I'm With the Band Ch. 01

"Hey Jess, you good?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah. Sorry, was just spacing out for a minute there."

Jess, in fact, was not good. Here she was, sharing a spot in line with a puddle of bum pee and cigarette butts waiting to see some metal band she'd never heard of to celebrate her promotion to 'Senior IT Analyst.' She could probably come up with about seven other things she would rather be doing right now, and they'd all be variations on the same theme: 'stay home, and shut out the world.'

"Come on, man, we're gonna see Kuhani!" said Angela. "They're, like, one of the heaviest bands on the planet, and we get to see them live! Like, how often are you gonna get to say that?"

Jess threw a sidelong glance at her and muttered "Hopefully only once." Even though Angela was doing this for her, Jess would never call her a 'friend,' per se -- at least not to her face. Jess wasn't sure she's had an honest-to-God friend since graduation, but Angela was probably the closest approximation she had at the moment. "Besides, have they even toured outside the state yet?"

Angela gave her friend a playful smack on the arm. "Dude, you're gonna love it, trust me -- even though you didn't exactly dress the part."

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

"Dude, the only 'metal' thing you've got on right now is those shitkickers. Otherwise... jeans and a zip-up hoodie? Really? Tell me you at least have a band tee on under there."

"I do not, no," she said in a flat, even tone. "I'm sorry, is there a fucking dress code for a concert at..." -- Jess leaned out to the side to squint up at the neon sign -- "...The Meathook?" It didn't help that, looking up and down the line, she spotted maybe two or three faces darker than bone white. Even they weren't as dark as her; it looked like they treated and straightened their hair out, too, while she kept her tight curls in a natural, semi-short afro. She couldn't help but feel like she'd have stood out regardless. Different clothes wouldn't really have helped.

"Hey, it's all good, didn't mean to sound judgy. Tell you what, we'll go shopping this weekend, get you some threads, my treat. Cool?"

Jess looked Angela up and down: black combat boots -- or 'shitkickers,' as Jess had just learned they were called -- ripped-up black denim jeans, a black sleeveless Kuhani-labeled t-shirt tied up to show off her pentacle navel piercing, blue hair hanging down in twin pig tails, black lipstick, the whole nine yards. She couldn't help but smirk.

"And end up looking like dimestore black Harley Quinn? No thank you."

"Oh fuck you, I look good," Angela said, tilting her head back, flicking one of her pigtails behind her. She was being playful, but she wasn't wrong. At work, Angela drew the most stares from the guys, and from some of the girls. It didn't hurt that any and all body fat she had was comfortably resting inside of her sizable tits.

In terms of figure, Jess wasn't anything to sneeze at either. She worked out to keep semi-fit. She didn't see the need to put in any more effort into her appearance than was required, though Her main focus was on her job; everything else was secondary.

Up ahead they heard a raspy voice shout, "Have your IDs and cash ready, or get in the back of the line!" It sounded like they were starting to let people in.

"Here we go," they both said, one obviously more excited than the other. The evening wasn't particularly chilly, but Jess couldn't help but feel a slight shiver run through her as they edged closer to the door. Of course, she wasn't expecting to walk through the door to find some Satanic cannibalistic death cabal or anything, but she was still anxious. She was, technically, still walking into the unknown.

Finally making it to the front of the line, Angela waved to the bouncer. "Hey Terry!"

"Hey girl, good to see you again," the large, pot-bellied bouncer at the door replied. He and Jess leaned in and faux-kissed each other on their cheeks. Everything about him belied the gentle way he spoke to Angela: his trove of jewelry and piercings, his many tattoos, and his sheer size. "Who's your friend?" he asked, taking their IDs and cash.

"This is Jess. She just got promoted, so I'm taking her out!"

"Ah," Terry said, sizing Jess up. "First time?"

"How'd you know?" Jess asked, raising a single eyebrow. This was the first time she actually made eye contact with the man.

"Lucky guess," he answered, before turning his attention back to Angela. "We'll make sure she gets out alright. Here you go." He handed them back their IDs.

"Thanks Terry, you're the best!"

They made their way past the bouncer and got their hands stamped. Then, Angela grabbed Jessica's hand and pulled her towards the stage.

"Wanna go in the circle pit?"

"I'm sorry, the what now?" Jess asked, furrowing her brow. She started to wonder if this was where they were gonna sacrifice animals or something.

Angela laughed. "I'll take that as a 'no.' All good, we'll just hang out around it so you can at least see what it looks like."

Jess immediately started looking for the exits. She realized the room wasn't very well-lit, but she could make out some of the stone columns near the corners, mainly thanks to the dim light from the nearby red 'EXIT' signs. Looking up at the stage and seeing the band's gear on display, her heart started to pound faster. Behind the drum kit was a large black banner with the word "Kuhani" poorly written on it in white paint. Whether its quality -- or lack thereof -- was intentional or not, she couldn't say.

Looking over to the left, she noticed a smaller flag draped over one of the amps. It looked like the flag was red, blue, and black with some kind of heart on it. Observing the people around her, then looking back at this flag, she felt it was a tad out of place.

"Hey Angie, about that fl-" Before she could finish her question, the lights went out. The crowd started to cheer all around her. Some were simple 'woo's', and others were guttural screams. She saw movement on the stage. She could feel the voices closing in all around her, the eyes all looking at her, her heart pounding in her chest -- the panic starting to set in.

Blue spotlights suddenly shone from behind the stage, backlighting the band. She could make out three figures, two in front holding guitars, and a head poking out above the drum kit. From the speakers to her right, a somber, minor-key melody began. The guitar playing was slow, with heavy reverb. After a few moments, it was joined by a tenor male voice. She could see the microphone stand in front of the guy on the left. The singing was soft and clean, dragging and pushing from note to note and syllable to syllable.

Jess found herself entranced by this voice. She couldn't even pretend to understand what the words were, but the lyrics could've been absolute garbage for all she cared.

She didn't even notice Angela screaming her head off to her right: "I fucking love you! Woooooo!"

As the vocalist sang the final note, the guitarist so finished his melody. The intro had seemingly come to an end.

Then, from the stage: a violent crash of noise. The lights flared, finally revealing the band as they unleashed a cacophony of sound upon the crowd: the drums crashing all over, the guitar down-tuned and fast, and the bass guitar low and percussive. The vocalist was no longer singing; he was screaming. It was a guttural roar.

Jess turned away from the sonic assault on instinct, covering her ears and squeezing her eyes shut. Suddenly, though, she realized something: the two distinct voices -- the clean vocals, and the scream -- were both the same person. She slowly turned back towards the stage, uncovered her ears, and looked up.

Whenever Angela would talk her ear off about this metal band or any other, invariably the topic of the band members' looks would come up. Angela never really got into specifics beyond 'He looks so metal!' and 'Sooo fucking hot, oh my god!' In Jess's mind, that had meant short, rail-thin, hair everywhere, ratty clothes, and probably the persistent reek of rotten ass.

This guy, however -- this bass player -- had dirty-blonde hair that went just past the shoulders. He also had a beard, but it was neatly trimmed. His eyes were an almost luminescent blue-green. He had shoulders and pecs for days, but he wasn't huge. He was wearing a grey tanktop, but it was tight enough to prove he spent plenty of time working out.

The bass slung over those broad shoulders looked like it was of some kind of unpainted wood, and his hands moved over it with fluidity and grace -- a master's touch. The rest of him seemed to be blue jeans that went down to forever, abruptly ending at what looked like black boots underneath. It was hard for Jess to tell at this angle.

Jess scanned back up and noticed that his shirt exposed the anterior part of his pecs. His chest was so large she thought it would burst out the sides of the tanktop. With every movement his hand and forearm made up and down the fret board, his left shoulder and pec flexed.

The vocalist raised both arms and gestured at the audience. Jess turned and looked around at the crowd. Most were facing the stage, jumping up and down, and screaming along to the words. A few had phones out recording the performance. Jess realized she was sweating; whether it was due to anxiety, excitement, or her choice of clothing, she couldn't say. Probably shouldn't have worn a sweater to a metal show, thought Jess as she unzipped her hoodie. Thankfully, she was wearing a crop-top with spaghetti straps underneath, instead of some heavy-ass band t-shirt like Angie.

Speaking of, where is Angie? she asked herself. Jess looked right and Angie was gone. The music stopped. The stranger that took Angie's place started cheering and screaming with the rest of the crowd; the first song had just ended. Before she could gather her thoughts, however, the next song began. The torrent of fury washing over Jess was overwhelming. Even though she didn't feel that the energy was directed at her necessarily, being in its presence was still intimidating.

Jess noticed her palms were slick with sweat. "Just find something to focus on. Anything," Jess whispered to herself. She looked back up at the bass player. Much like she was focused on his face, he seemed to be focusing his energy into the microphone. Underneath that short blonde beard she noticed his full lips pressed against the foam pop-filter covering its head. She glanced up and made contact with those almost-glowing blue eyes. Their intensity didn't seem borne of rage, but of something else -- something far more primal.

Or maybe I'm just projecting, Jess thought to herself. She then realized that that would mean that she was the one feeling something primal. Jess couldn't be sure.

Two songs became four; four became eight; Jess's gaze never wavered. She even started getting into the music, finding the groove of the bass and bouncing with the crowd. Unfortunately, even though she tried to keep fit, she found that she couldn't keep up with either the band, or most of the crowd. Jess was getting tired. Her vision started to blur, but she kept her eyes on those two glowing blue orbs above her. He pointed down directly at her, and then everything went black.

A cool breeze blew across her face. It would've felt soothing, had it not accentuated the feeling of dried sweat on her forehead. She felt gross and cold. As she opened her eyes, she checked her fingers and toes. Yep, everything's still there, she thought. When she looked up, she saw the source of the breeze: some woman wearing a Kuhani shirt flapping a packet of papers at her face. She noticed a badge and lanyard around her neck. Must be a stagehand or something.

"First show?" the stagehand asked.

"What gave it away?"

"Didn't hydrate before coming here. Rookie mistake. Looks like it's just heat exhaustion. Just keep sipping on this and you'll be fine in a bit." She then emphasized, "sips only," and handed her a water bottle.

Jess looked over the water bottle, and saw the plastic was still on it and that the cap was still sealed. She thanked her and took the bottle.

She cracked the seal and started sipping. The stagehand stood up and nodded to Jess's left, then walked away. She felt a presence on her left and heard "this seat taken?"

Sitting on the floor, legs straight in front of her, bottle resting on her lap, she put the cap back on and said, "Free country, go ahead."

"Thanks," the voice replied. The man -- at least Jess assumed it was a man, judging what she'd just heard -- sat on the floor next to her. "Glad to see you're doing better. Saw you looking a little woozy down there, and was getting worried."

"Yeah, the sweater was probably a bad idea, huh?"

"I mean, I've always been partial to 'em, but at a packed show like this? Yeah, terrible idea."

She chuckled before realizing he said "down there." She finally looked over. At first, she saw nothing but a white shoulder and hair. As he looked down at her and pulled his hair back, she instantly recognized that beard, that jaw, those lips -- and most importantly, those nearly-glowing blue eyes. Her mouth instantly went dry. She took a long swig from the water bottle.

"But yeah," he continued. "I'm glad security was able to get to you quickly. The crowd even backed off a bit to give you some space."

Jess swallowed before tilting her head back against the wall. "Y-yeah, thanks. It's, uh, my first time."

"No shit? Wouldn't have guessed."

She lifted her head again and saw a slight smirk form on his lips. She couldn't help but grin, but then she turned away. She looked around again, noticing several people standing around and talking to each other, and moving equipment in and out of the building. Some made an effort to walk over or around her legs, so she pulled them in and crossed them. For a backstage area, it was pretty well-lit -- probably, Jess thought to herself, because of the white brick walls and the light grey pavement.

"Hey," she started, before biting her lower lip. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yes, it's my real hair, and no, you may not touch it."

"Wait, what? No, that's not what I-" she looked over at him and saw him looking down at her, head tilted down, eyebrow raised. "Oh, fuck you."

"I'm kidding, of course. You can touch it."

Normally, Jess wouldn't have found it very funny, but for some reason, this time, it was. She started giggling, and playfully smacked him on the arm.

"Oh shit, sorry!" she yelled in surprise, putting her hand on his arm where she'd just made contact. Her hand hurt a bit from hitting him, and suddenly she felt why. To call his arm sturdy would have been putting it mildly. The area where his shoulder met his upper arm felt like three small boulders pressed into each other, locked in place with thick cords of leather.

He looked down, seeing her keeping her hand there for a little longer than normal. "It's okay. Probably deserved it." He looked back up at her and continued, "So, what's your question?"

Jess quickly removed her hand and put it back on the plastic water bottle. She gripped it with both hands in her lap, twisting it this way and that, before finally asking "How do you do it?"

He looked in her eyes again, genuinely puzzled. "Do what?"

"The two voices. Like, I know there are people who can sing, and people who can..." she paused, trying to find the right word. "...scream, I guess, but being able to go back and forth like that?"

"Oh, that. Would you believe me if I told you I use the same technique for both voices?"

"I mean, I guess." She paused, hearing only the sound of crinkling plastic as she continued fiddling with the bottle in her small hands. "But, doesn't it hurt to scream like that?"

"Only if you do it wrong. You wanna learn how to do it right?"

The crinkling stopped as Jess looked up. "What? Me? Oh nooooo, I don't- I mean, I sing a bit, but just, like, in the truck, I could never-" and she stopped. This would be a hell of a story for Angie at work tomorrow. Oh shit, Angie! Jess reached into her pocket and found her phone had 27 texts and 12 missed calls, all from Angela.

Every message was some variation of "Dude, are you okay?" and "Where the fuck are you?!" or "Tell me you didn't fucking bounce early, dude. WTF!" No voice mails, though, because of course not. Jess started her reply: Hey, I'm good. You were right, the sweater was a shitty idea, but I'm fine. Hanging out with-

She stopped and looked up at him. "Sorry, what's your name again?"

"Jordan."

She continued: Hanging out with Jordan here. Seems pretty chill. Will let you know when I get home.

Before hitting "Send" she looked up at him again. "Hey, mind if I send my friend a pic? Proof of life, and all that."

"Yeah, no prob."

Jess held the phone out to the side and tilted her head towards Jordan, eyes half-closed with a light smirk painted on her face. Jordan leaned forward slightly and grinned, giving the peace sign. 3... 2... he has a very nice smile... 1, dammit! 1!

Click. Selfie taken, she sent it with the message letting Angie know that she was alive.

"Alright, so how do we do this?" Jess asked, putting her phone back in her pocket. "Just yell as loud as I can, or what?"

Jordan laughed as he stood up. "Nah, nothin' like that. Come on, stand up. We'll need a piano," he said, and he held out a hand to help her up.

"A piano? For screaming. You're kidding," she said, acknowledging the outstretched hand, but standing up under her own power anyways. She did it to show that she was really okay, but she also didn't want to embarrass herself by hanging on for too long again.

"Nope. Let's see, I think there's one in the green room over there," he said, pointing to the open door across the room and to their left. "Let's go!"

As she followed behind him over to the green room, she found herself staring at his broad back -- not that she could help it. In terms of height, he had a solid foot on her. "Jesus, Jess. Chill!" she whispered to herself.

Jordan bumped into two other guys on their way out of the green room. One was a tall, black man with a shaved head and goatee, wearing an open, button-down shirt; the other was a shorter white guy with close-cropped black hair, wearing cargo shorts and a sleeveless black t-shirt. "Oh hey, y'all done in there?" Jordan asked them.

"Yeah, we're set." the black guy responded with a booming, deep voice. He looked down at Jess, then looked up at Jordan. "Heh, make sure you clean up when you're done, yeah?"

Jordan glared back at him. The glare didn't convey a feeling of malice so much as a one of 'really, dude? You're fucking with me now?'

The shorter one added, "Y'all have a good night!" before laughing and walking away.

Jess looked up at Jordan with obvious suspicion. "You, uh, give a lotta 'music lessons,' eh?"

He sighed. "Actually, no. I usually just go home after performing. Thus," he gestured at the two guys as they left, "these assholes acting the way they do."

"You know 'em?"

"Yeah. The big one's Zack. The little one's David."

"And who are they, exactly?"

Jordan stared at her in disbelief. "Really? Uh, guess I'll take that as a compliment, then." He shook his head, laughed, then pointed at them again. "Zack is our guitarist, and Dave's the drummer."

It took Jess a moment before she finally grasped what he was getting at. "Oh," she said. "Oh! No, no no no, when I get anxious, like I did in the crowd, I focus on something to keep from having a panic attack, and you happened to be right in front of me! I mean, I could've stared at lots of things, it's not like, um..." Jess noticed her palms sweating, and her mouth was drying up again. Unfortunately, the water bottle was already empty. She swallowed and took a deep breath before looking back up at him. "So, you were gonna teach me how to scream?"