“Nick’s a musician,” Novalie told me as we kept walking. “He teaches at Berklee. He tries to catch as many concerts as he can. He says it’s the best way to discover new sounds and styles and appreciate the nuances… I don’t really know what that means. Half the time what he says goes over my head.”
“The same thing happens to me when Trey goes into detail about his projects. All I see is blueprints and they might as well be hieroglyphics.”
“Yep. That’s exactly what I feel when I see sheet music.”
We laughed.
“So who is Bring Me the Horizon?”
“You’ve never heard them?” she asked. “You’ll love them if you like death metal, screamo, that kind of thing…”
“Screamo?”
Novalie giggled and covered her mouth before reaching into her pocket and pulling out a little white package. “Here, you might need these.”
Inside, I found a pair of earplugs. “Are you kidding?”
She shook her head.
When we got there, we had to wait a few minutes to get inside. Trey and Nick had hit it off and were chatting away about their pets. They seemed to be competing to see which dog was cooler, Sisuei or Ozzy, Nick’s Labrador.
We flashed our tickets and went inside. The place was packed, and we struggled to make our way toward the stage. Fifteen minutes later, the lights went down. The crowd shouted until every voice was one deep roar just as the band came onstage. My heart was racing. Though I didn’t mention this to Novalie, I’d never been to a concertlike that. The closest thing I’d been to was an open-air folk festival! Those are the breaks when you have no social life or group of friends to do things with.
The lights came up, the screams grew louder, and the band started playing the first chords. The sound coming from the amplifiers was deafening.
That night was probably the most fun I had ever had. I laughed and shouted until I could barely speak.
And I danced. After an hour, they played a slower tune, almost sensual, if music that heavy can be called sensual. I felt Trey’s hands on my hips and his body against my back moving softly back and forth. I was stiff at first, but then I gave in, and my muscles loosened.
The music echoed through my head, then through my entire body. As he gripped me tighter, I turned around and looked into his eyes. Our foreheads touched, our lips came together, and we swayed to the rhythm, fluid, body to body, speeding up as the drumbeats started pounding.
We kissed, our hearts beating a thousand beats per minute, holding onto each other tight. If I had known all the stupid things I would do after that night was over, I’d never have let him go. I’d have held him until our bodies were one.
I’d have asked him to stay.
Stay.
Please stay.
“All it takes is a thought, just one thought for the world to come tumbling down, and with it the whole set, the curtains, the masks, and then the dead come back from the grave, the ghosts, and everything you thought was buried, hidden behind a smile.”
—Laura Esquivel,The Colors of My Past
26
Sometimes the Truth Hurts
I’ve wondered at times what happens to those magic moments that we push aside because they’re so sad. Those moments that are our truth, that tell us who we really are, with no masks, no disguises, no camouflage—just bare flesh. They’re so hard to get at, so hard to create, and then they vanish as soon as we lie down in bed.
But maybe they haven’t gone anywhere. Maybe they just turn vague in our minds, linked to some image or memory that will allow us to bring them to life again when we need them. Maybe they hide on purpose, offended because we didn’t hold them in high enough regard, because we took for granted that they’d last forever.
We always think when we find happiness, that it will never abandon us. But that’s vain, and often it’s not in our hands.
Anytime I got the chance, I liked to go to the Notre-Dame-des-Neiges Cemetery. The first time was for my mother’s funeral, and since then, I’ve visited her whenever I’ve had the opportunity.
The last time I went was for my grandmother’s funeral.
And now I was there again, at her grave. The mound of red earth had been covered by a granite slab and a tombstone. I laid the white tulips I’d bought for her down on the stone and sat on the blanket I’d brought with me so I could spend some time by her side.
