It was impossible to drown out the concerts taking place so close, but we did our best to go through our gig step by step. Anyone who had questions or struggled with something, we dealt with.
Nicky came back after a food break with his man and announced that August and Camden had joined up with Gideon, so that was nice.
The next time I checked my watch, too much time had passed, and we were suddenly in a hurry. All the instruments had to come out of the cargo space on the bus, including my Hammond that was a fucking pain to move, Maria demanded pictures had to be taken, and I had to make sure the boxes with all the gear had the right labels for the crew that was about to put their hands on our shit.
It was the benefit of always playing smaller gigs—you were in charge of your own equipment. No such luck on a big festival where everything had to run smoothly.
When all was said and done, we had about five minutes to spare. The second band was about to wrap up, and the roadies were getting ready to invade the stage.
“I’m so nervous,” Maria said, waving her hands in front of her face. I didn’t know what for; as soon as the sun set, it wasn’t very warm. I did feel some nerves, though. “Hey, guys! Can we gather for a moment? I’d like to do a prayer.”
I supposed this was where Nicky and I—and Chris—didn’t quite fit in with the rest. My brother and I weren’t exactly religious, despite our close connection to our local church. It was mainly for the music. I couldn’t call myself agnostic or an atheist either, for that matter. Religion was… It wasn’t just one thing. It was complicated. And personal. But it wasn’t the first time Nicky and I bowed our heads in prayer, and it wouldn’t be the last.
Everyone joined hands, and Maria led the way.
“Hear us pray, O glorious Saint Cecilia,” she began.
“This is so fucking rock ’n’ roll,” Nicky whispered next to me.
I grinned but kept my eyes and mouth shut.
“…We lift our hearts in joyous song, sent heavenward on winged notes,” she continued. “We pray, guide us, our saint for those who sing, keep us under your protective wing. O glorious Saint Cecilia. Amen.”
“Amen.” I cleared my throat and looked over my shoulder as the audience some fifty feet away erupted in cheers and applause. “All right, everyone. We’re up. As long as you do better than me at rehearsal today, you’re good.”
I got a few laughs outta that, and it relieved some of the tension.
“Kidding aside, I’m glad you’re all here,” I said. “Music once brought us together, and music is what we’re gonna give these Southerners.”
“Fuck yeah!” Luiz’s agreement rose above the others’, and he held his drumsticks in the air. A nice instrument to play when you had roadies doing the heavy lifting. You just grabbed your sticks.
Another poor bastard had to get his three guitars ready, ’cause no roadie in the universe was allowed to touch them.
Standing right next to the stage, I felt a nervous flutter in my stomach as the crew unveiled our backdrop. With our lack of goals for this band’s future, we hadn’t gotten very creative with our name, but it still packed a punch to see The Second Initiative in rusty lettering against the black background.
I took out my phone to snap a picture of it, and I noticed I had a text waiting from August.
Can’t wait to see you, sweetheart. You’ve been on my mind all day.
My chest constricted. It was insane how fast that man reeled me in. Just a few words, and I was ready to go find him.
I walked over to the canvas-covered fence and folded my arms over my chest, sneaking a peek between two bars. Not a bad crowd that’d stayed, not bad at all. I’d expected more people to leave once the second band had left the stage, but I estimated there were a few hundred still standing there. Waiting for us.
It’d be interesting to see if any of our demos got sold over at the merch tents.
“Stage is clear!” someone from the crew hollered.
It was our cue.
I rejoined the others and grabbed my guitars, then jogged up the steps and nodded to Luiz. Soon as my electric was plugged in, he would start us off.
The stage was still dark as a big man in a headset and festival T-shirt grabbed the mic to introduce us.
“Next up, straight from Brooklyn! Give it up for The Second Initiative!”
It was a freaking rush to hear the people cheering right away. Maybe they were drunk already. They hadn’t fucking heard us yet. But I took advantage, quickly plugged in my guitar, and took a chord, holding it in place to pour a feedback effect out of the speakers and through the crowd. Then I took my spot in front of my mic and my overdrive on the floor, pressed down the pedal as Luiz hit the hi-hat, and Nicky followed suit. As the music exploded, so did the stage. Spotlights lit us up and killed the nerves.