The Sound and the Anxiety

In the back of his mind Michael didn't like the way they were looking at him.  As he moved through the crowd he noticed the strange stares that everyone kept putting his way but he kept upon his own face a faint passing grin that did not give away his disdain for the crowd.  In this way he was safe to pass judgement without retaliation from the unsuspecting crowd.  The band was playing loudly and chaotically but Michael did not notice.  His arms were set forward with little indication that he was judging with his peripherals.   His B line was slightly blocked by the the people jumping and nodding to the junk of blaring amps that emitted the screeching of guitars that were barely played properly.  At times he turned sideways, at times his arms were plugged in tightly at his side at others he felt like his arms were wings and he was prepared to flap them up and down in order to fly away.  His mind was heavy with thoughts that were only hammered by the vocals that clawed out of the speakers.  The lead singer was screaming a throaty type of guttural noise and if he cared to Michael may have been able to discern actual words but it all sounded like an animal dying or killing he figured it didn't matter which one.

It took some time but eventually Michael reached the other side of sweating crowd.   The mists and fountains of body odor had landed at him in various degrees and he desperately wanted to shower.   He felt suffocated. He felt unclean and smothered in spit.  It was a reproachable sort of event, but he had endured as much of it as he could.   In his head the thoughts stabbed at his worries with meticulous malice.  The people with clenched fists and mouths open to scream out lyrics with the audacity of a predator animal.  It felt angry and ready for violence.   It never usually came to that, and Michael of course knew that some of his thoughts bordered on ridiculous but he couldn't help but feel that fear and anger permeated the event.  He stood alone against the wall in the back and he folded his arms, wanting to make no sign that he was enjoying himself.  If he looked like he were having fun they may see him and force him into the center of their mass hysteria.  If he kept his arms folded, and his eyes to the floor and if he looked bored no one would suspect that he was terrified and unable to breathe properly.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his smart phone.  He flipped up his lock icon and opened up his text messages.  I'm here where are you? It was the last message sent and that had been forty five minutes ago.  The name above said Heather and he was beginning to think she had lied to him.  She had said she was going to be here no matter what, and he had wasted the money to get in for no reason.  He wasn't here for the music, he was there to spend time with her.  It had happened before.  The two had met up to go to a concert and he hated the music but he enjoyed watching Heather having fun and in turn he pretended to be into it and in his way he began to enjoy himself.

Michael stuffed the phone back into his pocket and there was a brief pause as the band adjusted their instruments for the next song which he figured would sound nothing different than what they had just played.  The noise pollution was slowly killing him the way smog destroyed the ozone.   All of these peoples minds were being poisoned by the posers on the stage pretending to be muscicians but really just being good looking trend setters.  The type of people that influenced the masses because they were brave enough to be stupid or different.  They defied conventions and somehow Michael thought flabbergasted that this defiance granted them elevation to artist.  He wanted to throw a couple trash cans and a soup pot together with a wooden spoon and make millions of dollars by making noise.   The people ate it up though, poison or not, knowingly or not they bit into the apple defiant to its rot.

The phone vibrated in his pocket.  Almost there,  her text messages black letters informed him.   It was going to be okay in a few moments.  He began typing back and sent the message: I'm in the back.  He felt that maybe it sounded to blunt so he typed in the appropriate characters and sent a smiling emoji.  He studied the message for a second and then clicked off screen and looked around the room again.  The room began to get brighter, and he nodded his head and tapped his foot.   In truth nothing had changed, but only hope that it might and it seemed for Michael that was enough.