It was called the Flesh for Lunch Tour and right when we got off the plane things felt very organized. We were met at the airport by Richard, who shook our hands, gave us laminated cards with a picture of Goreceps and our name on the front, and the tour dates on the back, and brought us to a van. We were exhausted and hoping we’d be able to sleep — it was early afternoon in London, but our body clocks were telling us it was 8 a.m. and we hadn’t been to sleep. Sleeping on planes is impossible. It’s such a horrible feeling sitting in the fake night they give you, where they dim the lights and everyone closes their eyes, and it seems like you’re the only one still awake, you’re the only one who didn’t plan ahead and stay up the night before so you’d actually be tired during fake night. You feel lonely and isolated, and you also get to panic because you know you’re going to land in a few hours and be just exhausted, destroyed, and expected to face a whole new day. And that’s what happened to us. Richard said we were going straight to the first venue, as there was a show that night. And so we did.
We’d landed in London but the first show was in Manchester, a few hours’ drive northwest. At least we could try to sleep in the van as Richard drove. I sat next to the window with Fern beside me. She stared out the window and I stared at her. Her cheeks were hollowed, and I realized how much weight she had lost. Socks and Edgar were excited about being in England, chatting with Richard about how the buildings looked different and laughing about different shops’ names. I was dimly aware that we were in another country and it was totally interesting and different and exciting, but for some reason I couldn’t stop staring at the sharp jut of Fern’s cheekbone. My stomach lurched at the thought of how unfair it was, at how she couldn’t enjoy what was happening as much as she should have been able to. So I closed my eyes and tried to calm my racing heart by thinking instead about how every mile that passed, every step forward, was taking us closer to our new goal. We would get a tour with DED. It would happen.
xXx
A few things became clear as the tour began: one was that the guys in Goreceps were pretty nice, which was a relief. Two was that some people in the U.K. knew our music, and the only explanation was that they’d heard it on the internet. This pissed Socks off especially — we hadn’t mailed many CDs over here, and he was frustrated that we’d lost potential sales. It was a weird double-edged sword — people liked our band over here and it was surreal to see people singing along in a foreign country, but they clearly hadn’t bought the CD.
The third thing was that our reputation had preceded us. A lot of people at the shows had the perception that we were “insane.” Certainly most of the people at the shows were impatient for our act to finish so Goreceps could take the stage, which made sense, and a lot of those people were guys who had no interest in our band, especially with two girls onstage. But the story of my vomiting had gotten around, and to my dismay it seemed I was expected to provide some sort of shocking performance.
I was already prepared to steel myself against aggressive metal guys at the front of the stage and was becoming pretty good at ignoring taunts and jeers and bullshit sexual gestures. But over here it seemed to take on a new intensity.
At one of the first shows, there were about four guys pressed against the stage as we played, and they openly tried to intimidate me. “Try puking on me, bitch,” one of them kept jeering. I tried to ignore them, and Edgar positioned himself in front of them in hopes of shutting them up, but between songs they’d spread their arms wide, calling to me, daring me to do something. I hoped they’d get bored, but they seemed determined, and despite the overall positive reaction from the crowd, I was having trouble ignoring them. I could feel their eyes on me and it unsettled me, which in turn made me furious at myself for allowing them to intimidate me.
When we had only two songs left, they finally cut it out. I was relieved, but then I saw that they had turned their attention to Fern. She was focused entirely on her guitar and her fingers moved quickly, gliding up and down its neck. Sweat dripped from her face, and her mascara had melted into dark circles under her eyes. Above her, a red spotlight glowed, bathing her in scarlet light, making her white hair appear pink. She looked so beautiful in that moment.