The Birth of Dystopia

by A. Q. Moser

  Marie stood there, arms by her hips and shaking her head. Her lips disappeared into her mouth. She was angry and I was to blame. My heart pounded hard and the dispute was not going where I wanted it to go—away. I returned to her side. Her eyes were waiting for me—ready to attack me like she despised me my insolence.

  “Please,” I whispered in Marie’s ears while keeping an eye on the onlookers in the distance.

  “Minimum, we go for a few minutes. If not for you, then do it for me. I want to meet Coax,” Marie commanded.

  “Promise me it’s only for a few minutes?” I wanted conformation of no trickery.

  “Yes,” Marie asserted with confidence.

  “Are you going to mention anything about my nightmare?” I asked unevenly.

  “What I say is my business. If you want to stay in the background, that’s okay with me. Just don’t make me angry,” Marie stated her purpose in a very unfriendly fashion.

  “Okay,” I responded to make Marie happy. My throat burned with regret and my doubt was the strongest feeling I had the moment—my gut feeling backed it up.

  Marie crossed her arms and swayed side to side, looking as if to be on the verge of tapping her foot to comply. She was beyond any reason—set in her way of meeting Billy and I was to accompany her, like it or not.

  “Let’s go.” Marie locked her arm around mine and she stormed ahead dragging me by her side.

  I was glad to be out of the limelight. The weight of the spectators watching and listening to me was creepy. I would never see them again but it just made the skin on my back crawl.

  11

  Around the backstage to a fenced area, a small group of curious spectators gathered expecting a glimpse of some of the behind-the-scene action. Returning to the secured gate, the same clipboard guard and short guard from our previous encounter were standing as barricades by the entrance of the gate. Expecting nothing but compliance, Marie flashed both sides of her laminated backstage pass. The short guard’s hitchhiking thumb came up; this time pointing towards the inside of the gate. She pulled me along only to be separated for a mandatory pat down by security.

  The short guard pulled me over and spun me around to face the onlookers. Two hands started from the top of my shoulders, grabbing and squeezing at everything. An awkward feeling, more bothersome than Marie’s fit over leaving the grounds without seeing Billy. I turned to see Marie receiving a gentler pat down from a female guard—or at least what looked to be hulking woman with long auburn hair tucked neatly into a ponytail.

  “Remove your shoes,” the short guard ordered.

  Without any hesitation I stepped out of my running shoes onto the dried mud that surrounded the edge of the fence closure. My sweaty socks absorbed some dirt. I tried to see if they smelled by leaning forward without making it too obvious. Nothing. The short guard bent over and stuck his hands into the shoes in his same poking and prodding method—a peculiar test that he could have learnt from the absurd art-school-for-bouncers.

  “Put on your shoes,” the short guard instructed displeased by what transpired.

  Leaning one arm on the fence I reached down to put on my shoes. In the corner of my eye, the guard wiped his hands on his pants. He deserved it. For once I was content with overactive functions of my body. While putting on my second shoe, Marie was conversing with the clipboard guard.

  Marie walked over. “Let’s go.” She charged towards the ajar door, the only door to enter the brick building—bright lights and music blasted from inside.

  I had to jog a bit to catch up to Marie. “What were you talking about with the guard?”

  “I wanted to know if Billy was in a good mood after a performance,” Marie explained.

  “You’re not going to bring up the music video thing. Are you?” As much as I wanted Marie to answer ‘no’ to my question, I also wanted her to reconfirm our agreement that she was to see Billy and then we could leave.

  Marie shrugged her shoulder. “I don’t know. I just want to meet him.” Her motives were clear she would speak on my behalf whether I wanted it or not.

  Inside, a lengthy hallway lit by fluorescent lighting was covered with graffiti markings on both sides of the walls. ‘I love this place’, ‘Jane was here’, ‘Jane was here again’, ‘Jane was here again and again’, ‘Jane loves this place’. It seemed all the graffiti belonged to a popular groupie named Jane.

  Proceeding further, steel doors bearing multiple layers of chipped paint with patches lined either side of the hallway. Each door had a polished doorknob requiring a key to unlock. Broken fluorescent lights fluttered as strobe lights while emitting buzzing sounds.

  “So what did he say exactly?” I was eager to hear the clipboard guard’s answer even though somehow I doubted the answer was good.

  “He said Billy’s only approachable when he’s not very drunk,” Marie clarified, sounding hopeful.

  “Is he drunk now?” I feared.

  Marie shuddered ambiguously. “I hope not. We could always ask the other band members.” I watched her hair bounce off her shoulders and stream down her back as we strolled down the hallway.

  Was Marie growing wearisome of me? Was I acting out of line? How could I help myself when our chances looked against us?

  I bit anxiously into my thumbnail. How would Billy react to such a strange question? It was just a simple question, where did he get the idea for the Dolphins know the way music video? Would a reasonable person answer such a question? There was always the possibility that someone else thought of the video and shared it with Billy. And then I would have to track down this other person. Maybe it was just a mere coincidence of the music video matching my nightmare? I desperately wanted to believe this but gut feeling was saying otherwise. My heart sunk lower into my chest. I dared not look up but followed Marie’s bouncing hair.

  Screams and music grew intense as we descended a set of stairs. At the bottom of the hallway was a collection of empty bottles of beer and plastic cups. The odd drink was tipped over and its contents spread over the concrete floor. Marie and I zigzagged around the puddles of evaporating alcohol to another hallway perpendicular to the stairwell. This hallway spanned out to four doors, two on either end. Each side had a party commotion happening. She veered right and I trailed as usual.

  We were both nervous, not knowing what to expect. Marie was playing with her hair, continuously rolling a lock of hair through her fingers. I attempted to come across as someone important with my hands in my pockets, slouching forward.

  Since both doors at the end were open, it was easy to see what was going on. In one room, people were sitting on leather couches clutching posh martini glasses in one hand while talking up a storm with the other—conversation and gesticulation went hand in hand here. Through other hallway door, a mass of security guards and concert personnel enjoyed a little break. Each one sipped from a plastic bottle containing water. The atmosphere was more tranquil but not as inviting as the first room.

  Marie decided to enter the first room and disappeared within the drinking crowd. Happy to stay where I was, I waited in the hallway, leaning against the wall. The room conversations sounded pretentious and sophisticated; it was beyond my league.

  I hoped Marie would return promptly; maybe get the opportunity to converse with Billy on my behalf. In the meantime, to keep myself occupied I shuffled my weight around trying to balance myself on one leg and then the other.

  A bearded male popped out of the sophisticated room followed by a slender female. “Hey, whassup” the male remarked, pushing a strong smell of liquor my way.

  I saluted the man with a nod. The female was a young woman wearing the tightest white dress I have ever seen. She smiled at me, a gentle gesture that stirred me on. She caught up with the whassup guy and laid a hand on his shoulder. I studied her exposed back as the dress clung to her curvaceous body starting from the border between the buttocks and the lower back wrapping around the sides of her body, under the armpits and connecting back around th
e neck. She looked back and smiled again. The couple headed for the rooms on the far end of the hallway.

  I was starting to relax as the scene was turning out to be better than I had hoped. I peeked inside the sophisticated room trying to pinpoint Marie’s whereabouts. Standing in the back corner, she was talking to a longhaired gentleman. He was dressed in some tight slacks and an oversized black t-shirt advertising the Tank ‘n’ Wind tour.

  An eternity seemed to have gone by waiting for Marie to return. I was inclined to follow the girl in the white dress. The other end of the hallway appeared to have more appeal to me. In the end, I decided to wait for Marie. I resumed my balancing game only to be interrupted by more couples heading to the other end of the hallway. Trying not to interfere with the flow of traffic, I leaned on the wall with both hands behind my back and with my head leaned forward so my Tank ‘n’ Wind pass dangled under my chin. It twisted up, paused, and then untwisted.

  There was another mass exodus of people from the sophisticated room out to the hallway.

  “Yo,” someone from the band of people called out while passing by.

  An uneven weight pressed me down on my right shoulder. “Dude, you’re missing the party,” a wobbly teenager said. The hallway lights reflected vibrantly off his blonde curly hair. His eyes dwindled on my neck pass as it spun. “We gotta go over there.” He pointed to the other end of the hallway.

  “Why? What’s there?” I was caught off guard by teenager’s audacity.

  “The party is there. Come on, I’ll introduce you to everyone.” The blonde teenager wrapped his left arm around my shoulder and leaned on me for support.

  I braced myself on the wall to help support the extra weight. The blonde teenager shifted forward causing us to stagger forward—he would step and drag me—and together we moved down the hallway. I caught a whiff of his shirt and it smelled more of booze then his breathe.

  “Try this stuff.” The teenager shoved a cerise drink in my face. “It’s awesome.”

  A fruity aroma of cherries basked my sense of smell. “Smells good,” I responded. With my left hand, I steadied the glass in order to have a sip of the drink. “Tasty.” The mix of cherries and whatever mixture of liquor in it gave the bittersweet taste I craved for in a drink. “What is it?”

  The blonde teenager was oblivious to my question. He was focused on making it to the other end. We passed the stairwell Marie and I came down on and continued to the other end of the hallway.

  The blonde teenager was leaning forward too much causing most of the drink to empty out onto the floor. “Ah man,” he cried with glazed eyes drowning in the hallway lights. He tightened his grip around my neck and we charged for the door on the right. “I’ll make you another. I’m so sorry.”

  Inside was an enormous, mystifying black room—black because velvet sheets elegantly covered all the walls. About eighty people were in the room conversing with at least one other person. Crimson black couches littered the sides of the room adding to the dark ambience; it appeared to have been designed by a minimal artist.

  “The bar is over there.” The blonde teenager pointed the drinking glass forward spilling the rest of the drink on my shoes.

  The glass was directed to a bar of five bartenders standing behind a chest high counter. Behind them, were the stocks of over a hundred bottles varying from liquors to wines to imported beers—each carefully ordered to bottle height.

  We crossed the room towards a lineless bar. The blonde teenager placed his drink on the counter and a bartender eagerly disposed it.

  “The drinks are free here,” the blonde teenager vocally told me, attempting to be quiet. “One … actually make it two Turtle Flights, please.” He indicated with two fingers.

  The bartender spun around grabbed three bottles with one hand and poured a concoction into a shaker. Ice followed with a fourth red bottle. Two seconds in all and we each had a drink of the Turtle Flights garnished with a slice of lime.

  “Thank you,” I said to the bartender.

  The bartender followed with a quick wipe of the counter. “Nice stain,” he remarked, while pointing to my lonely drink.

  I scooped up my drink and walked away without even thanking the bartender.

  “Cheers.” The blonde teenager, now my drinking buddy, clicked my glass with his and proceeded to down his whole drink in a single gulp.

  I released my grip because the teenager’s sweaty armpits were leaving marks on my long-sleeved shirt. I sipped the drink ensuring it was the same thing I had a moment earlier. The bittersweet mixture sat well in my mouth.

  “I got to sit down!” my drinking buddy pleaded unmistakeably drunk.

  I directed the teenager to the first available couch. As I led, he swaggered with every step. His arms hung loosely from his shoulders. He managed to hold on to the glass despite his grip loosened to every step. With the empty couch a step away, he plopped onto it head first, dropping the empty glass. Surprisingly, it did not break but rolled towards the wall. With my foot I nudged it closer to the wall. My drinking buddy crashed out and lay motionless.

  Since the drinking buddy was only good for a few drinks, I scanned the room to see who else was here. On the wall furthest from the entranceway was another door with a self-serve bar by the side. Two enormous bouncers, arms crossed and dressed from head to toe in black, guarded the elixir liquor.

  I continued drinking—possibly my new favourite drink—watching people as they passed by. Where was the white dress girl? There were a lot of girls dressed in skimpy outfits but none matched the beauty of that girl in the white dress.

  Emptying my glass I returned to the bar. “One Turtle Flight, please.” I handed the bartender the empty glass.

  The drink was good and it loosened my apprehension that weighed heavily on me. The night was turning to be a good one. I leaned with one elbow on the bar stand still scanning the crowd. All the people seemed so important—dressed to impress. Other than the t-shirt people—who were few and more clustered together by the couches—people were dressed in tight, dressy attire that were of two general colours, white or black, with the rebels having a variation of the two shades. Backstage passes did not come easy and it drew an upscale crowd—I referred to them as the condo-types for their high-priced condominiums. The condo-types were always known to have a tendency to drink excessively.

  I examined my creased long-sleeved shirt that spotted a new red stain on the left side of my chest. I touched it hoping it would disappear. Nothing. I pinched the shirt forward to try to hide the discoloration.

  I proceeded to focus my attention on locating the girl wearing white dress. To look busy and important, I attempted to look busy by circling the vast room. I shuffled my feet and extended my neck imitating the where-is-that-friend look.

  Crossing to the other end of the room and not having anyone to talk too, I was interested in returning to the drinking buddy I had left on the couch. On my tippee-toes, I peered over the crowd. The inebriated guy on the couch was someone else, huddled over the armrest in a heaving manner. I strolled back near an empty spot by the guarded bar stand I saw earlier while savouring my new favourite drink.

  Glancing back at the guarded bar stand, a short-haired male with a sizeable gold watch encrusted with a ring of diamonds huddled by the bar table, mixing his own beverage—a bar table littered with open alcohol bottles and glasses. I was not sure what I was seeing but my eyes fixed on his head. I was stunned by the recognizable shape. It was Billy’s buzzed head. A clean-shaven face added some class that I never would have expected from a rebellious rock star. Sporting a trendy, slim turtleneck and sports jacket, he came across as a giant—taller and bigger than me.

  I was amazed not to see any entourage drooling over Billy’s every move. Famous people were always shown on television to be followed by a posse who never missed a heartbeat.

  This was my chance to talk to Billy. Without a second thought—maybe the alcohol helped, I seized the opportunity to approach him with the
notion of saying my practiced lines. I pointed to him but my nerves caused me to stumble for my first word.

  “Hey, I know who you are,” Billy opened with a mild slur in his speech.

  I pointed to myself in doubt. Billy knew me? How? From high school?

  “You’re the guy who botched his testimony.” Billy laughed callously at me. “How can a prosecutor’s witness be so bad that not even the defence attorney had questions for him?”

  With a flush feeling, I began to reconsider my whole preordained line of questions. “The prosecutor said my testimony was good,” I defended mortified to talk to a living music legend.

  “Yeah right. That’s not what I heard.” Billy shook his head in objection, still brandying remnants of a smile from his laugh.

  “Well maybe you heard wrong,” I retorted confused as I was caught off-guard.

  “Anyways, do you want a drink or not? Not that you’re on trial or anythink,” Billy crudely offered using his trademark ink pronunciation for words ending in ing.

  Angry at being connected with the trial, I tried to recollect myself. Maybe this was a huge mistake coming here? Did I waste all this money to be made fun of? The rock concert was a welcomed distraction but, as I should have known, rock stars were nothing more than a bunch of pompous idiots with their heads stuck in the clouds. Arrogance was rampant in this field. And even worse, they all believed that fans always wanted something from them.

  “Yo bro, are you here to waste my time?” Billy concluded, disgusted by the encounter. He walked past me towards a crowd of girls cat-calling him over.

  “Your Dolphin video!” I declared.

  Billy turned his head slightly. “What about it?” he quietly muttered through the side of his mouth.

  “It’s wrong,” I insisted. “The steamboat’s chimney stack had the colours red, white, red striped across it. Your video had the chimney stack as all red.”