Chapter 1 #2
I try to take a deep breath in but the air fails to reach the deeper part of my lungs where I really want it.
Trying to shift my eyesight away from the groups of people heading towards the stage, I focus on the feeling of Hennie’s hand wrapped tightly in mine.
The truth of this moment hits me again like a blow to the gut.
Today is the day I’m seeing Queen Ego. My favourite band since I was twelve, and my safety net for the last decade.
It’s been a long time since I attempted to see them live in person, and today I’m not going to be watching them via livestream like I always do. I’ll be there. I’m going to be a part of it.
Their iconic silver crown logo is on display at the back of the stage with a few tiaras and crowns already in the crowd, as a lot of Queen Ego fans like to wear at their shows.
Some comedic red velvet crowns, others elaborate and beautifully hand-made.
I’m not really one for accessories, so I decided against it.
Hennie can represent us both with her tiara.
I enthusiastically shared my love for Queen Ego with Hennie when I first discovered them ten years ago, and Hennie welcomed the band into our friendship immediately.
It’s one of the things about her that I treasure the most: caring so deeply about the things that I love without question and with unbridled generosity.
I see her eyes carefully scan the crowd and dart back to me.
Her worry is coming off her in waves and I can’t help but feel guilty for it.
She’s worked tirelessly to understand my panic and to learn exactly what I need in every situation, every stage of an attack.
There are no words for how grateful I am for her.
Not only is Hennie my best friend, but often a presence that feels like it’s keeping me tethered to the earth.
Every so often, I feel so lucky to have found her that I feel like all of my luck has been used up, and I will never meet anyone so wonderful or who will love me this much ever again. I squeeze her hand again tightly.
More voices erupt from close behind us and my mind is instantly scrambling, trying not to think about the dozens of people moving around in packs to gather in front of the stage, and how many more there will be when the band starts to play.
I shake the thought out of my head, attempting to erase the mental image of myself in a vast crowd.
After stepping around countless couples and larger groups, we’re standing even closer to the front than we had ever imagined.
The barrier is almost within reach, with only two rows of people in front of us.
Which means the huge unoccupied space right in front of the stage is just within sight.
I release a long breath of relief, ignoring the hot tingling on the back of my neck.
‘Alright, this is good. So I’m pretty sure we’re close enough to the front that we can ask to hop over the barrier and security will just escort us to an exit if we need to get out,’ Hennie says quietly. ‘Feeling okay?’
I force out a shaky breath. ‘This is as good as we could have hoped for.’
‘Exactly,’ she says with a nod. ‘I do reckon you need a tiara though, as the biggest Queen Ego fan of all time.’
She pulls her tiara out of her hair roughly to place it on mine, and I shoot her a grateful smile. Standing at over six foot, I tower over my beloved friend who has historically been compared to a thimble. She admires me with a grin before giving my head a light pat.
‘Feel better?’
‘Not really,’ I admit. ‘But I do feel cooler.’
‘Good. You pull it off,’ she tells me. ‘It’s actually making me want to get to my knees and worship you.’
‘I’ll allow it.’
She barks a laugh and takes my hand in hers again, always steadying me.
It stays within her unshakeable grasp as the crowd continues to build up around us.
Another intricate hand-made tiara appears close beside me.
I slam my eyes shut, attempting to erase the reality of where we are in my mind before opening them again.
To my horror, almost every spot around us is filling up with bodies.
Daphne’s voice rings loud and clear in my mind, demanding me to focus on my senses.
The sensations of Hennie’s hand tucked into mine, the sweat dripping down the back of my neck, the scalding sun hitting my scalp.
The smell in the air: smoky, dusty, sweaty. I breathe it all in without complaint, focussing on the way it spills into my chest.
The taste in my mouth: sugar from my various emergency snacks. The unmistakable taste of all-encompassing fear, which I politely ignore.
After what feels like hours of torturous waiting, practically feeling the build-up of the crowd behind us in my bones, we have five minutes until they start.
Goosebumps crawl across my skin.
My mind skips to my younger self, wondering if she’d be proud of me for making it here as a twenty-two-year-old. Into the middle of a Queen Ego crowd again.
My first attempt to see them live when I was fourteen went just about as badly as it could have.
From missing the support act because of my uncontrollable hyperventilating, to leaving the venue before Queen Ego even stepped on stage.
All because I believed something terrible and irreversible was happening to my body.
It turns out, of course, that it was a panic attack.
And the panic attacks continued.
One thing about being bullied badly from a young age is that you’re essentially forced to grow up in a world that feels inherently unsafe.
The very act of existing felt dangerous for so many years that hyper-vigilance became intimately acquainted with my central nervous system, and panic became a part of my life.
I punished myself for years afterwards that I’d missed my chance to see my favourite band in person.
To hear live the music that held me up. And due to the band being Canadian and rarely touring for their modest (but very passionate) fanbase, I didn’t think I would get the opportunity to see them live ever again.
I certainly never pictured myself at Firecrest Festival, but when I saw Queen Ego listed on the line-up I stood up so suddenly my chair hit the floor. It didn’t take me long to make a decision: I had to be there.
Of course, it struck me shortly after that not only would I have to navigate large crowds at one of the busiest events that currently exists, but I would also have to stand directly within one in order to watch the band I loved so fiercely.
And I didn’t want to just stand at the back and observe.
I wanted to be part of it. And didn’t I deserve to be?
I decided that I owed it to myself to at least try.
I had been seeing my therapist, Daphne, for around a year at that point about my panic attacks, and we immediately laid out a plan of action so I could feel slightly more comfortable inside my own personal hell.
And so the work began. Months of tears and stress and panic and easing myself into new spaces, step by step.
The more I struggled, the more I learned about how to cope with my own body. And I learned this: I don’t want panic attacks to control my life anymore.
If I can make it through this… maybe I can prove that they don’t.
I can prove that I’m the one in control of my own life; maybe it would even serve as proof that I can manage my body and my mind for long enough to do something meaningful.
Memorable. Something that really matters to me.
Nights in with my family, playing video games with my little brother, Jamie, and lying on Brighton beach with Hennie make my life what it is – peaceful, joyful, easy.
It’s not lost on me how lucky I am to have that.
But today? Maybe it’s greedy of me, but I want to experience something extraordinary.
I need to experience this – to see their faces and sing along with the fanbase I’ve been a part of for so much of my life. And my younger self had yearned for this so desperately. I owe it to her.
My phone buzzes, delivering a string of messages from my mum all at once.
How are you feeling sweetheart? You’ll be okay! Xxxx
Hope you’re doing alright? Please message me xxx
Please give me a ring when you can. We love you lots Xxx
Are you getting these messages?
And then another:
Don’t worry darling, you can ignore these. We just spoke to Hennie. Enjoy it! We love you so much, ring if you need us xxxx
I press my lips together, feeling guilty for worrying her and that Hennie needed to step in.
‘Thank you for speaking to my mum,’ I say. ‘Sorry, my phone is useless here.’
She waves a hand easily. ‘Oh, it’s nothing. Just Suze being Suze. I calmed her down,’ she says with a smirk.
‘Calming down the Hartleys is becoming a bit of a full-time role,’ I note.
‘Best job I’ve ever had, mate,’ she says with a shrug. ‘Even with the shit pay.’
I loudly plant a kiss on top of her head.
As anticipation swells in the crowd, more and more crowns and tiaras appear around us.
My eyes catch on a t-shirt with a much older logo on it next to me, and I’m so impressed (and envious) that I don’t notice I’m gawping at it until the owner turns and fixes me with a look so steely I fear my body has temporarily turned to stone.
Icy blue eyes lock onto my green for a moment, hastily broken when a fan in front of us screams at the top of his lungs, ‘Ego!’ My heart jumps into my throat at the suddenness of it, my hands leaping to my chest.
Other crowd members follow suit, punching the air as the crowd rises into a crescendo of excited cheers. The man next to me forgotten, I let the echo of screams wash over my back, my heart thundering against my ribs.
Hennie nudges her shoulder against mine. ‘No matter what happens, we’ll be okay,’ she whispers to me, like it’s a secret.
A large part of me is tempted to tell her that she’s wrong and I actually might die when she blesses me with her wide grin, and I feel so lucky to know her.
‘Thank you, Hen,’ I say softly.
‘Stop thanking me.’ She taps my arm reproachfully. ‘Silly billy.’
I’m laughing and then there’s movement on the stage, and even though my eyes cannot fathom it, the band walk onto the stage in front of us. As if they are real people.
The crowd explodes with cheers and screams, a crescendo of noise that grows and grows. My body goes completely still in response as I wait for the telltale heat in my neck and adrenaline in my chest.
I close my eyes briefly to take in the deepest breath I can, attempting to fill my lungs to capacity before the breath shudders back out.
I don’t want to miss this. Please don’t miss this.
My eyes fly open. Teddy is sitting at the back of the stage on the drums, wearing his typical white t-shirt and black flannel combo.
Martin and Aga are already holding their guitars and wave at the crowd with huge grins.
Rosie steps up to the mic wearing an ethereal white silk dress, her silver hair long and curled to perfection.
Before I can register what is happening, Rosie is gesturing to someone to the left of the stage and pointing to her earpiece, and then Teddy hits the drums twice – and twice again – and I feel my body melt with relief as a riff I know so well howls over the speakers, and they start to play.