wanting to live again and move past all of this, I have to walk through these doors.
“You can do this,” she says to me and squeezes my elbow as her free hand reaches the door.
I nod once. I hope I can, because I want to.
My jaw drops once I walk through the doors. When Mark and I would go to concerts, I used to love the energy when you walk into a packed arena filled with thousands of people and you can sense everyone’s anticipation for the show that’s sure to come. But there’s something about walking into the arena now, even from the farthest point from the stage on the main floor, and seeing it completely empty that amazes me. I look around at the empty seats and rows of hundreds of chairs in front of us, the activity of men moving heavy equipment on rollers, stringing power chords along the floor to the lighting booth near us. It sends shivers of excitement down my spine.
I played the piano for years, and majored in Music at the U of M. I’m no stranger to giving concerts or performing in front of a live audience. But my biggest audiences of five hundred people pales in comparison to venues like this. I try to imagine what it feels like to be a musician, on this kind of stage, looking out into a room this large with all of this activity, knowing that in less than twenty-four hours it will be filled with thousands of fans screaming along to music you pour your heart and soul into. I fail miserably because as hard as I try, I can’t even begin to imagine. In this place, right now, I feel an excitement and energy in the cavernous room which pales my memories of previous concerts – the ones I gave and attended.
Mia’s expression mirrors mine once I take my eyes off the thousands of empty seats and look to her.
“This is amazing.” She whispers it reverently before pulling her gaze from mine, up to the front of the stage where almost a dozen men are standing, bending over instruments, tuning a handful of guitars and banging out a beat on the drum set. I assume it’s a mixture of the band and roadies.
“I owe you big time for this.”
“Yeah….” My voice trails off as I wipe the sweat off my palms again because it is amazing. It’s thrilling and nerve-wracking at the same time.
I can’t believe I’m doing this.
I watch Zack clasp a man’s shoulder on the stage as we walk closer, Mia’s high-heels clicking a rhythmic beat against the flooring. Even from his profile I see his brows furrowed while he shakes his head back and forth. He’s no longer wearing his baseball cap and I watch as he takes his hand off the man’s shoulder, rubs it through his hair and exhales. When he’s done, his hair looks messy and perfect in a way that only a guy’s hair can. He turns away from the man and freezes when he sees us.
I watch his lips twitch a little bit and he offers up a small wave. “You made it.”
“We wouldn’t have missed it. Thanks for letting us come,” Mia says excitedly. I can practically feel her trying to contain her squealing.
I smile hesitantly because as much as I’m trying to be brave right now and as much as I hate it, there’s still a large amount of fear in me. Zack turns and says something to a few of the men who look up at us and walk towards him on the stage. I can’t tear my eyes off Zack, or the way his muscles on his arm move when he runs his fingers through his hair and I suspect that not all of my fear is directly related to hearing his music, but simply him.
Before I can even begin to process what it all means, he hops off the stage and is almost immediately flanked by Jake and two other guys. He waves his arm out in introduction. “Meet the rest of my band. Mia, Nicole…” he stops for a minute and smiles at me. “Chase and Garrett. They play the drums and electric guitar.”
Chase steps forward first, he’s enormous and intimidating with a chest larger than a football player and a shiny bald head, partially covered by a bandana wrapped around his forehead. If I saw this guy on the street, I would probably cross to the other side