Blake notices me watching him and clears his throat. “Alright, well, let’s get to it.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
WILL
I don’t get nervous for shows, I never really have. When we first started playing at house parties and then at tiny venues, I wasn’t nervous because I didn’t take it very seriously.Lest Is Moorewas Jesse and Naz’s baby—it’s the reason our corny band name is made up of their last names. They were the ones who put it all together in the first place, and the first ones that thought we could be something real once it started. It was more of a pastime for me, and we got a lot of free drinks out of it. Even now, I don’t think I’m that great of a guitar player—Jesse’s the real talent, he can shred. When we started playing bigger venues, and after we got signed and shot to fame basically overnight, I was more focused on Ari, who tended to get pre-show jitters.
Tonight, I’m actually really fucking nervous.
I’m sure a good bit of it is exhaustion. We have been working harder than we ever have to get ready for this show. It’s been a whirlwind, and now all of a sudden, it’s almost time.
Looking around our chaotic dressing room, I shake out my arms and bounce on my toes a little to get out some of the nervous energy. A crew member tells Jesse it’s time for himto go get hooked up so he can get lifted up into the scaffolding above everyone’s heads. He blinks, but otherwise barely reacts, looking blank and empty.
Our first show after we got signed wasn’t a huge arena like we play in now. It was a fairly modest venue, and we were opening for a band that wasn’t nearly as big as we are now. It was still huge, though, for us. Just before we went on stage that first night, we stood in a little huddle, with our arms around each other and our heads pressed close, and said, “This is it. May the rock gods shine down on us,” or something of the sort. It became a sort of ritual, one we’ve only missed once when Jesse was busy puking right before we got on stage. We huddle up, and take turns saying something stupid, a joke in the form of a prayer.
Not tonight, though. Tonight, our friend needs our support. We huddle in like always, but we focus all our energy on Jesse. He’s trying to hold it together to pull off this show, and then he can rest and let all the pain out. I heard him tell Blake he might check himself in at aretreatsomewhere so he isn’t tempted to do anything stupid. I’m not sure if that’s referring to a relapse or chasing after Luc.
“We’re behind you all the way,” Naz tells him, and we all nod, tightening our circle.
One of the stage managers calls Jesse again, and he runs off to get rigged up to fly into the air as soon as it’s dark enough that the crowd won’t see him.
We watch him go, then Naz turns to us with a worried expression. “Jesse doesn’t want to stay for the rest of the game. He wants to leave as soon as the set is done.”
“What?”
“Shit. What are we going to do?” I ask.
“I don’t know, I’m going to try to find Blake.”
“Alright, hurry.”
Go time in seven minutes.
The teams disappear into their respective tunnels while an army of stagehands dressed all in black floods the field, assembling the set like a well-oiled machine. Panels lock into place, lighting rigs descend from the rafters, cables snake across the turf in deliberate patterns that will be cleared again in under fifteen minutes. It’s controlled chaos, but everything moves smoothly and as planned.
Naz returns just as dozens of dancers are filing out and we’re given a two-minute warning.
“Blake was too close to Jesse, but I let Cory know, and he’s going to see if he can get a message to Luc through the team’s security.”
We nod. It’s the best we can do for now.
Someone nearby signals, and the tunnel darkens. Ari, Naz, and I nod at each other. I reach for Ari’s hand and give it a quick squeeze, it’s the most I can do with so many people around us. He smiles and squeezes mine back.
A crew member close to us starts a countdown. We close our eyes to get ready for the stadium to plummet into darkness. Right on cue, the stadium lights shut off with an audible boom. The startled crowd gasps but breaks out in cheers as soon as flickers of light start around the stage.
Showtime.
We run to the stage, following dimly glowing gaff tape all the way. Our security team runs alongside us, and there is more security at the stage to make sure none of us bust our asses. We get to our marks and are handed our instruments, hitting the first opening notes just as screens all around the field light up, each synched to the notes we’re playing. The stage lights up in flashes to the beat of the drums, which is echoed by a full drumline.
Jesse’s voice rings out over the stadium, and I hear Ari laugh. We were worried right up to the last second that our setlist addition would be denied, but I have a feeling Blake and the show coordinators didn’t ask anyone at the network’s permission. Then again, they did bookLest Is Mooreright in the middle of a politically charged year. They knew what they were doing.
When the audience screams, I know they must have spotted Jesse, and sure enough, his face is blown up on several giant screens, a drone camera zooming in close.
Then things kick into high gear as Jesse trust-falls off the platform, falling backwards from a height that makes my stomach drop, even after watching it multiple times. The lighting and the camera angles are perfectly choreographed to make it look like a true free fall. It’s symbolic of his own fall and journey as much as it is meant to represent how a single act of bravery or kindness can create waves. The entire show is set up around this theme and celebrating diversity. My favorite part of the show comes three songs in when half a dozen drag queens catwalk and vogue down an illuminated runway.
It all goes by so fast. From the outside, I know there’s no one outside the three of us, and maybe his mother, who can tell Jesse isn’t fully present. He’s pouring everything he has into this performance, he just happens to not have much less to give.
This becomes more obvious when it’s time for the last song.
