5
Sasha
People look different when they’re not looking at me.
At the terminal, I watch them in profile. I haven’t shown my real face in public since I was thirteen. With the helmet on, all eyes are on me. Arenas full of faces turned upward with just Augustus and me looking back at them. Together, we’re Admirer, and Admirer is always the center of attention. Always the headliner.
Focused on their phones and departure times, the faces in the airport look different.
They aren’t adoring.
They aren’t frantic.
They aren’t singing along.
I always tell the crowd they look beautiful tonight, and it’s true. I point to different parts of the venue and say.
“You, and you, and you.”
Pretty soon everyone thinks I pointed at them. And they act like they’re beautiful because I told them they are, because I looked at them. That’s the lie. It’s the music that makes them beautiful, not me. Sometimes I believed it was me. I should have taken that as a sign I needed to leave.
The people in this airport — tired, rushed, each intent on a point in the future — their beauty is tucked away. I take out my empty phone, put my earbuds in and find a Monochrome Stoplight album. Hit play. There’s a wash of heavy synths, thick and reverberant. The high, clear voice of Liv James comes cutting through. Soon, the guitars will rampage in.
And just like that, all around me, I start to be able to see people’s stories. The music draws them out. Lovely, fragmented, shattering. This is my lens on the world. The sound pairs with the faces to become the heartbeat of the whole damn thing, and I can’t explain what it’s like except to say I’m in love with it all.