Chapter 39 - Backstage
–––––
Backstage
The noise of the crowd seeped into the dressing room, reverberating up Tristan’s legs like an earthquake and spreading throughout his entire body.
He stood alone in front of the mirror, the bathroom door behind him slightly ajar, as he went through vocal warm-ups.
Though it didn’t show on the outside, his heart raced, his hands were clammy, and his throat felt constricted.
But the real chaos was happening in his head.
Everything will be fine. The stage is a good place. A safe place. A place where I like to be. Where I have control. The audience likes us, or they wouldn’t be here.
Tristan opened his mouth and let his vocal cords vibrate. A guttural sound emerged, but it was quickly stifled by a gulping breath. He swallowed the thick lump in his throat and tried to breathe slowly and evenly.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if the album release hadn’t been such a disaster. Everything was a blur, but he remembered trying to hang himself on stage.
Fuck… The audience is going to tear us apart. They’re all just here to see us fail again.
Tristan slumped his shoulders and sighed.
How did everything fall apart so badly?
Okay, get it together. Everything will be fine. Even Leaf is starting to crawl out of his dark hole.
Loud laughter emanated from the dressing room.
The opening band had finished their set and was now back in the backstage area.
The countdown had begun. Tristan’s mouth felt uncomfortably dry and his heart hammered in his chest. Had it always been like this before every performance? They had been on stage so many times.
He felt a slight pressure in his stomach. Maybe it was from the sandwich he had eaten earlier from Valerie’s. It had been delicious though—and so necessary. He could never have gone on stage with an empty stomach. At least the sandwich had been small, because a full stomach wasn’t good either.
This damned tightrope walk every time.
He set the beer bottle back on the sink and resumed his vocal exercises.
He had resisted them for a long time until realizing their benefit for his vocal cords.
Now, with the opening band returning, the increasing noise heightened his nervousness and stirred chaotic thoughts in his head.
Milo’s image flashed in his mind, weighing down his limbs.
O Captain! My Captain!
What should I do?
Dejected, he let his head hang and leaned on the sink.
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
Walt Whitman’s words had never hit him as hard as they did now. Of all times, so close to the gig, they stirred the sadness within him, rolling over him like a dark, black blanket.
Fuck…
Milo was dead.
His Captain was dead.
And he would never come back.
Tristan’s knees went weak and something clamped around his throat.
Never again would they laugh together.
Make music.
Drink.
Or be.
Coldness spread within him, in every fiber of his body. His breath hitched. His muscles stiffened.
Not good. Not good at all.
Tristan let the water run and splashed his face. When he straightened up and looked in the mirror, the tears were washed away. Yet he hadn’t even cried.
On unsteady legs, he stumbled out of the bathroom into the dressing room, leaning against the wall like a drunk. Better to be thrown off by the excitement and stage fright of the others than to be alone any longer. That was poison for him.
The guys from the opening band were at the drink table, toasting to a successful gig. By the entrance, Carol and Nathan were conversing with two women. They seemed to be with the opening band—maybe their girlfriends or something. On the couch, he spotted his band.
The three of them were warming up together.
José drummed on the wooden table with his sticks, tapping his feet.
Leaf played his burgundy acoustic guitar, while Andrej plucked his electric bass nearby.
Just seeing them relaxed managed to calm Tristan a bit.
Yet, the panic remained. He still hadn’t shaken off the grief for Milo.
It felt like a sticky sludge coursing through his veins, nerves, lungs, and stomach, slowly spreading through every fiber of his being. Nausea threatened, but he resisted the urge to retreat to the isolation of the bathroom. He needed to be with his guys, his family, especially Leaf.
He moved through the room, nodding as the opening band cheered for him, and found a spot next to Leaf. As he sat down, Andrej and José gave him an approving nod and Leaf turned to look at him.
The moment he noticed how Tristan was feeling, he stopped strumming the guitar and put his arm around him.
It felt so good. His closeness. His warmth. And when Leaf held him closer, he wanted to kiss him so badly. As long as he didn’t, the hug remained friendly. Amicable. None of the opening band would suspect anything or have the chance to leak it to the press.
But how long could this go on? Go well? How long did Tristan want to keep playing this game? If their relationship had survived the last four weeks, that was the best proof that they could handle anything.
“Five more minutes!” a technician shouted.
Tristan leaned in closer, resting his head against Leaf’s shoulder. He yearned to feel him, smell him, absorb his presence. With the guitar on his lap, Tristan could discreetly place his hand on Leaf’s thigh, away from prying eyes.
He couldn’t help it. He adored Leaf, flaws and all. And when Leaf smiled at him just now … Damn …
“Guys! I don’t mean to interrupt, but I have to say this now.”
Tristan took one last deep breath, then sat up straight. In front of them stood the singer and the bassist of the opening band.
“You guys are awesome! No matter what the press has written about you. Your music is just… Fuck!”
“Acid!” the bassist said. “Pure acid. It was a great honor for us to warm up for you tonight.”
“Thanks, man,” Andrej replied, always staying cool in such situations. It was easy for him to engage in small talk with the two.
Tristan was starting to get restless. Unfortunately, his beer was empty, so he went to the drink table and opened a new one.
When he turned around, the others had also stood up.
Now the nerves really kicked in. It felt like his head suddenly went blank—no chance of holding onto a single thought.
Lyrics, melodies: all gone. Forgotten. There was only this ringing.
It got louder, deeper, and turned into a tremendous roar.
With all his might, Tristan tried to focus on his breathing, but there was only static—engulfing all his courage, leaving behind sheer panic.
I have to get out of here.
With the beer in his hand, he marched past Carol and Nathan, leaving the dressing room. In the hallway, he paced back and forth, taking a sip as he cleared his throat.
Where did the lyrics go?
Where did the songs go?
It was the same every time. Yet, experience didn’t reassure him. Knowing that it had always turned out well in the past didn’t calm him either. Besides, the last concert had been a disaster.
Tristan glimpsed up at the ceiling. Directly opposite was the exit to the backyard.
Before he could even entertain the thought, the door to the dressing room opened, and José, Andrej, and Leaf came out.
Behind them were Carol and Nathan. It was Leaf’s confident smile that dispelled all of Tristan’s fear.
If Leaf was ready to go on stage, so was he.
The roar of the audience made the Whisky tremble, electrifying the air. The tension palpable with every breath.
With arms around each other, the four of them stood in a circle in the dim hallway, shutting out the world. Just them. No one else. They exchanged glances, smiled, and couldn’t believe they were standing here.
“I’m glad to have you all,” Tristan said.
“Me too,” José replied. “We’ve made it this far, then we can make it around the world again.”
“We’re gonna rock this place and show people who we are!” Andrej exclaimed, pumping his fist in the air.
“Exactly!” José replied.
Leaf nodded, looking more serious than ever.
“Let’s rock!” Tristan shouted, and the others joined in.
As they dismantled, Leaf grabbed Tristan’s jaw and pulled his head toward him. He usually did that, but this time he kissed him on the mouth instead of the cheek.
For a moment, time stood still, and Tristan basked in Leaf’s warmth. A cold shiver ran through him as Leaf moved away, flashing a wide grin.
This guy …
José headed out first. Andrej followed right behind. Leaf was already on his way. Tristan adjusted the transmitter on his belt, put the in-ears on, and followed the guys through the dim hallway to the stage entrance.
The audience was already roaring with excitement as José sat behind the drums, took off his shoes, and cheered for Andrej. They applauded even louder as Leaf stepped onto the stage. Tristan waited, allowing the music to take the lead and fill the space it was meant to occupy.
José counted in, and they started playing. The song flooded the Whisky, eliciting shouts of joy from the crowd, and Tristan felt a weight lift off his heart. Already, the sound was better than at the release concert. Everything felt right. Or at least better than before.
With a pounding heart, he stepped onto the stage, into the bright spotlight, and stood in front of the microphone.