Blinded
A Show
I wipe my brows in the towel that’s hanging from the mic stand. My throat is slightly dry, but I know I can make it through another song without some water. I need to ask the other guys for some water, so I’ll keep the drinking to a minimum.
I hate humiliating myself like that – especially in front of the fans.
The instruments start playing, and I prepare myself to sing. I hold onto the mic with the fingertips of my left hand. It hurts since it’s the one that got cut in, but my right hand is completely useless, so I have to settle.
I begin to sing – softly.
I was told to keep the bandages dry, but I doubt that they’re anywhere near dry right now. They’re probably drenched in my sweat.
I move my mouth away from the mic every time I inhale. During the last couple of shows, I’ve noticed how loud my breath is when I inhale right in front of the mic, so I’ve begun turning my head away.
I turn my head towards Frank. I know he’s over there somewhere. He’s usually on his spot during our slow songs.
I wish I could see his face – to see if he’s okay. He’s always put on a game-face for when we go on stage no matter how crappy he’s felt, but I’ve always been able to see right through it. When you’d just glance at him he’d look fine, but if you caught his eyes and looked straight into his black irises, you’d spot the truth.
I wish I could see his eyes right now.
I need to know if he’s mad at me. Or if he’s sad. I need to know if it’s okay for me to comfort him – to help him.
I can’t help but to blame myself. Maybe I have known all along. Maybe I’ve missed all the signs, even though they’ve all been right in front of me – or even right up in my face.
How could I’ve been so blind?
How can I still be so blind – not to see or feel that Frank is hurting?
Ray’s guitar solo kicks in, and I lean my chin on top of the mic. I try to feel the crowd – try to drown my thoughts in their enjoyment and happiness.
I can feel them – their spark.
I open my eyes. I think it’s a reflex – I want to see them and their joyful, mesmerized faces.
My eyes flinch. I see-
I can see a light. It’s faint, but it’s there! It’s right there! I can see it!
I stare at it – excitement and hope rushing through me.
I turn my head. I wanna see Frank. I wanna see if he’s okay. I need to see his irises.
But there’s nothing.
It’s all dark.
Suddenly Ray’s guitar solo is over, and I quickly press my mouth against the mic and sing.
I just saw something! I saw a light! A stage-light, perhaps.
I saw something.
But not Frank.
“I don’t love you
like I loved you
yesterday-hay-hay.”
I hate humiliating myself like that – especially in front of the fans.
The instruments start playing, and I prepare myself to sing. I hold onto the mic with the fingertips of my left hand. It hurts since it’s the one that got cut in, but my right hand is completely useless, so I have to settle.
I begin to sing – softly.
I was told to keep the bandages dry, but I doubt that they’re anywhere near dry right now. They’re probably drenched in my sweat.
I move my mouth away from the mic every time I inhale. During the last couple of shows, I’ve noticed how loud my breath is when I inhale right in front of the mic, so I’ve begun turning my head away.
I turn my head towards Frank. I know he’s over there somewhere. He’s usually on his spot during our slow songs.
I wish I could see his face – to see if he’s okay. He’s always put on a game-face for when we go on stage no matter how crappy he’s felt, but I’ve always been able to see right through it. When you’d just glance at him he’d look fine, but if you caught his eyes and looked straight into his black irises, you’d spot the truth.
I wish I could see his eyes right now.
I need to know if he’s mad at me. Or if he’s sad. I need to know if it’s okay for me to comfort him – to help him.
I can’t help but to blame myself. Maybe I have known all along. Maybe I’ve missed all the signs, even though they’ve all been right in front of me – or even right up in my face.
How could I’ve been so blind?
How can I still be so blind – not to see or feel that Frank is hurting?
Ray’s guitar solo kicks in, and I lean my chin on top of the mic. I try to feel the crowd – try to drown my thoughts in their enjoyment and happiness.
I can feel them – their spark.
I open my eyes. I think it’s a reflex – I want to see them and their joyful, mesmerized faces.
My eyes flinch. I see-
I can see a light. It’s faint, but it’s there! It’s right there! I can see it!
I stare at it – excitement and hope rushing through me.
I turn my head. I wanna see Frank. I wanna see if he’s okay. I need to see his irises.
But there’s nothing.
It’s all dark.
Suddenly Ray’s guitar solo is over, and I quickly press my mouth against the mic and sing.
I just saw something! I saw a light! A stage-light, perhaps.
I saw something.
But not Frank.
“I don’t love you
like I loved you
yesterday-hay-hay.”