A heavy hip-hop loop issues from the gigantic speakers in front of us, a crowd of at least three thousand. We nod our heads along with the beat. My stomach is already flipping with excitement. This is my first concert ever, and I’m with my best friend and older sister, Lucy. It’s our birthday. She's turning twenty-one, and I'm now eighteen. And it’s the final song of the night.
The hip-hop loop segues into a sweeping synthesizer section. We know what’s coming. The computerized voice booms to the rabid crowd, “On earth, we’re gonna rock civilization.”
The crowd is going insane. They’re screaming in anticipation. The beat picks up, then drops. In a smooth motion, the crowd begins to dance frantically, jumping up and down, shuffling and stomping. A huge raw riff dominates the rest of the track while the band does its thing on stage, goading us into a state of euphoria. Nuclear-powered beats pound away as Lucy and I get lost in the crowd.
Nothing matters at this point. The bass line invades everyone’s mind, body, and soul. It’s entrancing, it’s enchanting, and it’s positively addictive. In this moment, I let myself just go. I feel the music within me, and begin to dance until I hardly know what’s going on around me.
The bass chugs along, until it pauses for a moment, and the lead singer bellows, “Is this bass really strong enough?!”
The crowd becomes even more hysterical, if that’s possible at this point. We scream out our love for the music, the band, and the beat. We dance until we can’t support our weight anymore. We become part of the music.
But all too soon, the song is over, and the band bids us all good night. Of course, we collectively beg for an encore. They, being the brilliant band they are, oblige us, and we return to that hypnotic state as a guitar riff signals they’re beginning. It’s a song we all know, so we scream our excitement to the band. Neon lights whirl around, creating a kaleidoscope of blues, greens, reds, and purples. This moment is pure electricity.
We sing along as we jump around, our uniquely sense of human civility gone. “I was wandering under black skies, looking at what is mine…no control left to lose.”
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As the encore finished and the band wishes us all safe trips home, the magic fades away. My heart aches vaguely for the moment to come back. I would’ve been happy to dance forever, in those moments…it’s indescribable. You are completely and utterly alive and happy. Every hollow spot in your heart is filled by the towering melodies, and every worry is vanquished by the bass lines. That’s how I felt in that moment, and now that it’s over, I only want to go back.
Lucy and I check each other for bruises, giggling. We’d managed to pick up some free souvenirs. I’m glad I no longer live with my mother; if she had seen the majestic blue and purple splotch I now sport on my thigh I’d never go back to a concert in my life.
“Let’s get food. I’m starving,” I place a hand on my stomach to emphasize my point. At twenty-one, Lucy is easily the more mature of us.
“Sure thing, Jenna,” Lucy nods, lifting damp curls from her neck and tying it in a sloppy bun. We leave the venue, the infamous Brixton Academy. We’re in England, visiting our grandmother for the summer. Our first day here, we heard our favorite group was coming to town. Lucy saw a flier for the show in the airport, and showed me. Then, it seemed a once-in-a-lifetime experience. It still does; though now, neither of us are content to leave it at that. We can’t wait to see the band live again.
We stop at a McDonald’s. Lucy orders a Big Mac, without the fries and with a large vanilla milkshake. I order the same thing, except I get the fries and opt for a medium Coca-Cola. We eat as we drive back to our grandmother’s house, discussing the show and how much we loved it. After a few moments, we fall silent. A sudden sense of exhaustion crashes into my bones. I’m ready for bed.
Lucy and I reach our respective rooms and I climb under my blanket. Though it’s too hot for covering, I still do. I can’t sleep otherwise. My eyelids crash closed, and I fall into the heaviest sleep I’ve ever experienced.
But I don’t sleep for long.
My eyelids flutter open. I sense something, as if someone is in the room. I figure it’s my sister. “Lucy?”
No response.
I try several times, calling her name repeatedly and insisting her silly trick isn’t funny or cute or anything. But nothing works. She’s gotten better at this, I thought, a smile curling my lips. I settle back into bed, waiting for her to leave.
But she doesn’t. I sit up again. “Okay, Lucy. This is getting old. It’s time to sleep.”
I still fail to produce a response. I roll my eyes, trying to brush away the tense prickling of being ill at ease.
“It’s not Lucy,” a man speaks quietly. Calmly.
My eyes widen, and for a moment, I think to hide behind my covers. But my logic recovers. I face him. He’s quite handsome. Dark hair, pale skin, and even in the dark I can tell his eyes are a deep color, more indigo than blue. He’s clad in black. But, looks aside, he’s still someone I don’t know. In my room. I glance over at my clock. Alone with me, in my room, at 4:30am.
I’m frightened. But I can’t bring myself to leave the room. I feel as if I want to, but I don’t quite have enough motivation to do so. “Where is the eye, Jenna?” he says slowly.
“You mean the Ferris wheel thing? Why do you even want to know?” I’m confused.
“No, not that eye, stupid. The Eye. You know full well what it is. I’ve come to retrieve it.”
“Well, you’re out of luck, pal. I only have my eyes. And…well, you can have them when I’m done.” I have no idea what he’s talking about, but I feign bravery.
“Jenna, dear? Are you awake?” My grandmother asks in a muffled voice. I can hear her footsteps pattering up the hall.
I fall silent and pretend to sleep. The door opens and closes. When I open my eyes, the man is gone. I realize I probably imagined him. But then I look down, and there are muddy footprints in the spot where he was.
I frown, utterly dumbfounded. I look at my clock again. 4:32am. Though the two is obscured at first. A post-it note has been stuck there. It reads:
“The Eye. Find it. We’ll talk soon,” in small, blocked handwriting.
I look around, confused. What am I going to do?! Obviously the guy’s delusional. Or maybe I am.
Or maybe this is the Matrix and none of this is happening.
I don’t know. But I’m determined to find out.
I plan on rewriting this bit to make it as coherent as possible, and continuing it. I'm ecstatic you enjoyed it.