My insides churned. My knee jerked up and down as I sat at the little table, staring into the overflowing ashtray. Fern placidly brushed her hair, a serene and wistful smile on her face. Edgar sat across from me, frowning. I could tell he was weirded out by the both of us.

“So,” he said. “You guys want to watch DED from the side of the stage?”

My knee stopped bouncing, and Fern smiled. “That’s a great idea, let’s do it,” she said. They both looked at me, and I nodded my head stiffly, butting out my cigarette.

There are walks you never forget. You know, the walk you do down the hallway at the dentist’s office, the walk into the hospital for some terrifying procedure. It’s a walk full of dread, a walk you want to turn away from. A walk where you can’t believe your own legs are carrying you, when every fibre of your being is telling you to stop. You entertain fantasies of some helpful person in white dragging you, while you kick and scream and refuse to take another step. I imagine walking down death row towards execution feels the same.

That’s how I felt as we hurried through the dark towards the back entrance of the building where DED had just taken the stage. Fern and Edgar walked ahead, their breath rising in gasping dark clouds from their silhouettes. I couldn’t believe it was time. I guess part of me thought that it honestly wasn’t going to happen.

I mean, it’s one thing to beat the brains out of someone in a dark alley. It’s quite another to kill an entire band on a stage in front of thousands of people. Do you hear how crazy that sounds? But that’s what was going through my head as I walked behind my friends.

We entered the back of the building, showing our all-access laminates to the security guards. They let us in and I followed Edgar and Fern up the dark staircase that led to the side of the stage. There were several people standing there, watching the show: a few people from other bands, a few scantily clad gigglers, and a bunch of security. DED was onstage. They’d just launched into “This Sad Earth.” I looked beyond them to the crowd. It was packed — a sea of faces, everyone headbanging, undulating, raising their fingers and fists, packed in tight. Lips moving along with the lyrics. Eyes locked to Balthazar as he writhed and gestured. The others in the band flanked him, their long hair flying. The lights flashed, bathing everything in scarlet.

They finished the song and began another. I felt a body press in beside me. Fern was breathing heavily, staring at the stage. Her hand curled around mine. It was sweaty. I looked past her to the five security guards on this side of the stage. I couldn’t see any on the other side, but I was at a bad angle.

“We’re going to get caught,” I said. I don’t know why I bothered. Of course we were going to get caught. She didn’t reply, just stared at the stage, eyes wide, her chest heaving with her deep breaths. I started to feel sick. Prickly and sick. Like I might throw up. I grasped her hand tightly. “Let’s go,” I said. “Let’s leave.”

She didn’t reply. Her eyes looked glazed. “Fern,” I said sharply. “Fern.”

I’d caught her attention, and she turned her face towards me. I tried to plead with her with my eyes. “We can’t. Let’s go.”

She smiled at me, a sad smile. The strange gleam was gone from her eyes, and she just looked like my exhausted friend. My tired, sweet friend.

“I’m sorry, Rachel,” she said. “I have to.”

She squeezed my hand again, and my eyes filled with tears. She let go, and I tensed myself, ready to move with her. I had to do it with her. Beside her.