Chapter 4

A thin layer of smoke hovered just below the ceiling of the dimly lit McKool's night club as the large crowd of teens and twenty-somethings eagerly awaited Green With Envy's set.
Ag and I watched from the photo pit as the crowd seemed to sway in unison as people shoved from the back in an effort to get a better view of the stage. I could tell people were already getting antsy, having sat through two less-than-stellar acts, and there was still one set before the headliners.
Roadies scurried to and from the stage setting up various pieces of musical equipment for The Mistake That Is You, an up-and-coming band I read about briefly in last month's issue of Alternative Press. I hadn't heard them yet, but judging from the masses sporting t-shirts purchased from merch tables along the back wall of the venue, they were obviously well-liked.
Lately I haven't been into music the way I once had. I'd catch a show here and there, but only if it was a band I was really interested in seeing, like Green With Envy.
My apathy toward the current scene is a polar opposite of when I was younger, when Ag and I would attend concerts practically every weekend. I remember the rush of adrenaline I'd get with the opening chord of a favorite band's set; the same adrenaline that sent bodies sailing on their journey to the stage, guided by thousands of arms of other fans waiting for their turn to do the same. Before I was able to obtain a photo pass I would use the reflection in my camera's viewfinder to dodge crowd surfers as to not get myself decapitated. I always carried a camera to shows hoping one day to somehow capture the invisible exchange of energy between a band and the fans that was almost overwhelming at times. I honestly never did. My photographs never gave justice to the feeling.
Music seemed somehow better then. More meaningful.
Then again, everything was far less meaningful now.
My reminiscing was interrupted by the low hum of a guitar and the thunderous applaud that followed.
While my mind drifted to the past, the roadies completed set-up. I hadn't even noticed the dimming of stage lights or the guitar player walk onto the stage and pick up his instrument, though he stood only a few feet in front of me.
I looked over at Ag and her camera was already drawn to her eye. We were given only the first three songs to shoot during, so every second was crucial.
I lifted my Canon DSLR to my eye and watched as the other members of The Mistake That Is You made their dramatic entrance on stage one by one, each adding their own instrument to the melodic opener. The blackness of the stage prevented me from getting a good look at any of them. I could only make out their slight frames, now silhouetted by rim lights.
It took several long seconds before the lead singer hopped on stage, microphone in one hand, bottled water in the other. His long anticipated presence was met with a loud cheer that half-startled me. I really was out of the loop. I wondered when this band became so well-known.
My lens was already focused in his direction when the lights came on, but the sight made me lower my camera. I could feel my eyes grow wider as he stepped into the spotlight.
He looked somewhat ethereal illuminated by the stage lights. His chin-length, brown hair was unkempt, like he just rolled out of bed. Carefree bangs swooped slightly over his left eye and light brown stubble circled his mouth and traced his jaw line. He wore a plain white t-shirt, familiar brown corduroy pants and a pair of tan moccasins. He was sloppy, yet somehow looked completely put together.
Rory.
Why didn't he mention the band during our long conversation last night? Why hadn't Gemma said anything about it? I wondered if Ag knew, but when I glanced over at her and watched as recognition flashed across her face, I knew she hadn't. She looked at me, shrugged her shoulders, and continued shooting.
I was too dumbfounded to even think about taking photos. Though the heavy camera tugged at the back of my neck uncomfortably, I let the attached wide angle lens continue to point toward the ground, not at the stage where it should've been aimed.
His singing voice was significantly higher than I expected, but the quality and range was incredible. He sang with passion--his voice sometimes a low growl, sometimes a high-pitched squeal. He kept his eyes shut through most of the song almost like he was concentrating on summoning a deep pain from somewhere in the shallow depths of himself. His expression reflected the same and his body moved, possessed.
Watching him made me feel uncomfortable, like an intruder. There was something he gave off that made the scene seem so private, even though he was performing in front of hundreds of people. There was something so beautiful about his projected vulnerability.
When the song ended, it was like something inside of him was switched off, too. Like whatever was building up inside was laid to rest again. He opened his eyes, muttered a quick thanks to the crowd and smiled before turning around to grab a quick swig of water.
He hadn't noticed me yet. I felt like I should try to duck out before he did, but I couldn't bring myself to move. He sang the next two songs with the same intensity as the first and my eyes followed his every move, though I felt embarrassed by it.
At the end of the third song, Ag and I were tapped on the shoulder by the security guards signifying that our time was up in the photo pit. I glanced up one last time unable to help myself.
He was smiling at me.