Page 3 of Where Happiness Begins
“We’re gonna have much better venues in the next months,” the guitarist, a guy with long red hair and a thick beard, says.
“Going on tour soon,” the singer explains. “Tonight was kind of a practice run.”
“Well, I don’t think you really needed it,” I answer. The bar is slowly emptying out, with only a few customers spread out across the room, so I can take the time to lean against the counter and rest my aching feet.
“Nice of you to say, but we certainly feel like we do.”
“Do you have any music out? I’d love to listen to it.”
The guys proceed to tell me all about their first studio album, which was released only a week ago. Behind them, the stoneface from earlier keeps silent, hand in his pocket as he sips from a water bottle.
“Hey, don’t I know you from somewhere?” the singer asks. “I feel like we’ve met before.”
I shake my head, brows furrowed. “I don’t think so, no.” I’d remember a face like his, but more importantly, avoicelike his. The guy can sing. Plus, I had to do online school for most of my high school, so I didn’t meet anyone there.
“She does look familiar,” the redhead says.
They both stare at me with narrowed eyes and cocked heads until the guitarist snaps his fingers and says, “Oh, I know! You’re that chick my girl keeps watching on YouTube.”
“Yeah, that’s it!” the singer says, leaning back on his stool. “I’ve seen you on my feed a few times.”
If I was able to avoid reddening before, this time, it’s game over.
It’s pretty rare I get recognized in public. Even with a few hundred thousand followers combined from all my platforms, it’s onlyhappened a handful of times, and while I’m usually happy to chat with girls who’ve been following me since I started documenting my health troubles, having five sets of eyes watching me makes me want to disappear for the second time today.
The laughter that comes out of my throat is more than awkward. “Um, yeah, that’s possible.”
It’s not like I’m embarrassed about my channels. In the beginning, it started as a form of therapy for me. I posted my first YouTube video after I received my diagnosis of end-stage kidney disease after years of struggling with a failing renal function, mostly as a way to vent. I didn’t have many friends and I didn’t want to burden my dad with it. I knew he was worried enough on his own; he didn’t need to have the task of comforting me on top of it.
I didn’t expect people to start following me, but sure enough, with every video I posted, I grew my audience little by little, eventually transitioning my content to more day-in-the-life capsules, sometimes talking about my health and the process of going through dialysis and then an organ transplant, and other times talking about normal stuff like my skincare routine.
“I’m Ethan,” the singer says. “This is Emmett, our guitarist. That’s Joe, our bassist—”
“And I’m Bong,” the drummer interrupts, extending his hand in my direction.
I don’t bother asking where that name came from and shake his hand as I say, “Good to meet you all.”
“Oh, and that’s our guy Carter,” Ethan says as he points at my number one fan.
As if being called out,Carterlifts his head and his gaze immediately finds mine. I’m not sure why a stare from him feels like being struck by lightning, but I don’t like it.
“It’s really great what you do,” the redhead—Emmett—says, thankfully bringing my attention away from him. “I have to say, some of your videos made me emotional as shit.”
“Em’s our big crybaby,” Bong says as he claps his friend on the back.
“Fuck off. I’m serious, man.”
“He’s right,” Ethan notes, leaning forward on the countertop. “You have great platforms.”
“Thank you, seriously,” I say, only slightly wanting to combust. It’s one thing talking about every single detail of my life with strangers when we’re separated by a screen, but this is a whole other game.
“Hey, you think we could ask you for a favor?” the singer asks.
“Sure,” I say, tone wary.
“Think you could share our album on a story or something? Maybe say something good about tonight’s show? We could use the publicity.”
I wouldn’t usually agree to it if I didn’t enjoy their work, but after the show they gave, I have no trouble saying, “Sure thing. Actually, you know what?” I grab my phone out of my back pocket and turn so I can take a selfie with them in the background.
