The man with the clear voice reached in front of me, grabbing my cane. He told me I couldn’t take it with me into the Asylum. He must have seen the protective look on Harley’s face, she was looking out for me, because he asked if I could deal without it, and I answered, yes, I could manage. He explained he would return it after the show, and gave me his name- Josh. I heard the laughter in his voice as he said, “We couldn’t have you beating Head in the head onstage.” He released us and the line behind us surged forward to get down the stairs.
Harley took it upon herself to put my arm in a death grip as she led me down that last stair case. Josh walked directly in front of us as several security guards kept the others in a single file line. We wound through the backstage maze, both Harley and I tripping over thick cables taped to the concrete floor on occasion. Josh led us to “Head’s side.” We slipped against the softly curving fiberglass walls of the stage midway up the Asylum pit, directly in the middle, in front of the elevated drum kit.
Harley held my hand in hers as she bounced up and down. “I think I have to pee now!”
Footsteps clanked against the metal grating of the stage surface. People on both sides of the stage, on Head’s side and on Munky’s, called out to the figure on the stage. “Soon, kiddies, soon.” The voice called out. The drum test. The equipment check. Voices calling out instructions and commands.
Four other sets of feet clanged and banged onto the stage. I heard a voice, dry and gruff, call out, “Fuck.” Fieldy. Another called out, “Let’s get it DONE!” Munky. Then it happened.
The opening notes filled my head and my body and soul. I was stirred to core of my being. I closed me eyes as Jon began to sing Dead. The darkness behind my eyelids changed, filled with bright colors that flowed with the path of the music. The fifty-some people behind me surged forward and I was happily crushed against the sides of the stage.
I was lost within the music, the notes carrying me away on a tide of emotion so strong it was undeniable and indefinable. I swayed with the waves, taken away, singing along with Jonathan Davis’ raw masculine voice. He was so close, they all were, I could hear his true voice behind the amplifiers that carried it out to the masses. The floor beneath me rolled and pounded with the beats, vibrating up my legs into my thighs. I was glad to be wearing the thin tank top, the Asylum was close quarters and the moist heat generated was almost stifling. But the music was like drug pounded through my veins, taking me away from my body and filling me with light.
Fieldy and Head came close enough to our side of the stage that I could have reached out to touch them had I wanted to. Fat drops of sweat rained onto us each time shook his twisty-braided head as he worked his musician’s magic. Each time Fieldy approached, the very air changed to become charged with the energy he put out- I could feel the vibrations of bass that came directly from his guitar, not the amps. Harley and I wreathed and rocked and thrashed to the tunes.
It seemed as if the songs all melted together, and I struggled to remember each second to savor for the rest of my life. The sides of the stage rumbled slightly as the elevator raised Jon out of the pit beneath the stage and into the air as he played his bagpipes. Again, the beautiful flashes of light raced across my closed eyes, nearly entrancing me with the music. I held on to their beauty to remember for always.
I knew the last song. I knew what it would be. I knew, it was the song that meant so much, that carried a message for me that was perhaps different than the one it carried for others, but just as powerful nonetheless. As the notes rang clear in the hushed, charged air, I raised arms above my head, one hand still clasped tightly in Harley’s. The two of us let ourselves go, let the music take us away and shred the moment to live for the music.
“ARE YOU READY?” The music crashed like frenzied waves on a rocky shore.
And Jon Davis came. He came and touched my hand while he sang. He was as enthralled in the music as we; he was it’s slave and yet he had shared a moment with me. I smiled hugely. I screamed the words as he did. It set free me free from my "disability.".
It was over with a startling quickness. The crew dropped a bucket of theatrical blood on Munky in the closing moments, and he came across the stage to rain the sticky stuff on us. It smelled strongly and sweetly of cornsyrup. I laughed.
Harley said, “Come on, sticky fingers, there’s that Josh guy.” And off we went, heading back the same way we had come before the stage. A security guard asked just where the fuck we thought we were going. Harley jumped, waving her fist in the air and called out loudly, “Josh!”
He called for the guard to let us through. Josh laughed heartily as he handed me my cane- which I took with corn syrup covered hand. Both Harley and I were covered in the fake blood. I could feel a small trail dripping between my breasts, traveling south to dip into my navel. My bare arms were streaked, I could feel the stickiness drying in a tight mess.
