AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I had lied.
The band is exhausted afterInvincible Summer. The song requires so many instruments and has such an intricate arrangement (what else is new when James composes music?) that I originally thought it was beyond my band’s abilities. And it was. Certainly beyond my own abilities on the violin, and it was even beyond Jude’s brilliant bass skills. When I said that to my dumb little brother, who wrote and arranged the piece, he laughed. Then he flew over from Julliard and taught them how to play it perfectly himself. It took him barely six hours.
Gosh, he gets on my nerves.
Anyway, after performing the piece, we need a break to breathe.
I grab the microphone in my hand.
“It’s always a challenge, setting up a show, you know,” I say to the audience, “and we have had much less time than usual to prepare for this one, because we added Athens kind of late in the game. But these two hours of singing nonstop on this stage with you guys make it totally worth it.”
They cheer so loudly my ears split.
“This place…” I shake my head, trying to find the right words to describe my feelings for Greece. “Its freedom, its beauty, its sun. It woke me up. man. You woke me up, Greece!” I yell. “It was you!”
I point to them and they roar.
When they quiet down, the first notes ofBulletproofbegin, and I didn’t think it possible, but the roar grows exponentially. I get into position, my dancers appearing on stage with their black clothes and masks on.
Bulletproofis a dancing pop number, with rock undertones. It’s more hard rock than fun pop, but it’s got a cool beat, and everyone likes to move to it. So we make a whole show out of it, with huge images of me showing up on the screen behind the stage, and it ends up looking like I am facing a firing squad alone, in the woods.
Having the woods as a background was my idea.
It always comes back to the woods with me. Those woods, the ones that used to be ours.
Bulletproofis about a guy who is shot again and again, but the bullets can’t hurt him, because love has already killed him. On the stage, I fall down and I die as I sing, over and over again, and with every note I sing, I think of her.What a stupid song, I think, as the crowd sings along and dances to the lyrics.I should have written about how much she meant to me. Not that loving her killed me.
I have been singing that song over and over again since it came out. And she heard it. On the radio, in the news, on the internet… it was everywhere. My chest goes tight when I think of her listening to the words I have written about her.
In my heart, I beg her to forgive me, wherever she is. To come back to me, not to be lost to me forever.
I refuse to consider the alternative.
“Athens, you’re the best audience in the world!” I yell into the microphone.
Dimitris and Yiannis have backstage passes, and I invite them onstage to play a little with me. We just jam, starting a melody we rehearsed once or twice this morning, and then continuing improvising on the spot. There are no lyrics, just Miki hitting the drums, Jude blaring on the bass, and my violin vibing with the Greeks’ two acoustic guitars. The crowd goes completely silent. The six of us are concentrating hard on our own instruments and on each other’s’, trying to find that sweet spot where we’re all in sync and the harmony flows effortlessly, every note matching. It finally happens two minutes in, and our music swells, filling up the black sky, drifting into every corner, bouncing off every seat. We all feel it. I am connected person on this stage, as if music is the blood that flows through all our veins. We start smiling like idiots and we continue playing, unable to stop.
The music takes a life of its own, passing like an invisible string from each of us to the other. Binding our souls together.
But for once, the music’s magic isn’t enough to keep me above the water.
The riffing is over, and I’m struggling so much that the show feels like an army drill. I can barely concentrate. Before we move on to a new song, I faint backstage and Jude catches me. He gives me water and asks me if I’m ok, and I say yes, but deep down inside, I don’t think I can make it. I’ve played concerts sick, and worse, but this time I don’t feel sick. I feel like I’m dying.
And then it starts to rain.
Skye said that there was a rain forecast for tonight, and that ‘it would make for a pretty special show’. I didn’t believe him—it was too sunny and Athen’s sky was far too clear to be threatened by rain. But it turns out he was right.
He was right about other things as well.
He also said that people are going to overanalyze today’s songs, so we should maybe reconsider the set, given the recent violent events in Italy and the rumors circulating about the ‘heartbreaker girl’.
“Every facial expression on that stage will be studied,” he said, “in blogs, on social media, in chat rooms, in phone calls, privately and publicly, by kids and stars and everyone in-between. Your every move and look will be the topic of discussion on news outlets, everywhere in the world.”
He looked pretty freaked out about it.
“They won’t have to study anything,” I replied to him as calmly as I could—which wasn’t calmly at all. “I am going to speak.”
“Youwhat?” he exploded.
