Generation Why Bother

Whoever the heck planned that concert to be outdoors obviously didn’t look outside, because the whole day was shrouded in clouds that were just riding the edge of rain. I didn’t think it would end up becoming a big deal, even though it was. When Tegan and I pulled up to the park that Put’emup, Put’emup would be playing at, there was a swarm of people and not a single shred of sunlight in sight, even though it was six PM and the sun should’ve at least been setting.

I pulled into a crappy parking spot where my car fit in a tight squeeze, and Tegan and I shared a look of anticipation.

“You ready for this?” I grinned.

“I’m not ready to get rained on and have the concert get cancelled,” she smiled. “But I’m so ready to hear some good tunes.”

“Ah, let’s just get out there and have fun. It’s summer,” I said while nudging her elbow just a bit.

She paused, took a deep breath of the cheap coconut-scented air freshener that has lasted years in that car, and she opened the door, so I did too.

Down the grassy lane that was surrounded by trees, there was a huge metal stage standing there with tarp covering everything important. It was crazy to think that just a few hundred feet in front of me was an actual famous band. It was probably because I’d only been to less than ten concerts in my whole lifetime, but I hadn’t gotten over that insane feeling yet. I was about to be in the same area as Put’emup, Put’emup, one of the most well-known up-and-coming rock bands of that time, even more famous in their hometown of Chicago, which was also ours.

I don’t know if Tegan was thinking the same thing as I was, but if she was, she was great at hiding it. She didn’t really like to talk much in crowded places unless she knew everyone.

She stuck close to me, though, as we went past the ticket gate and ventured out into the grassy field to take our spot. Herds of people ranging from teenie boppers to a few adults who looked homeless were roaming in packs, chattering away about useless conversation topics I couldn’t really pick up if I tried.

We stopped at the edge of the main crowd, and she asked, “Do you wanna try to go further in, or do you wanna just hang back here?”

Tugging a little bit at my hair, I shrugged and said, “It doesn’t matter much, we’re pretty close as it is.”

Frankly, I didn’t want to have to deal with any more people than what was absolutely necessary. “Alright, we’ve got a great view here anyway,” she said.

There are a lot of people out there who have a lot of friends, and there are a lot of people who don’t have any. Tegan and I fell into that weird category where we really only had one true friend, and the rest of the people in the world were just kind of there – they might have been acquaintances, or they might have been distant ghosts. There’s never been a problem from it.

All of the people at that show just seemed so far away to me. It was more than that normal distance you feel when you see a crowd of people in a random area where at least you get some comfort from knowing that there are other people in a place if you need them. I didn’t feel any connection with those people, not even that basic human tie. And knowing the circumstances of that night, this will probably sound really cheesy later on.

I stood there with Tegan for a long time thinking about it until the roadies started putting guitars on the stage and adjusting the microphone’s height, and the crowd started to whoop. Tegan elbowed me and nodded to the stage, bringing it to my attention, and I looked back at her and said, “It’s time.”

She smiled toothily but still kept silent, and I scooted closer to her since more people were invading the area and making it a crowded hell. Since the opening band was long gone (it was a trio of dudes who played tunes that were way too happy for this kind of weather), the wait was even worse, though we all knew it would be worth it to hear a great selection of songs from the people we paid to see.

A few minutes passed and it felt like this concert was never gonna start, though after too much waiting, we finally saw the members strut onto stage, grinning their hearts out – the drummer first, then the guitarist, followed by the bassist and the main singer at the same time. Each of them took their respective spots onstage, and the lead singer adjusted the microphone a bit further since the roadie misjudged his rather average height.

It took a while for the crowd to shut up (I had no right to complain; Tegan and I were screaming too), but eventually it got quiet enough so that their lead vocalist was able to shout, “Hellooooo Chicago!” through the mic and have it hit everybody’s ears with no problem.

One of the strangest things happened just then, though. As soon as his powerful voice named our city, right as it rolled off his tongue, it began to sprinkle rain. I could feel it dotting my clothes and getting caught in the bill of my hat; Tegan flailed to straighten her hair, and for some reason, it just pumped everybody in the audience up even more.

The singer smiled. “Looks like we’ve got some waterworks here!”

But their bassist and co-singer, who had a kind of permanent dirty look etched into his young face, spoke into his own microphone. “Better hope nobody gets electrocuted at this show.”

“Aw, that was one time, Anthony, and it was just us,” the singer shrugged. He took the microphone off of its stand and began to pace around the stage aimlessly. “Yeah, we got struck by lightning a little while back at a show. No biggie, we’re all good.” He paused, then said the next sentence with a sort of cartoonish emphasis. “We’re all good.” I couldn’t even pick up whether or not he was joking.

“Maybe we shouldn’t be on a metal stage, Andy,” their guitarist pointed out.

A voice from the back of the stage surfaced – their drummer. “Well, we can’t help it if we’re just so metal.” With that, the crowd cheered almost as loud as they did when the band first walked onstage that night.

Andy, the main singer, laughed and took his place back behind the microphone, raising a hand into the air. “Anyways, we’re Put’emup, Put’emup, we just put out a new album and we’re ready to get this party started! Who’s with me?”

With a nod to the guitarist, the opening chords to their newest single, “Strawberry Jam,” ripped through the air and seemed to throw the raindrops back as the area became saturated with sound. Instantly, everybody was moving. Some people were throwing their arms around and not even caring where they landed, others were just grooving along to their own beat. Even Tegan was bobbing her head, even if she wasn’t really making noise.

“Look at the world around you
Is it getting clear?
They’re all out to get you
You’d better disappear!”

With all of the movement, there were openings all ahead of the two of us, and I tapped her arm briefly and pointed ahead. She led the way, dancing through the crowd, and I followed closely behind her, not even caring at that point how many strange hands were touching me. Nothing mattered – not even the fact that I didn’t know a soul there other than Tegan and we probably didn’t have anything in common with those folks, other than a mutual like of one band.

Throughout the song we got closer to the stage and closer to the band. What I had heard was true: the lead singer of that band did not wimp out on exaggeration. I swear, every single line he sang was paired with a completely different facial expression he was probably pulling out of an extensive repertoire, and he’d run over to every part of the stage and sing along with all of his band mates to involve them in the action. Then he’d stand on an amp at the edge of the stage and lean over just enough to annoy the security guards and run back and do it all over again.

When the song was over, he was out of breath and it showed, but the rain was falling at a steady pace and it just seemed to be refreshing to everybody. Catching his breath for a few moments, he caught raindrops on his face.

“What lovely weather we’re having,” the bassist sort of grumbled into his microphone. Then he walked over and said something to Andy right into his ear, and I could tell it was something that wasn’t meant for anybody in the audience to hear, because after he said it, Andy’s face was wiped of most of its emotion.

Andy turned around and walked back to the front of the stage with another smile and put the mic on the stand. “Anthony was just telling me to tell all of you to be careful, you guys. No big deal.”

Tegan and I were so close to the stage that we could see the whites of Anthony’s eyes as he rolled them way back into his head.

The guitarist aimlessly strummed his guitar, blank chords to no song in particular with his tongue sticking out in thought, until Andy took the mic off its stand again (I never understood why singers did that so often).

He looked at the guitarist and they exchanged a few words, and then with the microphone at his mouth again, Andy announced, “Alright, this next song is an oldie, it’s called, ‘Mirror!’”

Again, the area exploded into the sound of a pop-rock beatdown, and yet again, the rain intensified. I could hardly see through the water dripping down my face, let alone the stage or the band on it, but as long as I could hear the music, that was good enough for me.

That was when it started to get really weird, though. The rain got even heavier and the wind kept blowing so hard that I had to keep a hand on my head to make sure my hat didn’t fly off. In the distance, thunder rumbled – at first, I thought it was just a part of the show, a part of their theatrics. When I saw streaks of lightning in the distance, I assumed it was just projections coming from the stage to immerse us all even further.

Well, it wasn’t. The rain was real, the thunder was booming and it was getting even closer, and the lightning was wandering dangerously close to the area like it was trying to find somebody in particular. The band didn’t seem to care or notice what was going on and played it off while they played their song. Even Anthony, their bassist who had pointed out the weather minutes before, didn’t particularly care, despite the obvious electrical hazards that had caused their first lightning mishap.

I couldn’t help but get a little wary, though. I noticed that even Tegan had stopped dancing so much and every so often paused to look into the sky.

It’s funny, looking back on it. It seemed to creep closer and closer, and just as I touched Tegan’s arm to keep her close to me, it happened.

There was a single bright flash of lightning right in my eyes, and then I had fallen over. A jolt surged through my fingertips and I even felt her tense up and probably respond the same way I did, toppling over and not even paying attention to who I ended up landing on. And I know it’s dumb to say it all happened so fast, but I’m gonna speak the truth here – it did. I didn’t even blink and it was over.

Well, I should probably say I didn’t even blink and it had already begun.

I was paralyzed and couldn’t move any part of my body as I lay on my back on the cold wet grass in front of the stage, and every inch of me ached. My eyelids were open oh so briefly and my ears were working for a brief while, and all I could hear were the sounds of screeching guitars and shouts from the singer and the bassist, and the crowds around Tegan and I had parted on command.

I worked up every ounce of strength in my body to try and turn my head and see if Tegan was alright, but I just didn’t have the energy.

All I could see were the raindrops falling on my face and in my eyes. A few seconds later, Andy Allen, the lead singer for Put’emup, Put’emup, was hovering over my immobile body, mouthing out the words, “Oh, shit.”