Even After Everything

She stops painting dye into stripes on my hair and looks me in the eye sternly.

‘Is you disrespecting my culture because I is black?’ she quotes, before breaking into a grin stretching ear to ear.

‘No,’ I giggle. ‘It’s because you’re Muslim. And the Buddha is Buddhist.’

‘Oh,’ she laughs, busying herself with my hair again. ‘I think my parents got it as a gift - and you know how my parents are with gifts. It has to go up, no matter what it is. That’s why there’s a Pre-Raphaelite bust in our hallway.’

I laugh at the thought of the naked torso, in such a strict Muslim home.

‘There,’ she says, letting out a deep breath. ‘Now we have to wait another 15 minutes. Would you mind painting my right hand?’ she adds, grabbing a pot of pink nail polish from the cupboard. ‘I always go wrong.’

‘Sure,’ I say, as she places her right hand on the edge of the bath. I unscrew the lid of the nail polish and begin painting. ‘So what’s the deal with transport tonight?’

‘My Dad’s gonna drop us off in the car park so we’ll have to walk round to the venue, but he’ll pick us up right outside when we call him. I told him I don’t know what time the show finishes at. Did you know it’s the last one in the tour?’

‘Seriously? Aren’t the last one’s supposed to be the best?’ I ask.

‘Yeah - ‘cause they’re all…psyched and shit.’

I laugh. ‘There, done - how’s that?’ I ask, screwing the lid back onto the nail polish.

‘Thanks Banana - I reckon we can clean that dye off too, you know the drill.’

I throw my head back over the bath and close my eyes, as she blasts my hair with the shower for a few seconds. Then, chucks a towel at me and collects the empty boxes up, throwing them in the bin. I begin to towel dry my hair as I stand up, and follow her through to her bedroom.

Looking at Sana, you might expect her bedroom to be bright, different colour walls with gig memorabilia clinging to them. Maybe even black with red splats as she had wanted only a few months ago - but in comparison to her personality, her room was surprisingly bland, with pale pink walls and a white pine four posted bed. The bed is down the opposite end from the door we entered through, and a set of white wardrobes lined the wall that faces us, whilst a laminate desk stands just behind us, below a pin board full of photos.

I walk over and reach down the side of her bed to retrieve the hairdryer from it’s normal hiding place. Plugging it in under her wall mirror, I begin to waff my hair dry with my head upsidown, as Sana gets changed. After a few minutes, I flick of the dryer and stand up, pulling a brush through my still semi-damp hair.

‘What time is it?’ I ask.

She observes the clock on her desk. ‘Shit! It’s nearly quarter to five! And we need to leave at half past!’

I throw her a panicked look and toss my head over again - blasting it with the hairdryer much more vigorously than before, as Sana begins to apply her standard makeup.

Once my hair is dry, I do the same and get changed, managing for once in my life not to ladder my tights. What can I say? I’m clumsy.

‘Okay,’ she says as she finishes applying her mascara. ‘How are we doing eye makeup?’

‘Oh…rainbow I think. Here, I bought a new pallet from Gosh. Ordinarily it just fades away, but when you start to sweat it like, comes to life - and then you can never get it off.’

I hand her the pallet as I start to draw a large star on my cheek, to the left of my mouth.

‘Oh, are we doing stars too?’ she asks, covering her eyelids in the Gosh purple and lime, before outlining the bottoms in the yellow and blue.

‘Well I am,’ I say. ‘One here and one on the other side, just under my eye.’

I begin on the second as Sana blends her eye shadow.

‘Swap with me then,’ she says once she’s done, and I do, accepting the pallet and painting my eyelids in the same way as her. I then pick up my turquoise eyeliner and shade in the stars, tossing it at Sana once I’m done.

As she colours in hers, I backcomb my hair, grateful that I decided to have the short layers cut into the top and leave the rest long - it really suits this sort of styling.

Before long, we’re both preened and ready to go, piling into Sana’s Dads car and the getting odd looks that we’ve grown so used to.

We don’t talk for the entire journey - instead inserting a Cobra Starship and The Academy Is… mix CD into the car stereo and pumping up the volume, ignoring the wincing of her parents.

This is the reason I love Sana - well, notthe reason, but one of them - she’s not afraid to sing along in front of people. It’s just chronic when you’re listening to really amazing music and you can’t sing along because the people you’re around will tell you to shut it. So, taking it to my full advantage, I blast my voice out along side hers, passing the hour long car journey in what seems to be a matter of minutes.

And before we know it, we’re pulled up inside an enclosed car park in the middle of Birmingham. Everyone leaves the car, but we don’t manage to avoid the concerned parent talk before they go off to the Bullring, and we head over to the Carling Academy.

‘Be careful…don’t talk to strangers…don’t get in death pits…don’t drink…’

We zone out for the most part, not bothering to remind them that we’re 19, it’s legal to drink, and there’s unlikely to be any death pits at a Decaydance concert. If it was Mindless Self Indulgence then fine, but really. Eventually we depart, separating from Sana’s parents at the car park exit and turning around the corner to wait in the queue of fans standing outside the Carling Academy.

‘I’m really sorry about that,’ she winces, referring to her parents. ‘They still think I’m 15.’

‘No problem,’ I grin. ‘And to be honest, I wouldn’t drink anyway.’

‘Me neither,’ she grins.

We turn to each other simultaneously and high-five. ‘Straight-edge forever!’ we laugh, moving forward as the queue dissipates. I’m surprised to note, actually, that the majority of the people here are complete losers - do they not know the bands that are playing? Why are they just dressed in jeans and t-shirts? Losers.

‘Everyone’s in fucking tartan,’ I say, incredulously.

‘I know!’ Sana replies, looking around.

‘Well…’ I begin. ‘Three people at least. But still that’s a lot, considering.’

She nods in agreement as we finally reach the doors, handing over our tickets to be stamped, then taking them back and walking into the foyer.