A pale shade of red consumed the fragile features of my face. My hands shook and butterflies hopped nervously in my weak stomach. Jacob stroked his fingers down his guitar, twisting and turning the silver knobs at the end, making the strings become tense like my shoulders. I took deep breaths, but the hazy fog around the stage tickled my throat and pushed out a low cough. The spotlights shone around in the audience making them grow senseless and giving us time to ready ourselves for our big debut. Jordan sat at his drums, mouthing motivational words like, “You’ll do great” and “It’ll be alright”, but the nervous, aching knot in my stomach led me to believe other things. I sat with Sam helping him tune his cherry red guitar and discussing the horrible out come if we messed this one opportunity up, again, not making me feel any better. His flaming orange hair stood out of place and his confident smirk on his face made me laugh wearily, still focused on the knot in my stomach that seemed to be growing bigger and bigger. The time was ticking away faster than I wanted it to but I knew I couldn’t stop it no matter how bad I wanted to. Sweat poured off my hands like a never ending waterfall, dampening the mic just a little. The squeaks and moans of eager guitars rang in my ears, and the booming of Cody’s bass pounded in my head, against my chest, and eventually down to my toes. The curtain still hung down, only showing the feet of the fans that stood ahead. In a few minutes, that curtain would be pulled back and expose five musicians, first time performing and a surprise to the screeching fans, wearing no skinny jeans or vans. Just blue jeans, and flip flops. But what was I supposed to do? I pondered at the thought of speeding forward and holding the curtains together and just telling the band to run as fast as they could and as far as they could. But sadly, I think that wouldn’t be anymore attractive than what I thought was going to happen anyways. My mind told my feet to sprint forward and do as the bizarre thought had instructed. But, to my own surprise, they didn’t listen. Two men in black t-shirts whispered something in Jordan’s ear as he leaned forward over his drum set. He nodded and turns to the rest of us and flashed five fingers towards us. Five minutes. Just five minutes. Deep breath in, and out, Deep breath in and out, I thought to myself. The monstrous knot in the pit of my stomach sent out five sharp pains to my sides, making me wince and moan. My lips were dry and I had the feeling like a thousand people at once were shoving there harsh judgmental words in my face, like I had no air to breath, like I couldn’t even choke out the words, “I can’t do this.” My lungs grew tired of taking the deep breaths, so I went back to breathing the way I normally did. Someone in front of the curtain spoke, though I couldn’t understand what he was saying due to the stress I was undergoing, and the fans in the audience jumping up and down, yelling and screaming. I knew it was getting close. I felt it creep up my spine and down my arms. It could only be a few seconds until the five minutes expired. A wave of excitement with a mixture of nervousness awashed my body, giving me a small portion of an adrenaline rush. The curtains started to part and we all turned around in somewhat of a quick huddle. Jacob gave me a wink and a weary high five. Doing the traditional “five second prayer, followed by a clap”, we ran back to our assigned places. The sticks Jordan held in his hands seemed to dance over the symbols and drums, making the most excellent beat, sending a shiver down my body. I took one last look at Sam, with a curved smirk on my lips. He flashed his gleaming white teeth at me, giving me the last boost of confidence I needed. I opened my mouth and let the words fall out in a beautiful tune. I did it.
Heavy Metal Butterflies
September 15, 2010