Crowded Fireflies [Prose]

Hundreds of bodies, cold and slick from standing in the rain for the past hour, pressed together in attempt to get even an inch closer to the stage. The crowd buzzed with each individual voice convinced it could talk over the next, causing any conversation to be inaudible beyond a few syllables. Four glittering disco balls spun lazily overhead, reflecting off the neon stage lights and casting a trail of multi-colored squares across the walls.

Standing on my tiptoes to see over the heads of the vast crowd, I watched the crew continue their set change. The mysterious black-clothed figures took their time as they fiddled with setting dials and tapped on microphones, often sending a deafening screech through the speakers. I dropped my heels with a sigh, landing on the soggy soles of my cerulean flats.

It had already been twenty minutes since the opening act had left the stage, and the buzzing was growing louder with mixed anticipation and impatience. My arms folded over my chest, I rubbed a palm against the black, see-through sleeve of the top I wore, though the friction did little to warm me. 

All around, girls tried to fix their frizzy hair and rain streaked make-up they had spent hours preening before queuing for the concert in the rain. Some used their phone cameras as mirrors instead of losing their spot in the crowd by heading to the restroom. In a group of guys to my left, a tall blonde shook his long hair back and forth, spraying his friends around him like a dog after an unexpected bath.

A hand suddenly clasped my shoulder, and I bit my tongue to silence a girlish yelp no one would have heard anyway.

“Jess, when’s the Firefly Guy coming?” Morgan yelled in my ear, the stench of straight alcohol hitting my nose like a strong right-hook. I tried to step back, instead knocking into a tall brunette in the process. My friend grabbed my shoulder, pulling me through the crowd towards the bar, deaf to my protests. Her long, dirty blonde hair lashed at my face as she turned back to flash me a smile, stopping only once we had found our mutual friend at the end of the bar, two clear drinks waiting in front of her.

“Water for you,” Kanu said, winking at Morgan as she passed the glass. “But none for you, little duck. You’re already a bit wet.” Kanu patted my head as if I was some ignorant child, and the girls laughed, both oblivious to my annoyance.

#

After a semester struggling to make new friends in a foreign city, I was relieved at the thought of familiar faces. Though we had been inseparable in high school, Kanu and Morgan had left to the same college, leaving me alone. Hearing the girls would be visiting Orlando for the weekend, I spent the time finding alternative means of entertainment besides the usual tourist haunts, but it was evident as soon as I arrived at their hotel to pick them up that I had made a mistake in my choice of venue. Leaving me in the car for twenty minutes while they “got ready,” the girls finally stumbled into the back of my Honda, both of their usually pale faces flushed with a rosy pink. Giddy and giggling, they ignored my hellos, instead continuing their conversation about the best clubs to hit after they were done watching over “little duck.” Both had graduated from Florida State the previous spring, the three-year age difference between us meaning that “little duck” was titled the default-designated driver for the night.

#

What fun. Looks like I’m the one responsible for the “watching over” tonight. I glanced back towards the stage to see if the crew was done yet, another screech of the mic answering for me.

“Where’s Firefly Guy?” Morgan asked again, nodding towards the now vacant stage. A dark haired girl wearing an owl shirt shot Morgan a glare as she left with a soda, and I shook my head. I had purchased the tickets after asking the girls if they were fans of the band, but it appeared that a free concert trumped their musical preference.

There goes fifty bucks I’m sure they’d have better spent drinking. I eyed their glasses, realizing they were both already drained.

Kanu continued spinning back and forth on the barstool, searching the end of her long, brown braid for split ends. Morgan traced a finger over the countertop, creating faces from the water ring her glass had left behind.

“Just stay here,” I said, though neither looked up from her riveting activity. I snaked my way back through the crowd, ducking elbows before finding my previous spot beside the rowdy group of college boys. Unfortunately, a skinny brunette in cheetah print stilettos stood where I had before, her heels rooted to the spot. Finding enough space to stand behind them, I took my Nikon from the camera case hanging on my shoulder, occupying myself by finding the optimum settings for concert photos.

An old picture appeared on the screen, taken a year ago during my summer spent in Jacksonville. Morgan and Kanu had grabbed me to stand between them for a photo on the beach, the three of us wearing genuine smiles against summer tans.

I turned to look back at the bar, seeing them between gaps in the crowd. They were chatting up the bartender, laughing and still oblivious to my absence. My finger clicked “delete.”

I’m entirely alone in a crowded room.

A hush fell over the crowd, the buzzing dying down as if a hive of bees had been inoculated, chamber by chamber. Stretching onto my tiptoes again, I watched as four figures walked onto the stage, silhouettes against the shining blue lights. They each stood before their respective instruments, tuning and warming up as the blue beams of light quickly changed their aim to the audience. I clicked on my camera, holding it straight overhead and pushing the zoom all the way forward. Mic in hand, Adam Young entered from stage right, and the drums began to beat strong enough to shake the earth.

“How you doing tonight, Orlando?” Adam yelled into the mic. My camera managed to capture the smile on his face, despite my position in the back of the room, two feet from the edge of the crowd. The audience suddenly stirred to life, awoken from a momentary slumber as we all screamed in reply. The drums pounded stronger, matching the rhythm of a hundred excited heartbeats before the drummer surrendered his solo to an accompaniment by neighboring bass and guitar. Soon more joined the chorus, keyboard and vocals providing their own flavors to the dish that was Owl City, served sweet to the entire crowd.

I listened as the band played one of their newer songs, smiling as I tried to savor every detail of the moment. Each of my senses gave in; though I couldn’t see the stage, I could see the music’s beauty, taste every tantalizing note, feel it snake through my very veins. Though the song was a track from an album that had only been released a week before, the house knew every word, every infliction, every note. Onstage, Adam’s hands were flying, the music visibly extending from soul to arms and reaching out to every member of the audience to touch. I mouthed the words, swaying with the music. As soon as the first song ended, another began without so much as a pause; the melodies melded together as if they seamlessly belonged with one another all along.

I pushed onto my tiptoes, catching only glimpses of the stage. “Hey! Can’t see?” one of the guys in front of me asked, pointing to my sore arms so I could understand despite the music’s sheer volume and the screaming crowd. I shook my head, rubbing the back of my neck with a painful grimace. He smiled, and I recognized him as the one who sprayed his friends with rainwater earlier. He stepped aside, offering his spot in front of his friends, all who loomed at least two feet over me. I took the spot without hesitation, thankful for a moment of kindness in a room of strangers.

Except they weren’t; not a single person in that room was a stranger once the music started. We had made one another’s acquaintance over lyrics we each felt even a slight connection to. Our souls recognized these words, each individual note creating a binding between us. Without realizing it, we had a kinship, the melody like branches that extended our family tree to reach through cities, even beyond oceans and unconnected countries. Except there was a connection; well-woven words and an understanding of these songs provided a peek at each of our individual stories.

The music slowed, shifting into a song I knew too well. The drums were almost silent, keeping beat as the pianist took the spotlight. Overhead, blue and yellow lights flickered in and out, the crowd taking a collective breath we’d all been holding. That song lasted a mere moment, so easy to miss between all the others. The lyrics, two lone lines, were a shooting star in a sparkling sky; blink and we’d have missed it entirely. All other senses broke beyond the sound of the piano’s cry, in mourning for our attention.

The music faded away as our moment of grieving neared its end, and I watched through my camera screen, focusing on Adam’s face. His expression was remorseful, and I was sure that many of the faces in the crowd, including my own, matched his.

It was only for an instant, that silence and mutual mourning, before a very familiar melody picked up, spreading an infection of excitement through us all. I looked back, the boy who’d offered his spot smiling back at me. On stage, rows of fairy lights flickered in and out, the disco balls making it appear as though dozens of little bugs were blinking all around the room.

But that was much more than “The Firefly Guy’s” final song. As the music itself twinkled along with the lights, I canvassed the room, my camera still acting as an all-seeing eye. Tracing over the heads of the crowd, I didn’t see a hundred individuals sharing a space for a concert.

A single entity, well-formulated notes, and an amalgamation of instruments held the power to awaken each individual soul in that crowded room and unite us all. But we weren’t individuals; together we were ten million fireflies that lit up the world. At first we were little, flickering on our own, but as the final notes sounded, I realized we were one light. Even as fireflies.

The band members waved as they left the stage, the crowd screaming and cheering in goodbye. For a moment, Adam lingered, his gaze tracing over the crowd.

Finally, he took the mic in his hand and said, “As a nobody from nowhere, from the heart, thank you,” following his band-mates off stage.

One of the guys beside me, barely audible above the screams, was the first to voice what a hundred hearts were screaming.

“One more song.”

No one heard him other then his friends and myself, but that was enough. The guy who’d given me his spot clasped his friend’s shoulder and chanted with him.

“One more song.” I added my voice, each of his friends providing to the collective as well. It spread, another infection that attacked us all, leaking from the back of the room and rolling forward, picking up victims and volume as it went.

Suddenly we were a collective, a collaborated entity that formed one voice.

The music started again, louder this time.

I was part of this crowded room; a sea of people brought together by a single common interest.

“We’re burning bright, as we all unite...Don’t let the fire die.”

© 2013 | Jazelle Handoush