A Lack of Color - Beginning

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
The story of a girl named Grace.

Submitted: August 22, 2011

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Submitted: August 22, 2011

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(Note: This is the first random story I've writtenand I'mnot sureif people will like it, so please leave your ideas/feedback for me to reveiw so I can possible improve it and decide whether or not to post more of the story! And any ideas for a better title would be wonderful; I'm not sure the one I have fits... So anyway heres A Lack of Color! I hope you enjoy!)

The night my life changed was a Friday. The evening of Friday, March 27th, at a Death Cab for Cutie concert. It was cold. Freezing cold. I suppose I should’ve brought gloves, but looking back, I’m glad I didn’t. Because if I hadn’t, my whole night would’ve changed.

Right after the opening band, Bright Eyes, left the stage, I got up off the frigid ground and weaseled myself a few feet into the large mob of people crowded in front of the amphitheater stage. I felt really awkward being pushed up against a bunch of strangers, all by myself. My best friend, Elaine, was supposed to be with me, (we both practically worshiped DCFC,) but she had gotten a horrible flu the day before. So while she was at home puking her brains out, I was standing in a herd of Alternative/Indie fans, all by myself, waiting for the sweet music of my favorite band to save me from the annoying yelps of the drunken idiots to my left and the sickly-sweet sent wafting from the pot-smokers behind me.

At this point, the ridiculously cold Seattle air was making my fingers wish to be lit on fire, so I started to breathe on them. Honestly, it didn’t help much, but it was better than nothing. Just then, the guy to my right, who I had failed to acknowledge in my I’m-so-fucking-cold-why-don’t-they-just-play-already trance, nudged my arm.

“Outdoor concert noob?” he asked me.

“Mhm,” I nodded my head furiously. I had never been to a concert before, so of course I wasn’t prepared.

He pulled a pair of wool mittens out of his jacket pocket. “Here,” he said as he handed them to me. “I always bring extra, just in case I’m on the verge of hypothermia.”

“Thank you,” I replied as I hastily shoved the striped mittens on my frozen fingers.

“No problem,” he grinned. “I’ve been to plenty of outdoor concerts. Death Cab hardly ever does indoor shows.”

“Do you go to a lot of their concerts?” I inquired.

“Yeah. They’re my favorite band ever. I try to go whenever they’re in Washington or Oregon.”

“That’s awesome. I wish I could go to all their shows. They’re my favorite band too,” I replied. I like this guy, I thought. He’s pretty awesome.

“My names Henry, by the way,” he held out his hand. I shook it.

“Grace,” I told him. Then there was a wave of screams flowing through the mob. We looked up and saw Death Cab for Cutie walk on stage.

“C’mon,” Henry grabbed my hand and pulled me through the crowd. You could tell he was a concert veteran by the way he swiftly pushed through the mass of people. Before they had even started playing, we emerged, directly in front of the stage.

“Oh wow! I never thought I’d get this close!” I exclaimed.

“Hello Seattle!” Benjamin Gibbard spoke into the microphone as he adjusted his Fender Thinline Telecaster. The crowd screamed. “We’re so glad to be back in the wonderful state of Washington.” More screaming. I was too busy smiling to scream. “So we’re going to play a song for you.”

That’s when Nick Harmer started playing that oh so familiar bass line that I had envied since I was a child. I Will Possess Your Heart. It had been my favorite song ever since the first time I heard it. It was the first Death Cab for Cutie song I had ever listened to. It was the first song I had learned to play when my dad bought me a used Fender Squier back in the summer of 8th grade. The memories flooded my head so quickly; it almost brought a tear to my eye.

I glanced over to my new friend Henry, just to find him looking back at me, smiling. I laughed, and then looked back to the stage. This is the greatest moment of my life, I thought. Then I got into full on concert mode, jumping to the beat, nodding my head excessively. I was part of the crowd.

~ ~ ~

About an hour and a half later, the concert was coming to an end. I had stood there in the freezing cold, beside Henry, the entire time. I could no longer feel my feet.

“Thank you so much everyone, for comin’ out tonight. You’ve been a wonderful audience,” Gibbard said, as he sat behind the piano and started to play Transatlanticism, my second favorite song. Everyone got quiet. Henry flicked his lighter and held up his arm, swaying to the music. Others copied his example. Soon, every person had their hands in the air. Except me. I was blankly staring at the stage, letting the tears spill over my eyelids and down my cheek. The words of the song echoed inside my head, I need you so much closer, reminding me of how utterly alone I truly was. Henry glanced toward me and saw my condition. He put away his lighter as he stepped behind me and put his arms around my waist, swaying me with the crowd. I put my arms over his and leaned my head on his shoulder. I had forgotten what it felt like to have someone so close to me. It was nice to know, to feel, even if just for that moment, that someone cared.


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