I didn’t know what to do. I stood there like an idiot, jealous of the others for being able to tinker with their instruments, and searched my mind frantically for some way to signal for the music to stop playing. But I didn’t know who was in charge of the music, and I couldn’t see much because of the stupid lights. My face started to burn with horror.
The music came to a full and abrupt stop and the sudden silence was almost worse. After a hideous pause, I cleared my throat and was horrified to hear the sound amplified through the microphone.
“Hello,” I faltered. Hello!? What the fuck! “Hi. We are Colostomy Hag.” The silence that followed was even worse than my polite, cheesy introduction. I heard hard clapping begin, a single pair of hands, and looked over past Edgar to see Robbie applauding alone at the side of the stage. I knew he was trying to be supportive, and I tried to smile at him, but the lone clapper somehow made it even worse.
Thankfully Socks immediately counted in the first song, and we launched into it. My cheeks were burning with embarrassment in that first minute, especially when I realized that I was not going to be “rocking out” in any way. I stood behind the microphone, squinting through the lights, and tried to bob my head along to the music. I could feel failure coursing through my body. Peripherally, I saw Fern start moving a little bit, but on the other side of me, Edgar remained stock still as well.
When we finished the first song, a smattering of applause went through the room, and I tried to smile with confidence. “Thank you,” I said, relieved for a moment until I remembered that we still had seven more songs to play.
We launched into the next song and I did my best to try to act like I was into it. I realized that I was just tapping my toe like some kind of moron, so then I awkwardly stopped doing that and bobbed my head instead, letting my hair cover my face a little bit, hoping that somehow it would look cool. I let out a few roars that hopefully sounded impressive, and the set continued. At one point I looked up and saw a long-haired guy in the middle of the dance floor in front of the stage, headbanging furiously. Excitement flooded me, until I saw the guy hurriedly rejoin his friends at a nearby table, laughing. So he’d just been making fun of us. Great.
The applause between songs lessened after each one, and by the time we had two songs left, there was actually dead silence in that space. Even Robbie was nowhere to be seen, which was probably more of a blessing than anything else. All I could do was wipe my sweaty palms off on my skirt and wait for Socks to count us in. At least we were close to being done. In the rehearsal space, the set always went by quickly. This felt like a sweltering, bright eternity.
Halfway through the second last song, a small group of people formed in the middle of the room. I peered out, squinting, to see who it was. Anger started to build in me as I saw it was Paul and the other guys in Heathenistic Bile. Paul stood with his arms folded and a small grin on his face. He looked ridiculous — with all the black-and-white makeup on — and he had the nerve to stand there, smirking at us?
My anger didn’t offer me any sense of power. The same feeling that had swept over me when Brandi had confronted me in the schoolyard so long ago began to creep in. I tried to toss my hair back and continue singing with confidence, but the embarrassment and anger was turning into crippling despair. I turned away from the front of the stage and tried to focus on Fern, who was still making a valiant but completely ineffective attempt to move to the music. I couldn’t look at Paul and his friends. I was so angry at myself.
When the set finally ended, I walked off the stage to the smattering of disinterested applause. I strode as fast as I could through the club, avoiding eye contact with everyone, towards the girls’ bathroom. Once inside, I sat down on the toilet and slouched over, my face in my hands.
TWENTY-TWO