Book of Stories: In With The Band

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I don’t think they ever meant to become famous.
Just a whole bunch of boys, all bored and looking for something to do, that realized their talent with music provided that something.
It was after their first real gig, opening for a home-town band, that they really hit it big.
And I didn’t meet them until a while after that.

My best friend was in love with them.
I was partial to whatever.
She got the tickets in a raffle;
Two of them, front row, with VIP, backstage passes.
And then, she insisted I go with her.

At first I insisted that she find someone else to go with her.
But eventually I warmed up to the idea and agreed to go;
until she got sick three days before the concert.
Understand that this wasn’t your tiny, go-away-in-two-days stomach bug,
But a huge, full-blown flu.
When she first got sick, I told her I wasn’t going to the concert.
Actually if I’m sticking to the complete truth, I told her that, if she wasn’t going, there was nothing on this earth that could drag me to that bloody concert, dead or alive.
She begged all three days.
Her persuasion point?
She needed me to go, meet the guys, and get their autograph for her.
So what was I supposed to do? Tell her that because she’d had the misfortune of getting sick that she was going to miss out on her lifelong dream of meeting these dudes?
No, because I’m too freaking nice and I enjoy setting myself up for a future disaster that I could’ve never seen coming.

I’m not saying, nor have I ever said, that I don’t enjoy the boy’s music.
It’s good; really I do enjoy it. It’s just that the used-to-be lead singer’s voice grated on my nerves. A lot.
And no, I’m also not saying that I tried to get rid of the old lead singer to get the spot for myself.
As a matter of fact that thought wouldn’t have crossed my mind in a gillion years.
I simply didn’t like the lead singer and so I simply didn’t love the band.

Needless to say, because of lead-singer-squeaky-voice, I didn’t enjoy the concert too much.
Nor did I enjoy the over-bearing crowds, squealing fan girls (and occasional fan boy), or the constant, obscured view thanks to my short legs and the freakishly tall people.
I did, however, enjoy the instrumental work of the other three band boys.
But, the biggest blow of the night was very easily at the end of the concert when sir squeaks-a-lot announced to a mosh-pit full of die-hard fans that he was leaving the band.
Oh no, you see that was when I really got something to complain about;
when my short legs became less about me not being able to see and more about me not being able to avoid getting trampled.

Turns out most people had similar problems.
A girl next to me collapsed in wheezing sobs thanks to the announcement and was jerked back to her feet by an annoyed looking boy right before a college guy stepped where her head would’ve been.
A few other people that were ‘here by default’ like me, had been swept up by the raging mob of fans and were being carried to the stage where security guards fought to keep the rioters back.
I was one of the ones that didn’t get ‘swept up,’ but ‘shoved around’ instead.
A boy slammed into me, two girls pushed me away from them, and another man shot me a frazzled glare and tossed me towards the ground.

In that moment, seeing the ground rushing up to meet my face and knowing that once I was lying prone against the filthy floors I wouldn’t be able to get my feet under me again, I yelped. Loudly.
And then a strong, warm hand closed around my upper arm and tugged me rapidly upward.
The next thing I knew my feet were slapping against the plywood stage and I was staring into the eyes of the three remaining band members.
~~~

"Is that all?"

“That’s all."

"Most people say you snuck into the boy’s dressing rooms and begged for a chance to be the new singer."

“I never wanted to be the singer."

‘"So, for the record, there was absolutely no begging, sleeping with the band, or sneaking around on your part for the position of lead singer."

“No. The boys offered me the spot. They asked me personally to join.”

"And you didn’t ask once?"

“No.”

"Alright, what happened next?"

“We all went back stage and I met squeakers. Er, I mean Scott, the ex-singer.”

"You said the boys offered you the spot. How did they know you sang?"

“They didn’t. And I never planned on them finding out.”

"How did they find out?"

“After I took the back stage tour and got the autographs for my friend I told the boys I had to go. They offered to take me home.”

"Do you know why? Did you ask them to or hint at all that they should?"

“No. I was tired. I was sore. And I was still shook up about being almost trampled. When the boys offered I told them I was going to get a cab and tried to leave. Alex stopped me and insisted. I didn’t feel like arguing, so I agreed.”

"And they took you home?"

“Yes, straight home.”

"You gave them the address."

“No, they knew it already… Of course I gave them the address.”

"And the singing?"

“Oh, that was a few weeks later."

"Care to share?"

“That’s the next rumor.”