The Birth of Dystopia

by A. Q. Moser

  This rock concert felt like a wild goose chase? Was it simply a coincidence that Billy’s music video had elements common to my childhood nightmare? What was really going on with me? I felt like an utter fool for even believing in this outrageous stunt.

  “Let’s go see the backstage,” Marie proposed, interested in meeting the band firsthand.

  “Yeah,” I responded, panicking about how this going to play out.

  Retreating from centre stage, a group of musicians finished their set and clearing up their instruments. The concert venue housed an open stage that was actually constructed as an amphitheatre optimized to deliver a crisp sound to the audience in front. Tank ‘n Wind banners hung across the top of the stage. Each motif bore one of the band members in a demigod pose. Two large video screens offered the audience a close-up of the stage regardless of where they sat. The floor area was a grassy lawn and allowed concertgoers the freedom to roam to various shops and tents scattered throughout.

  Escorting me to the brick building connected to the centre stage, Marie was going to make sure that the back stage passes were going to be utilized to its full potential despite my reservations.

  Some crowd of loosely dressed women and their overseeing boyfriends surveyed the area on the lookout for any signs of spotting a rock star. A ten-foot fence formed the first line of defence for the onlookers. The second obstacle to the back stage had five grossly overweight guards dressed in the tight red t-shirts. The checkpoint at the fence was guarded by an additional set of security personnel dressed in matching black t-shirts with arms bigger than their heads.

  Marie approached the checkpoint and had me stand next to her in case I was thinking of running away. “Can we go backstage?” she waved the backstage pass that hung from the necklace.

  “Let me see—” The black t-shirt guard tucked his clipboard under his arm and reached out for my backstage pass before finishing his demand. “—your passes.” He inspected my pass starting from the front side and then the flipside and then the front again. “Sorry, it’s for after the show.”

  Sweeping my hand across the back of neck, I felt the imprint of the necklace as a result of the tugging.

  Marie pushed me out of the way. “Are you sure about this?” Unconvinced, she flashed her backstage pass by the eyes of the clipboard guard.

  “I’m sure,” the clipboard guard confirmed, implying he never makes a mistake. He returned to checking the list of papers on his clipboard like he had something more important to do then argue with us.

  “Now move along,” a shorter guard ordered, giving us the hitchhiking thumb to get lost.

  Enraged at the mistreatment, Marie’s face went all flustered. There was nothing she or I could do. Instead, we had to wait till after the concert was done.

  “Those scalpers lied to us,” Marie growled.

  “There was no need to overreact,” I stated, realizing I should not have said what I said. “The good news is the passes are legitimate.”

  Her head tilted forward, Marie bore a piercing gaze. “I don’t like it when people take advantage of others. They withheld information knowing full well. I knew we shouldn’t have trusted the scalpers.”

  “It’s my money, so don’t worry about it.” I was not ready to go back stage and talk to Billy. “We’ll enjoy the show and then go backstage.”

  Marie gave me the don’t-patronize-me look. “For all the money you paid, they should have been honest upfront. These people are criminals.”

  “Come, I’ll buy you a drink.” I hooked arms with Marie and off we went without another word.

  Dashing across the centre stage, a low budget band was gearing up for their prelude. For the chance of a lifetime, they hustled to arrange their instruments. Meanwhile, concertgoers tightly crowded the front seemingly showing an interest in the performance of the young band. But in actuality the people jostled for position to see the main event presented by Tank ‘n’ Wind.

  10

  Strolling around the backend of the concert grounds over to the opposite end of the stage, Marie and I headed for the beer tent. A circus-type tent, with a massive support pole in the centre, was set-up slanted due to the curvy side of the grassy hill. Each outer tent pole was stamped into the ground and held by long stretches of nylon rope tied to steel spikes hammered into the ground. Inside, a mad rush of servers fed the flood of thirsty crowds eager for a drink.

  Orders for beer were taken quickly. As I approached the counter to order, guitar music blared from the stage. It was a loud screeching sound accompanied by drumbeats. A blur of words followed. The overwhelming music from the instruments overpowered anything the singer could produce; the music sounded like an instrumental performance.

  Ushering for me to step forward, the aged lady in a flower dress stood behind a make shift counter waiting for my response. Her hair was stuffed in an old, multi-coloured baseball cap on—the kind made of synthetic felt that did poorly to resist any water penetration.

  “Two regular beers,” I shouted, indicating with two fingers.

  “All we have is lite,” the flower dress lady explained softly.

  Low calorie and regular beers were advertised on the counter. A black marker was drawn over most of the adverts for regular beer except one.

  “Don’t you have this?” I pointed to the drawing of my preferred regular beer.

  “We ran out.” The flower dress lady pointed to a different scribbled sign behind her.

  ‘We are out of regular beer,’ it read.

  “Fine.” I made an ugly face. “Two lites, please.

  The flower dress lady sprung into motion snatching two chilled beer bottles and pouring them into oversized plastic cups. She handed me the beers and then glanced over my shoulder for the next clientele. She had forgotten to take my money. It was not that I was not offering the money; I just kept the money close to me. I stood there waiting for her to ask.

  “Oh!” A moment later the flower dress lady smacked her forehead with a hand, embarrassed by the situation. “That’ll be fifteen dollars.”

  I placed the bills in the lady’s open palm while at the same time examining her brightly lit eyes.

  Grasping two beers in one hand, I walked towards Marie and handed one to her. I immediately took a sip of the beverage. Checking to see I was satisfied Marie followed suit.

  “Good?” I asked before Marie was done swallowing.

  Marie nodded, wiping her upper lip from some spillage. “This is very good. And yours?”

  “Nice and cold,” I described.

  Marie looked around at the crowd. “Look at all these people. They must have just poured in. We better get a good spot.” She stood on her tippee-toes to prove her point.

  Still on the hill with the beer tent, I pointed down to an open section on the grass. “How about over there?”

  “Let’s go.” Marie ushered the way to the spot.

  As darkness spread the opening band continued its repertoire. With the music pounding, a beer in one hand, and Marie by my side, all my worries took on a less significant meaning. Crazy nightmares and my testimony were episodes that happened a long time ago—insignificant to the things going on now. I resolved not to think of it for the evening and hopefully forever. The beer eased my tension, and the musical atmosphere removed me from my life of loops.

  “T’ank yug,” the lead singer shouted, waving his hands in the air. Then adjusting his long hair behind the ears, he scrambled with his band mates to move the equipment offstage.

  A huge roar erupted from the crowd. Marie and I clapped our hands. Excited she bumped her shoulder into mine in fervour for the main act. Not even a treasure hunter could show more excitement for discovering the elusive pot of gold.

  To be at a concert to see Billy exhilarated me beyond words. I could not believe that we attended the same high school, and only three grades below me. What were the chances of that? I remembered his high school picture where he had long messy mullet with his top hair curling outward—a d
reary appearance like nothing mattered. Who would have thought that this guy would become rich and famous?

  On stage, a crew of six crew members rushed to set-up the vast stage unveiling a line of higher quality instruments of Tank ‘n’ Wind—shiny and more exotic looking.

  “They’re next,” Marie screeched her words through a big full-sized smile.

  I tipped my cup to Marie’s announcement. My upper jaw muscles were hurting from smiling too much from the anticipation. This was truly an awesome idea.

  A video projected from two massive stage screens, placed on either end of the stage. Depicted in monster-size, four masked bandits darted out onto a train platform; each dressed in identical Tank ‘n’ Wind t-shirts. The masks covered everything but their eyes—it was obvious who they were by the outline of their eyes. The guy leading the pack was undeniably Billy, more dramatic and bolder in his actions. Plus it was his style to lead. J.V. the lead guitarist walked with a slouch as if he were wearing a heavy knapsack that made him lean backwards. Sonny-O the keyboard and bassist stood in between Billy and J.V., stiff as a board and very cooperative to the whims of the band. He was on thin ice since the episode with the police over the drug charges. Of course, he got a meagre fine and probation—a common punishment for the famous. The drummer, his name slipped my mind, was to the right of Billy tapping his foot on an imaginary bass drum.

  Marie and I rose to our feet animated by the video show. In some sense we were forced to stand as a group up and blocked part of the video.

  The masked foursome watched in disbelief as the train departed without them. Their reaction was pitiful and humorous at the same time. Billy showed a good sense for the camera but the rest acting appeared to be a lower priority on their musical scale. I would rate it to watching an old home video where you were performing a favourite movie scene.

  “We missed the train,” the voice of the masked J.V. echoed from the massive speakers lining the top of the stage.

  “We won’t make the show,” the masked Billy concluded. “We’re going to have to cancel it.” The masked leader heaved, disappointed in the prognostication.

  With downcast eyes, the remaining three members shook their heads each equally disenchanted.

  Booing and jeering erupted from everywhere.

  “Boo.” I too got caught up in the action.

  “The important thing is that we tried,” the masked J.V. regressed.

  With their heads hung low, the foursome turned around dragging their feet, retreating back inside the train station. The video feed ended and silence fell over the stage. People clapped expecting the group to emerge. One minute went by and the clapping continued its forceful pace. After five minutes, the clapping diminished and rose in a musical crescendo—vibrating in and out like a scratchy sound wave. Puffs of smoke poured out of the stage to simmer down the applause, but still no band. Ten minutes later, other than a few idiots screaming some inaudible words, a hush and stillness grew over the crowd. If a multitude were capable of being in awe, this would be how they would show it. Another five minutes passed and still no band.

  Marie focused in on me, looking for an explanation. “What’s going on?” She sat down, placing her plastic cup by her side.

  “Billy is always playing games,” I responded as casual as possible. His high school locker was notorious for being stuffed with hundreds of pink tardy slips. I sat down too and dropped the empty beer cup in Marie’s.

  Another twenty minutes passed by and people started growing weary. Waves of booing erupted again—on and off of low-pitched boos mixed with high-pitched hissing.

  Mechanical sounds emanated from the stage. Motion on the stage quieted all jeering. The magnificent band of four had entered the stage. Whistles and cheers exploded everywhere.

  Marie and I jumped to our feet.

  “Yeahhhh,” I screamed, but I could not hear it. “Yesss.”

  The mysterious delay was forgotten by the deafening cheering. Billy Coax, the rock star, was on the stage and I was happy to see him. Positioned at the centre of the stage, his presence was overwhelming; distant as he was he was better viewed from the giant video screens. He did away with his long, wavy hair and instead sported a conservative style with a straight brush cut. He wore black pants with a thin, long sleeved turtle neck with a sports jacket. He raised a fist in the air exposing his diamond-encrusted, gold watch. The sparkling brilliance of the gold and diamonds emitted a bright yellow hallow over his entire frame—quite an effect if this was done on purpose. Focused on the crowd, he showed off a bicep flex. The crowd applauded for more; they loved it. I was in awe. He was the epitome of a rocker. He was a showman.

  On Billy’s right, J.V. displayed a shiny, ivory white electric guitar strapped to his belt. His long, black trench coat fluttered as he waved his arms in the air calling for more noise. The other two band members stood flatfooted, one by the drums and the other nearby the synthesizer. They waved their arms in their arms too but with less enthusiasm as if they were paid not matter what they did.

  Billy approached the centre microphone. “Hello Toooronnnntoooo,” he called out, extending ‘Toronto’ to a ten second word. He thrust a fist straight up into the air with a ferocious intensity; his wrist sparkled from the radiant gold timepiece.

  The crowd called back and a sea of arms waved in the air. Scattered catcalls from the crowd followed. The chaos of sounds was pleasurable; it just fitted the ambience of the concert.

  “Toronto looks amazink.” Billy used his trademark mispronunciations of words ending with ing. More cheering erupted, he stepped back while still holding the microphone. “It’s good to be back in the best city in the world,” he proclaimed over the continuous cheering. “Our home town Toooronnnntoooo.”

  Wild lighting effects flowed from every angle of the platform stage and then loud vibrations sounded from the speakers. J.V. was strumming the guitar and the concert was underway.

  * * *

  “Thank you everyone.” Billy humbly bowed in exhaustion, satisfied by his vocal performance. “I love you all. Thanks for beink so great. I love Toronto. I love beink home.”

  The four sweaty musicians approached the front edge of the stage. With their arms on each other’s shoulders, bowed for the finale in appreciation for the fans enthusiasm. And then they all waved their arms above their heads in acknowledgement. T-shirts were being pumped from behind the stage onto the deserving crowd. Marie and I were too far for the t-shirts to reach us. Distracted by the projectiles, I missed the departure of the band from the stage.

  “I missed their exit.” Marie was also distracted by the projectiles and looked on at the empty stage expecting more. “That’s okay. We get to meet the band backstage.” There’s a light at the end of the tunnel.” She grabbed me by the shoulders and with both hands and started shaking me with excitement.

  “Stop,” I pleaded. “Calm down.” I was nervous. Reality returned. What would I say to Billy? Great concert but where did you get your music video idea? Do you have nightmares? Did you know we went to the same high school? This was not going to work. Only a crazy person would do this.

  Marie walked a few metres away from me. “Come on,” she shouted.

  I looked on incapable of abandoning this spot. What if Billy would not want to see or listen to me? Maybe he would not get involved in one-on-one chats with his fans? How could he, he has no time. I was stuck deep in my worries.

  A sudden jerk and I was knocked off my feet on to the ground. I managed to brace my head before the impact. Resting on my chest I saw tiny toes encased in sandals.

  “Are you alright?” Marie asked, bending over me while rubbing my back.

  I scanned the surroundings to see who was watching. A group of adolescents were pointing and mocking my fall.

  “Thanks Marie.” I pushed off the ground as if I were doing a push-up and balanced precociously on my feet.

  “I’m so sorry.” Marie reached for a tissue trying to clean up the dirt stains on my long-sl
eeved shirt.

  Drips of sweat poured off my forehead and landed on my shirt. This was probably not how I wanted Billy to see me. “Marie, I’m all dirty. I can’t do this. I want to go home.” I made a good excuse.

  “What?” Marie continued her focus on removing the grime.

  “I can’t,” I stuttered. “I want to go home. This doesn’t feel right.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Marie insisted, almost on the verge of scolding me.

  “I don’t know. Please! I want to go home.” Would crying prove my point? My throat was starting to get all scratchy and itchy. My stomach seemed to bounce inwards from all directions. I was on the threshold of fainting even though I never fainted in my entire life.

  “We can’t leave. You paid all this money.” Not backing down, Marie stopped cleaning and peered into my eyes. “This is your chance.”

  “My head hurts and my throat is irritated from too much screaming.” I made an attempt to hobble towards to the exit.

  “Joel! Come here,” Marie ordered with her arms straightened down and hands locked in a fist.

  “I can’t.” I shook my head. My lips quivered, as I could not dare to look Marie in the eyes. It was painfully difficult to even look in her general direction.

  “And if you’re right?” Marie growled.

  Standing a few metres away, a pair of girls ended their conversation to watch this scene unfold. Marie’s shouting was inviting a lot of attention. I wanted to run away but I could not dare abandon Marie at the concert grounds.

  “Joel, come back,” Marie continued to shout. “I’m not leaving. Do you hear me?”

  Not knowing what to do with my hands, I patted my hair on the top of head thinking it was standing up. “Please Marie,” I whispered, hoping she would be able to read my lips and calm down.