Front Row at a Concert
Maeve screamed. Her sign had worked. The band noticed her in the front row and were beckoning her to the stage. The 10,000 strong crowd roared.
She shakily passed her A3 poster with the words written in bright blue paint, ‘Let me play Hogs to the Togs! On bass!’ to her friend, Murphy who couldn’t quite see the sign and it dropped to the ground; one of Murphy’s eyes had blown out from screaming and was a bloodshot red. Maeve awkwardly swam against the crowded metal barrier while trying to swing herself over. A security guard’s boot landed on top of her poster as he reached into the front row to pull her out. A second security guard impatiently yanked at her arms, before deciding to grab her by the armpits to lift her up. She went limp like a naughty toddler, her overwhelmed face mashed into her biceps.
The guard lumped Maeve down heavily on the other side of the barrier. The crowd went full throttle as they watched her on the giant arena screens. In a moment of confusion she started clambering at the sheer front of the stage; her upper arm and hand strength so lacking she slapped around on the ground trying to pull herself up. Security tapped her on the shoulder and gestured towards the accessible steps to the side.
The crowd blew up again as she finally made it on stage. She was suddenly face-to-face with her favourite band: Flump.
Flump had exploded onto the punk scene three years earlier and their sly and unconventional lyrics about nothing in particular made them a huge success. Some of their songs were only ten seconds long. The concert had been mostly screaming.
Maeve’s internals liquified as the lead, her hero, the bass player himself, Billy Bass looped his bass guitar over her head. Billy’s surname was pronounced as ‘bass’ like the instrument, not ‘bass’ the fish. This confusion is what some of Flump’s most heartfelt songs were about. Maeve and Murphy would listen to them in high school, dreaming of being able to meet a man as sensitive and troubled as Billy, knowing that it would be their solemn responsibility to sooth and fix him.
The bass’s weight settled into Maeve’s shoulders. “I love you Billy Bass! Oh my god! Murphy! MURPHY!” Maeve shook Billy Bass’ bass at Murphy who was utterly dying in the front row, waving the trodden sign she had salvaged.
‘Hogs to the Togs’ was one of Flump’s biggest songs, a huge crowd favourite and pretty much all bass. And a hi-hat. Just sweet bass, minimal hi-hat and Billy’s vocals. Maeve wondered that if she did a good enough job, he might ask her to join the tour, and then they would fall in love. Murphy could hook up with the drummer or a roadie or someone else.
“Alright everyone, let’s welcome Maeve to the stage!” said Billy to the stadium. “Take it away Maeve, I’m waiting on your cue!” Maeve nodded at Billy Bass and then at Murphy. And then to no one. Her hand tightly wound around the neck of the bass guitar, fingers cutting into the metal strings. It was like she was trying to both disassociate and choke out a swan as quickly as possible. “OK! MAEVE! TAKE IT AWAY!” Billy reiterated in case she needed another nudge. The drummer waited with baited breath, drumstick hovering over the hi-hat.
Billy Bass wandered over, quietly speaking to her. “Maeve? You good to go?” The crowd screamed again as he did it; they loved how good he was with women. He treated them like they were people. Amazing. “Maeve?”
“…I know it.” she replied in a wobbly voice. And she did. It was literally the only song she could play on the bass. She had never wanted to learn anything else.
“That’s great. What if I count you in?” he offered. Maeve tried nodding but her neck and shoulders had seized up so much that a loud ‘TICK’ noise and the sensation of a muscle tearing went up into her skull. “Blink twice if you understand.” Two slow, shaky blinks emerged.
“OK everyone!” Billy announced to the crowd, “Just a little technical issue! Let’s get going! A one! A two! A one two three…!”
Nothing. Maeve seemed to be making a struggling noise from deep within her. Unfortunately a microphone was just close enough so the inner groan was being picked up and broadcast across the stadium. The only thing moving on her body were her eyes which were now getting impossibly wide. Billy Bass came back. “Maeve?”
“…I’ve… forgotten…” she got out through gritted teeth. “I’ve forgotten all of it.”
The crowd started booing.
Billy spoke, “Maeve, you’re the one who brought the sign? This is incredibly inconsiderate of you. We have a show to perform. You either join in properly or you don’t join in at all. Come on. Give me the bass.”
Maeve could hear Murphy joining in with the boos, while Billy Bass pried her frozen fingers off his bass. “…I’m…so…sorry…Billy…” tears welled in her eyes. “Sorries don’t fix mistakes,” he replied.
After finally getting her free of the bass, security gently guided her off the stage, walking her towards the exits like they were chaperoning an elderly and senile patient at a ward. “Wait,” asked Maeve “Can… you take me back… to the front? So I can keep watching with Murphy?”
“No, love,” said the security guard over the sound of 10,000 people booing at once. “I think it’s best if you leave.”
“Please, you can just lift me up and push me back in. I want to watch the rest of the concert.”
“No, love. They’ll tear you limb from limb.”
“Murphy! MURPHY!” Maeve screamed at her now former best friend, who was looking away with a betrayed scowl and tearing up the sign they had made together.
“Come on, love. Don’t make it harder than it has to be.” The security guard took her to the nearest exit and opened the door, gently pushing her out and shutting it behind her.
Maeve dropped into an unfortunately placed rubbish skip and a tiny moan of her emotional pain could be heard back in the stadium, underneath everyone cheering because she was gone.
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