“We just ate pizza bites, and I’ll buy you something after the show.” I check the time on my phone and click off the screen. It’s hard not to scroll through it mindlessly, but I forgot my portable charger in all my excitement, and I need to save the battery for pictures and videos.
Alice mutters curse words as she searches inside her purse for a pack of gum. She finds a piece and throws it into her mouth like it’s her salvation. Within seconds, she smacks her lips, blowing bubbles before loudly popping them to dig under my skin. I can suffer her little meltdown because soon I’ll be only a few feet away from Sully Graham, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll catch a guitar pick from him.
Thankfully, arriving a little early worked in our favor. We’re in the perfect place at the railing, a few feet from the stage. I’ll have a professional photographer-like view of Scarlet Failure. If I’m lucky, I might earn some eye contact or a brushed hand by Sully as I nearly throw myself at his feet. Usually, I’d have more self-respect, but when it comes to concerts of my favorite bands, I’m a total fangirl who screams until my voice is gone the next day.
The opening band, Haunted Dreams, is one of Alice’s favorites. She screams along and almost whacks my head when their drummer tosses drumsticks into the crowd, and she catches one.
Unfortunately, the guy behind us also catches the same stick. They fight over who grabbed it first and who has a bigger half and therefore deserves the entire thing. There’s a brief tug-of-war laced with insults until Alice stomps on his foot and holds the stick to her chest like it’spriceless. The man mutters under his breath and walks over toward the bar to drown his sorrows.
Near the end of Haunted Dreams’ setlist, they sing more thrashy songs, and it causes a bunch of people to form a mosh pit directly behind us. One guy jumps into the air, and people pick him up, crowd-surfing him toward the stage. He drifts over my head, and I panic. I can’t hold his weight, so I duck, but then this girl in a black dress and spider web leggings tries to elbow her way into my spot. I stand up too fast and it messes up the crowd-surfing and the guy falls backward with a loud smack on the concrete floor.
I grimace as a buddy of his helps him to his feet. The guy looks dazed, but thankfully there’s no blood. At least none that I can see in the low light.
Alice misses the entire scene by jumping up and down, trying to reach for the lead singer's hand when he runs side to side on stage. She has no idea how close I came to losing my head. But at least she’s enjoying the show and no longer grumbling about her hunger.
After the band says their farewells, the lights flick on, and house music fills the ringing silence. I roll my shoulders and stretch my stiff spine, biting back a painful groan. My feet burn, and my legs ache. I glance at the people in the balcony sitting in booths drinking and relaxing, not a care in the world. A small pang of jealousy stabs my heart, and I force myself to look away.
But they don’t have a chance of catching a guitar pick from Sully.That hope pulls me out of the darkness that still lingers from my past. If I catch a pick, score a setlist, and/or touch Sully’s hand, then all my pain will be worth it.
“I’m going to buy us some water. Wish me luck!” Alice says, squeezing herself through the crowd creeping closer inch by inch. Soon I won’t have enough room to inhale and exhale, let alone move my arms up and down.
People eye Alice’s spot, nodding toward their friends. I clench my teeth and hold my ground, trying to save her space from being taken by the people I deem vultures. They look for any way to get close to the stage without standing nearly half the night to get a good spot. Luckily the guy next to Alice is cool and helps me keep her spot safe. He also stood in line with us outside, and we hardcore fans tend to stick together to ensure no one cuts in front or pushes us out of the way.
Anticipation hums in the air as roadies set up Scarlet Failure’s mic stands and drum set. I feel people pressing in on all sides as discarded cups crunch underneath my sneakers. Alice pushes her way back to our spot and sighs as she hands me a cold bottle of water. “There’s a girl with spiky blue hair that’s super pissed at me right now for elbowing her in the ribs. But she wouldn’t let me through.” She chuckles, taking a sip of water. “It’s insane. The crowd goes all the way to the bar.”
“Really?” I stand on my tiptoes and crane my neck to look behind us. All I see is a sea of heads. I knew the concert was sold out, but to see it is always surprising. No wonder I’m sweating like it’s a sauna with all this body heat trapped inside one room.
As soon as the house music cuts off mid-song and someone kills the lights, people push in an immense wave, a humanized hurricane. I move my elbows around and stick my butt out more to preserve some room as I lean against the metal railing. I’m going to have bruised hands and arms, but that’s the price you pay to be up front.
Ben Katz explodes onto the stage first, swinging his drumsticks over his head like a champion, a wild grin plastered across his face. The crowd roars. A heartbeat later, Sully and Lars Elrod rush out, guitars slung low, tuning knobs spinning as they lock into place. Sully is barely three feet away, and the sight of him sends my heart into a wild rhythm. Heat blooms under my skin as his eyes briefly find mine.
The screams around me go feral—high, sharp, desperate. Everyone’s fighting for Sully’s attention, and it’s no surprise. He’s the only single member left, and it’s almost a frenzy to catch his attention as he strums his guitar.
Their lead singer, Charlotte Katz, makes her entrance to roaring applause. She blows a kiss to her husband, Ben, who playfully flips a drumstick in the air and catches it between his teeth, making her laugh. She waves at the crowd, her voice bright as she grabs the mic. “Greetings, LA! It's so nice to be back,” she says in a sing-song German accent, sweeping a hand through her long chestnut hair. True to her signature style, she’s rocking a pair of towering black seven-inch heels. From my spot, the view is incredible—I can see the intricate details of her purple dress and the way her diamond earrings catch the light.
The zoom on my phone’s camera catches the artwork on Sully’s guitar. It’s navy blue with white lightning.
“How’s your night going so far? You ready to rock?” Charlotte shouts, taking her mic out of its cradle.
Everyone screams in reply and a few whistle. I wince at the sharp sound stabbing my left eardrum.
“Our first song is ‘Winter Heart,’” she says, nodding to Sully. He starts playing the melody, and I swear my heart bursts open.
The entire concert feels like an out-of-body experience. As if my soul floats above my body while watching one of my favorite bands perform. For nearly two hours, I’m in heaven. I sing along and take pictures. People behind me shove and almost force me to drop my phone over the barrier. I elbow them and fight to keep myself from being pinned to the rail.
When Scarlet Failure finishes their last song, Sully tosses out five guitar picks. One bounces off my breast and falls inches away from me. I search the floor, but with all the feet and debris, it’s hard to find a little plastic pick.
It’s hopeless. Someone else…
My eyes lock on a spot a few inches away. I squint, and it’s the green pick on the edge of someone’s phone light. Just as I’m about to step on it, a guy snatches it up.
Damn.
I look to the stage hoping maybe Lars still has some picks or Ben has a drumstick to throw. Instead, Sully stands in front of me. He smiles, showing me a green pick in his hand. Instinctively I hold out my cupped hand and he flicks it into my palm. Before he turns to join his band in the lineup to bow and say their final goodbyes, I swear he winks at me.
My heart skids to a sudden stop, and it physically hurts when it starts pounding again. Like it’s trying to escape my rib cage.
Once the band waves farewell and leaves the stage, fans flock to the doors, but I remain at the barrier. Alice moves to leave and I grab her arm. “Wait a sec,” I say, keeping my eyes on the stage.
