Page 10 of Out of the Blue

Knowing the band’s expecting an answer, I manage a mumbled, “Damn straight.”

Dwight’s voice lowers. “You okay, bro? It’s our first time on stage since … well, you know. Everything okay up here?” He taps on the top of my head.

I cough. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. It’s a lot to take in, you know.” Understatement of the decade.

“We’re all here with you, brother,” Joey adds. “We got your back.”

“Thanks, guys. It’s normal to be a bit antsy before a big gig, though, right?” They all murmur their agreement. “We got this.”

The tour manager assigned to us by Apex, Raine Hopper, ambles over. Running his fingers through his shaggy, sandy brown hair, he says, “Hey, guys. You’re on in ten. The seats are filling up, and I’m sure they’re excited to hear you perform.”

“If you had to guess, what percentage of Hunte’s sell-out crowd do you think is here now?” Maurice says by way of greeting.

“I’d say about fifty percent.”

Joey raises both his hands high in the air. “Oh yeah. I win!”

Raine looks quizzically at each one of us until Joey explains about our bet. Chuckling, he shakes his head. “You’re one of those, huh? Any bets on what food will be available at the after-party?”

Dwight’s chin pops up like he’s contemplating the guy’s offer. Pinching my lips, I divert attention from the betting pool. “Can you go over the logistics for tonight once more? Want to be sure we got all our bases covered.”

“Sure thing.” The Apex dude dives into the schedule. Our set, followed by us back here with a meet-and-greet from the radio station that brought us here plus one hundred of their listeners who voted for us. Hunte will make an appearance before hitting the stage. “Oh, and you’re definitely going to want to watch Hunte’s performance all the way to the end. There’s a big surprise the band doesn’t have a clue about.” He puts his index finger over his mouth.

As if I’d ever tell them anything.

After leaving us with well-wishes, Maurice pulls out some eye drops, dispenses them, then uses a tissue to wipe his eye. Using his actions as a welcome distraction from my own thoughts, I study my buddy and my eyebrows rise. Joey beats me to the punch. “Dude, what’s up with your eye?”

“Shit,” he wipes his eye again. “When I woke up, Fee noticed it was red and I’ve been putting in some drops hoping it would go away. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

Maurice has had vision issues since forever. Even back in middle school, when we met, he was sporting glasses. They’ve gotten thicker over the years, but his vision has always been correctable. We nod and start grabbing our instruments. My stomach clamps in on itself, and I feel lightheaded. Pressing my body against a wall, I rest my head against the solid concrete.

“Close your eyes and breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth.” My best friend’s voice contacts my panicked ears, and I follow Dwight’s instructions.

“That’s it. Now open your eyes.”

When I do, he’s standing directly in front of me, one of his drumsticks pointed at my chest. His gaze searches mine. “You going to be okay, buddy?”

From the other side of the black curtains, a roar comes from the crowd. Joey yells, “Two minutes!”

Dwight’s drumstick taps my chest. “Got this?”

“Yeah.” I gulp again. “Yeah, I got this.”

His face cracks into a brilliant smile. “Then, let’s go. Make your mom proud.”

He turns toward the stage, leaving me to fight through another wave of nausea. I’m sure she’d be grappling with all sort of fucked up feelings right now if she were still with us. And I’d be as excited as the rest of my bandmates, totally oblivious. Truth can be the biggest bitch of all.

“Trent!”

Dwight’s voice reaches me, and I shunt all my rage and panic and anxiety to the far recesses of my mind. Placing one shaky foot in front of the other, I join The Light Rail behind the black curtains. All of us bounce from foot-to-foot, arms shaking. They’re wearing huge, toothy grins. For my part, I jog in place. I don’t share their happy nerves with them, and a smile doesn’t cross my face. My emotions are much deeper. And darker.

A voice over the loudspeaker announces, “You voted, New York City! Radio Station V250 held a contest, and out of the hundreds of bands who entered, you chose this next band to open for Hunte tonight! And we’re here to grant your wish! Please show some New York love for your opening band—The Light Rail!”

Cheers from the audience assail my ears as our Apex rep shouts, “Break a leg out there!”

My three bandmates scream and rush the stage. I take a deep breath and, with measured steps, trek toward the lights. And halt before crossing from the protection of the curtains. The wall of noise from the sea of humanity is overwhelming.

Petrifying.

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