A heart is pounding; palms are sweating; muscles pulsating; ears burning from the roar of voices that billow through the air, shattering his nerves as the time nears. A swell of water threatens to leak from his eyes when the air around him becomes consumed in smoke. Blink. Blink. Problem solved.
His fingers twitch with anticipation longing to join hold of their familiar friend; to feel the smooth timber neck fuse with his palm, cool and electrifying. Well worn Chuck Taylor’s tap to an unknown rhythm as he beats his heal into the hard surface he stands on. The brilliant lights beam down on the crown of his head; heat radiating from every bulb with each beam intensifying all his insecurities open for scrutiny. He shivers as a bead of sweat trickles down the crevasse between his shoulders. He waits.
A signal is all he has to wait for. That simple nod followed by the swift hand gesture that beckons him to his place. It’s waiting for that moment that gets him every time. The rush of air escaping through his lips, the blood that pounds through his ears, the butterflies that are filling his gut; they overpower his body with adrenaline. His eyes dart from face to face, searching through the glare for who he has to see, who he needs to see. He knows the time is coming, he just has to be sure that the time is right. He waits.
His pupils begin to throb as they dilate and contract adjusting to the lights that now flash around him. The butterflies seem to be determined to escape from the barricades of his stomach. The single bead quickly turns into multiple droplets as they continue to journey their way down his spine. Darkness engulfs him. The roar magnifies. Eyes twitching back and forth he rubs his sweaty palms on the rough jean that covers his thighs. He finds the face. After seconds that felt like hours of searching, he finds it. He locks his eyes on that sole face and waits. A nod followed immediately by a hand motion that tells him the wait is up. He begins to walk tentatively towards his destination, but his tentative steps are soon replaced by the wide strides of his confidence growing. He stops. The time is now.
She stood soaked by a mixture of rain and sweat and prayed the majority of which was her own, though she knew it was most likely not the case. Her deep navy blue Vans are now coated with mud swirls that matched the soles of peoples shoes from throughout the day. Her jeans are torn at the hem threatening to shred with the help of any misstep by her or someone around her. They are drenched all the way through to her clammy skin causing a shiver to run up her spine. Her favorite t-shirt now clings lifelessly to her body worn out from the unforgiving abuse of perspiration and precipitation.
As she waits, she searches for an opening in the mass to breathe fresh air and fix her soaked mound of hair. One presents itself to the right of everyone’s attention. She flips her head forward and ignores the complaints of bystanders as water splatters across them as it escapes from the tangled depths of her auburn hair. Using the band that strangles her wrist, she grasps her hair and winds it up in a swift pile on the top of her head. She then straightens herself up in time to move with the surge of the crowd. Feet trample across her toes, arms jab into the sides of her body, and hands grab her shoulders to keep balance. She stumbles slightly, but is able to brace herself against her surroundings. She knows the time is coming. So does everyone else. She pushes up onto her toes and cranes her neck above the heads that protrude in front of her sight, searching for the face that she knows so well. Her eyes scan to the left, to the right, repeatedly back and forth. Back and forth. She wipes her sweaty hands on her soaked jeans out of habit, scoffing for thinking it would make a difference. She waits.
The lights above her are flashing across the banners that line the walls, ricocheting off the beams and bars and each other. She continues her search. She uses her hands to lurch herself further into the depths of the crowd, only in hopes of finding his face. She stands eyes wide and crazed, jaw open, lips in a subconscious O. She needs to be closer. She lowers down to the flats of her feet and dips her right shoulder between the people that block her way. She slyly slips her way under and between the swarm of people, navigating each step with specific strategy. She stops when she is engulfed in darkness. Her eyes dilate in the dark searching for the motion that will lead her to him. It was time. It was really time. Her heart begins to pound a rhythm fast and furious. She returns to her position on the balls of her feet straining her short stature to be taller than her surroundings. Her ears buzz from the roar that engulfs her. She stares on. She waits. The buzz in her ears becomes a muffling silence. There is no one around her. It is just her and the dark space before her that hides the features of the man she knows so well.
The silence in her mind erupts into chaos when the strum of a guitar is amplified into a heart rattling note and the light; finally returns to illuminate what she longed to see, his face.
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