by Nikki Godwin
“Becca! I know you’re excited,” Mom yells over Banshee’s screams. “But could you turn that down please?”
Grabbing the remote off my bed, I lower the volume and flash her an apologetic smile. She leaves her place in the doorway and watches Maddie despair over which earrings to wear. Really, it’s not that hard of a decision.
“They remind me of this band I use to love when I was your age,” my mom says, sitting down on the edge of my bed. “They were called Death of Darkness.”
Headlights flash across my bedroom wall, but no one bothers to get up because it has to be Carli, and she always lets herself in.
Mom continues talking. “When I was nineteen, my best friend Sophie and I saw them perform live. It was one of the absolute best moments of my life. I thought their lead singer Brian was the most amazing person on the planet. After the show, I ended up making out with him. It was just perfect.”
She sighs. “Then he died three days later.”
Maddie gives me a ‘what-the-fuck is she serious?’ look. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to that. I mean, she obviously has to be joking. Mom just smiles. I know she wants me to say something, but I’m saved by the slamming of the front door and the sound of Carli’s footsteps pounding against the stairs.
“Ohmygosh, I can’t believe we’re really going to see them!” Carli squeals as she twirls around my room. She stops dead when she sees my mom. “Oh, hi Ms. Richards!”
My mom says hello, and in one breath, she goes through the clichéd motherly speech she’s required to give. Don’t go anywhere alone. Watch out for drunk drivers. Don’t make out with rock stars because they may die. Wear your seatbelts. Do you have enough cash?
The three of us nod our heads in unison. We’ve been preparing for this for over a week. We have everything we could possibly need. Cameras with fully-charged batteries. New memory cards. Sharpies. Pre-ordered tickets. And enough cash to buy everything we may possibly have to have from their merch table. We’re stocked and ready to go.
“Okay, be careful. Take lots of pictures for me! And have fun,” Mom finishes and grabs me in a hug.
We make it out of my room, down the stairs, and into Carli’s yellow sports car at record speed. This is it! We’re finally going. I’m on my way to see my favorite band ever, and it doesn’t even feel real. I inhale deeply and throw my head back against the back of the passenger seat.
This. Is. Surreal.
Ten minutes of highway and a blur of city lights later, we pull into the side parking lot of the Princess Theatre. The faded pink building is in the heart of downtown and extremely ghetto-looking. Half the sign is lit up with large light bulbs. The other half is just empty sockets. But in large black letters on the half lit sign is their name. If it was any other band playing, I wouldn’t be here.
Carli runs around the side of the car and throws her wallet and keys into my one-shoulder-strapped bag before I even have a chance to get out. The air smells of cigarettes and cheap perfume, and sure enough, there is a cloud of smoke drifting around the side of the building.
The three of us walk side by side, ready to attack if any creeps try to jump us. My legs shake from anticipation, and the band probably isn’t even here at the venue yet. The guy behind the cloud of smoke watches our every move as we walk past him. He’s probably just trying to see if he can get a look up Carli’s tutu.
Maddie pulls open the glass double doors, and we’re in. Music drifts through the air of the theatre, around the bar, and past a half-dressed, bleached blonde girl serving drinks. Carli jumps up and down once and lets out a high-pitched squeal. This is really happening. All we have to do is survive four opening acts, and then the best moment of our summer break will be upon us.
We walk past the skanky bartender and the dimly lit bathrooms to a desk with a poorly-made sign that reads ‘$15.’ I reach into my bag and pull out our pre-ordered tickets. A guy wearing a backward cap and covered in tattoos barely even looks at them before drawing a black X on our hands with a Sharpie.
The room is dark and the ugly, brown carpet suddenly turns to concrete. The first opening act is already performing, but hardly anyone is by the stage. The lights slowly turn from blue to green to red to yellow.
“We should go on and get as close to the stage as we can so we’ll have a good spot for M.A!” I yell into Carli’s ear over the music.
She nods and grabs my and Maddie’s arms, pulling us toward the stage. We wedge ourselves in between a lady in her mid-forties filming the set and a girl who is way too big to be wearing hot pink skinny jeans. The girl throws her black hair back and forth and sings every word back to the band. I try not cringe as the lead singer attempts to scream the chorus of his song because to this crazy girl beside me, they may be as important as my bands are to me. So I force a smile and pray that they’re almost finished.
Maddie stands frozen, her eyes huge and nose curled. She’s obviously in as much pain as I am. Carli, on the other hand, is trying her best to get into this horrible wannabe screamer guy. I am so glad Sketch isn’t in this band. I don’t know if I could have lied to him and said it sounded good.
Two songs and a not-so enthused-applause later, the three of us sit against the side of the stage. Maddie and Carli argue over who was cuter, the ‘I think I sound good’ screamer or the ‘I think I’m hot, so I have to take my shirt off’ drummer. Neither of them were even half as cute as the lead guitarist.
“I have to pee,” Carli says, ending the argument.
“If we leave, we may not get to be as close to the stage for M.A., though,” Maddie whines.
“I’ll go with you, Carli,” I say, pushing myself up off the concrete floor. “Maddie, you stay here and save our spots.”
We walk through the dark room, leaving Maddie on the floor and the second act doing sound check. I don’t think anyone’s going to try to mess with her, and if they did, they’d leave as soon as she started talking. I love Maddie, but sometimes she can make you want to rip your hair out.
The bathroom walls are covered in names, phone numbers, and song lyrics. I scan the walls looking for any Depressed Michael or Mutilated Arteries lyrics, but of course there’s not any.
“This bathroom is disgusting!” Carli calls out from behind the puke-colored stall.
I don’t say anything. I’m trying to think of the perfect lyric to add to the wall of words. I pull the black Sharpie from my bag and pop the lid off.
Come dance with me to the drumming of our once-beating hearts, and stay with me forever at this undead masquerade.
Carli walks out while I’m emphasizing the last two words. I half expect her to say something about vandalism, but instead she grabs the marker from my hand and writes in huge letters We’re Already Dead!
Turning my camera on, I back as far away from the wall as I can, so I can get all of it in one shot. Maybe some random girl will go into the Princess’s bathroom, see the words on the wall, and wonder just what song they’re from, and I’ll have broadened the Mutilated Arteries fan base by one. I give our handiwork one last look before leading the way out of the bathroom.
I turn to tell Carli that we could be unknowingly spreading the love of our favorite band, but it’s not Carli who’s behind me.
It’s a guy in all black. His hair is as dark as the shadows in the room, and it sticks out at crazy angles all the way down to his shoulders. His torn-off shirt sleeves reveal the tattoo of a red and black human heart with blood spraying out of it as if it’d just been ripped from its secure place behind skin and bone.
I spin around as quickly as before, avoiding eye contact with him.
OhmyGod. OhmyGod. OhmyGod!
As soon as we’re in the open, he walks past me and out the back door of the Princess.
“OHMYGOD!” Carli yells, grabbing my arm.
Her eyes are huge, and I can only imagine her heart is beating as fast as mine.
“Did you see him!? Did you just see who was between us?” she asks.
“I know!”
But I don’t know how I’m even functioning to speak right now.
Maddie is going to be pissed that she didn’t go to the bathroom with us now. I mean, how many Mutilated Arteries fans can say they got separated by none other than the screaming lead guitarist? My heartbeat pounds in my ears louder than the second act’s bass drum. It’s real now. When you’ve been so close to the Banshee that you could touch him, you know it’s completely real.
After two failed attempts of telling Maddie how we know Mutilated Arteries is here over the music, one long text message finally getting it across to her, an accusation of knowing Banshee was going to walk between us at the exact moment we left the bathroom, and a not-so-terrible pop band, we watch the lead singer of the fourth act introduce his band as Attack of the Wonderkids. And there’s still no sign of the gorgeous boy known as Sketch. I’m beginning to feel hopeless of ever seeing him again.
The crowd is so dead that the other opening acts have moved in toward the stage to support their fellow rock star dreamers. I prop my bag against the amp on stage and look around the building for any other members of my favorite band, but the lead singer of this wannabe punk band is demanding my attention.
And I give it to him because they’re actually not that bad.
Carli jumps around and dances along with the beat as if they’re the band she came to see. The lead singer bends down into her camera and sings a whole verse, refusing to look at anyone else, but then again she is the only one really getting into the music. Maddie just stares at him like he’s crazy. Her arms remain crossed. I wouldn’t sing for her either.
The lead singer of Attack of the Wonderkids thanks everyone one last time for coming out and says to come hang out with them at their booth after their friends from Minnesota are finished playing. At least Mutilated Arteries picked a good band to go on tour with them!
As they start to pack their stuff up, their drummer walks to the edge of the stage and hands Carli his drumsticks. I wait for the inevitable squeal to escape her lips, but she totally acts cool about it until the ‘I demand your attention’ lead singer hands her the set list and thanks her for being awesome. As soon as his back is turned, she becomes a total fangirl and plans her escape from here to run away with them.
But my mind shuts off at ‘Which one should I marry?’
Carli may be obsessing over the hot drummer from Attack of the Wonderkids, but he’s nothing compared to the tattooed drummer in front of me.
Ink shoves the large bass drum into place. His electrocution-style hair sticks out everywhere but never falters as he sets up the other drums and cymbals. Every inch of his arms is covered in colorful ink like some beautiful mosaic of graffiti on an abandoned downtown building. And of course, he’s wearing his trademarked belt. He’s so grotesquely beautiful that I want to squeal myself.
A flash of red passes by me as Corpse throws the set list down on the stage and plugs his guitar into the amp in front of me. Almost everything on him is red: his guitar, his shirt, and his shoes. His hair reminds me of the girls at school who dye their hair to look like a skunk with the blonde on top and the black underneath. Except his hair is black with red underneath.
He looks down at us and smiles before adjusting his microphone.
“You guys excited?” he asks.
OhmyGod! He’s seriously talking to us. Maddie stares at him like he’s going to eat her brain, and Carli looks like a deer in the headlights. I guess talking to the boy in red is my job.
“Yeah, we’ve been wanting to see you guys play for like a year now,” I say, hoping my voice stays strong.
“That’s awesome! What’s your favorite song?” he questions.
“Undead Masquerade,” I say instantly.
Corpse knocks his hair out of his tawny colored eyes and looks down at the paper he just threw down on the stage floor.
“That’s one of my favorites too, but I’ve got a thing for zombies,” he says, scanning the list of songs.
“A thing? You mean an obsession?” a voice asks.
My breath catches in my throat as I stare up at Nightmare. A blue guitar hangs on his shoulder by its strap. In all the live performances I’ve watched on the internet, he’s never had a guitar. I guess someone has to play bass, though.
Corpse just shrugs his shoulders and smiles before turning back to us.
“We’ll be playing it tonight. It’ll be closer to the end, but we will play it,” he says, emphasizing the last words like he’s afraid I don’t believe him.
Banshee joins the guys on stage for sound check, and my heart thumps so fast that I’m afraid it may burst out of my chest and onto the stage. This is it. This is my band. It doesn’t matter that some guy at the mall lied to me or that the air in this place is so sticky I can barely breathe because I’m finally getting to be in front of the stage and hear my favorite band bleed music into the night.
Nightmare puts his left hand on the microphone and knocks his long black hair out of his face.
“What’s going on Roizen Hills?” he shouts out. “Thank you guys so fucking much for coming out and supporting us tonight. Before we begin, I’d like to introduce our new bassist. It’s his very first show with us, so if we fuck up it’s his fault!”
He glances back behind the stage. “Nah, I’m kidding. But I’d like you all to meet the newest member of Mutilated Arteries.”
Everything in the world freezes except for the blonde-haired guy taking the bass guitar from Nightmare. He takes one look at me, smiles, and mouths the words ‘you made it.’
“You ready, Sketch?” Nightmare asks, giving him a mischievous smile.
“Let’s do this,” Sketch says.
About The Author
Nikki Godwin is a Young Adult author from the southern USA. She is a city girl who can't live without Mountain Dew, black eyeliner, Hawthorne Heights, and candles from Bath & Body Works. When not writing, she's not-so-secretly internet-stalking her favorite bands. She is slightly obsessed with rock stars and surfers. She no longer hides her love for One Direction.