Blood in My Veins

CARRIE

It was complete and utter darkness. The voices of young teenage girls, asking their friends, ‘What the hell is going on,” was audible amongst the commotion going on stage. Behind me, I felt Cora, Nora and Juliet trying to position themselves in the dark. The hairs at the back of my neck erected, my heart made my body shake with every beat. My palms so damp, making it hard for me to get a good grip at my guitar.

This was going to be wild.

‛Carrie, that’s insane,’ my twin brother, Calvin, said when we first told him about our idea. ‛Why can’t you just hand them a demo CD like any other normal musicians?’

‛Okay, first of all,’ I began, ‛we’re not normal musicians.’

‛And second of all, the chances that they’re actually going to take the time to listen to are very slim,’ said Nora.

‛So your plan is to force them to listen to your music,’ asks Calvin. ‛Even if it puts you in jail and costs me my job?’

Cora, Nora’s older sister, rolled her eyes, ‛You talk like working as a security dude at the Duke is a childhood dream of yours.’

After establishing that Calvin hated his job— there was no beauty in trying to stop barflies from starting a fight, and crazed hormonal girls climbing the stage—and that he was going to get fired anyways, he agreed to our out-of-control scheme. He was going to shut off the power at the venue right before the beginning of The Maine’s set, granting us enough time, and a distraction for the security to discreetly get past them and get on stage, where we’ll play a song that will hopefully get Tim Kirch’s, The Maine’s manager and head of the 8123 Management Team, attention.

Now, when the ray of lights struck my eyes, I go blind for a mere second, and then it takes a few moments to adjust to the sudden brightness. The crowd cheers, but slowly draws back when they see four female figures on stage. The bewildered expressions on their faces breaks my face into a huge grin. I turn to my right to look at Nora on the bass, her eyes are wider and more blue than ever. And to my left, Juliet has a face-eating toothy smile, and I am pretty sure her face is going to blow up any second now.

‛1-2-3-4’ Cora yells from the drum set behind me, that belonged to The Maine’s and has their logo on it. Nora strums the first chord on her lead, and then I join on rhythm. Soon enough, we are all playing together to a fast song that we practised so many times, we would have probably perfected it with the lights off anyways.

I'm miss autonomy, miss nowhere
I'm at the bottom of me
Miss androgyny, miss don't care
What I've done to me

I am misused, I don't wanna do
Be not your slave
Misguided, I mind it
I'm missin' the train

And I don't know where I've been
And I don't know what I'm into
And I don't know what I've done to me

And as I watch you disappear into the ground
My one mistake was that I never let you down
So I'll waste my time and I'll burn my mind
I miss nothing, I miss everything

I'm miss fortune, miss so soon
I'm like a bottle of pain
Miss matter, you had her
Now she's goin' away

I'm misused, miss-cunt-strued
I don't need to be saved
Miss slighted, I mind it
I'm stuck in the rain

And I don't know where I am
And I don't know what I'm into
And I don't know what I've done to me

And as I watch you disappear into the ground
My one mistake was that I couldn't let you down
So I'll waste my time and I'll burn my mind
I miss nothing, I miss everything

I Miss everything

It was when I started singing the words that I wrote myself that I noticed the satisfied looks on the crowd’s faces, increasing the level of adrenaline in my body. However pleasing it may be, their satisfaction isn’t the one we’re aiming for.

With that thought on mind, I slightly turn my head towards the side stage. The first person I see was Randy, one of the security dudes that was seven times my size. On his right stands Tim Kirch, red-faced and obviously enraged by the attention-seeking stunt. I wonder why Randy still haven’t stormed across the stage and lifted all four of us away—using only one arm of course—and guided us immediately toward the exit.

I see a hand on Randy’s chest, preventing him from taking one more step. My eyes follow the cuffed sleeves, that reveal the slightest bit of black ink, something that seemed to look like a sun on his forearms. When I reach his face, I meet his bright eyes, which I couldn't decipher their exact colour from the distance between us. I directly recognise him. He is John O’Callaghan, The Maine’s frontman. An instant warmth courses through my veins as I smile at him. He tries to smile back but could only manage to lift one corner of his mouth. I wink at him right before turning my attention to the roaring crowd.

And as I watch you disappear into my head
Well, there's a man who's tellin' me I might be dead
So I'll waste my time and I'll burn my mind
So I'll waste my time and I'll burn my mind
I miss nothing, I miss everything

‛Goodnight Jacksonville,’ I scream into the microphone when our song ends, right before, as expected, I feel Randy’s two big arms lifting me up and throwing me on his shoulder.

‛Let’s go Miss Grey, show’s over,’ Randy’s deep voice says. ‛And tell your brother he can kiss his job goodbye.’

We head towards John and Tim’s direction and I quickly struggled to pull the thin piece of paper from the back pockets of my black jean shorts. I swiftly hand it to Tim as we pass them by, yelling ‛Call us,’ and making a telephone gesture towards my ear.

I did not neglect to sneak one more wink at John.

JOHN

I was in the greenroom when it went dark. It is a wide grey room, ironically, with a big mirror, two black leather sofas and a table with a selection of snacks and beverages on top of it. We are fifteen minutes away from going on stage, and the guys and I are fixing our appearances before performing in front of a couple of hundreds of people.

When the power went out, it put an end to our conversation, and began a series of questions.

‛What in the world,’ Pat asks.

‛Tim, I thought you’d at least book us a decent venue,’ Kennedy mocks.

‛Calm your shit, it’s just a regular power outage,’ Tim, our manager, replies.

I hear a bang and a crash. And then someone swearing. ‛Motherfucker!’

‛Who was that? What happened,’ Jared, our fearless guitarist says.

‛I hit the table and probably dropped a bottle of…tequila, based on the smell,’ Garret says, still wincing from the pain. As soon as he said it, the smell crept its way to my nostrils.

‛Oh shit, not the tequila,’ I wine.

For what seemed like five minutes, I stand in my place waiting for the lights to come back on. At one point, I try to manoeuvre and sit on the sofa, but fail to find my way. The instantaneous brightness of the light is startling and nearly blinds me. My eyes quickly adjust to it and start to make out the shapes in the room. The boys clap and cheer for joy.

Only a few moments passed when the music started playing. The first strum of guitar hushes the guys and they stand in their positions listening with an expression of mass confusion on their faces.

Our first thought doesn't come close to the fact that people are playing right above us, where the stage was. We only come to that conclusion when Max, the venue’s manager, barges through the door with a wave of panic and anxiety swirling through him, and says “There’s another band playing on stage!”

“What in the hell…” Tim follows him out, and I do too. We rush our way upstairs, where the roaring music is getting louder and intensifying the vibration that makes my bones shake as we get closer. When we reach the top of the stairs, someone starts singing. A female voice.

When we reach the side stage, Max takes a look at the band and makes a face, “That boy is so screwed.” He then rushes past us and starts to shout at a young man wearing a uniform that the security guys were sporting. He doesn't look guilty or regretful, he is actually grinning as if he just saved the world.

Tim moves closer to get a good look at the performers. I watch as his eyes get wider, dumbfounded by the sight of them. I can’t see anything yet because I didn't reach the opening that unveils them. But, I can still hear the female singing. It is smooth but it has an edge to it at the same time. The lyrics are excreting a rebellious melody that is supported by fast rhythmic guitars, a thumping bass, and a pounding kick drum. “You have to come see this,” Tim nods me over.

I get in front of him and have a clear view of the scene. On the stage, four girls stand before me. One girl, a redhead, occupies Pat’s drum kit in the back. A tall blonde is on the right side of the stage with a black-blue bass strapped around her. On the left side, a black haired girl is rocking the lead guitar. And in between stands a short girl wearing black head to toe; a black crop top, with high-waisted black jean shorts, black stockings that were ripped at her thighs and knees underneath her black leather combat boots. She has wavy chocolate brown hair that touches her waist and it moves from one side to another every time she sways her head as she strums the red coloured guitar.

So much movements were occurring on the stage, the bassist and the lead guitarists are constantly jumping and running all across the area. The crowd is roaring and keeps cheering them on. I notice a couple of annoyed faces, but most of them are actually enjoying the music and dancing to it.

A huge beefy security appears on my right. He has a thick tattooed arm and a look on his face that suggests he is prepared to take down an entire army. Just as he is about to set his foot on the stage and shut it all down, I put my hand in front of him, preventing him from taking another step. ‛Wait. Don’t do it. Let them finish the song,’ I tell him, raising my voice aver the music so he could hear me. The security growls at me and I fear for my life, but he seems to listen and refrain from heading towards their direction

My focus returns to the singer, and as if she senses it, she turns her head to our direction. She has a huge grin plastered on her, radiating her entire face. She notices the security, and probably wonders why she’s still on stage. Then she turns her face to me and I flush because she caught me staring. Her lips are a dark shade of purple that part when she smiles at me. I freeze, my heart twitches, and it is weird. For a moment, it seems like we are the only ones in the room. I manage to lift up one corner of my mouth, but she just winks at me with her dark eyes and turns her attention back to the crowd.

Never in my life have I been so captivated by a girl i’ve only been watching for two minutes.

As soon as the song ends, the beefy security guy stomps to the stage with a stern face. The girls immediately start leaving from the opposite side across from where I am standing, where they are greeted by three security guys who immediately usher them out. But the singer doesn't follow behind them, she is still behind her microphone.

‛Goodnight Jacksonville,’ she yells with her hands above her head, and the crowd yells back in response.

The hulking security bends when he reaches her and picks up her tiny legs and throw her on his shoulder. She doesn't look scared, she is proud of herself and still coming off from her high. It was then that I realise she looks very similar to the security that was being told off by Max, who had the same exact face that she has right now.

When they start coming to our direction, she pulls a rectangular piece of paper and reaches her hand and gives it to Tim when they pass us by. ‛Call us,’ she shouts and makes a phone gesture to her ear. I look at the paper in between Tim’s fingertips and it reads:

BLOOD IN MY VEINS
555-0124

I look at her one last time—because this could be the last time i’ll ever see her—and she winks at me again from a distance. I chuckle at the fact that i’ve never viewed a girl the way I just viewed her.

Tim asks, ‛What just happened?’ At first, I think he’s referring to her behaviour towards me. But then I realise he was talking about the moment the lights went off in the greenroom, up until now.

I reply, ‛I have no fucking clue.’