i recommend reading in niGHt mODe for this chap cus it just puts u in a MoodTM 

t w e n t y - f o u r ; call it magic, when i’m with you

6 months ago, 11th grade

September

I’d never take myself as someone who would lie to my parents about my whereabouts. But when your favorite band finally plays in your city on a school night, you don’t take any chances to not go. Period. When Coldplay announced their tour list six months ago, Kai and I stood in line for three tedious hours at the venue to score our own tickets. We couldn’t borrow my parents’ or Kai’s sisters credit card to pay online because it would put us at risk if they discovered that we were lying about sleeping over at the other’s house.

Why would we lie? For obvious reasons, one, the venue is an hour and a half away. And two, concerts usually ends at ten o’clock. Three, considering trying to leave the parking lot and driving home, we would get home somewhere past midnight. No responsible parents would let their children attend a concert that late when they have school the next morning. In addition, my parents have jobs to go to the next day, so having an option of an adult to drive us to the concert is crossed off the list. Let alone trust one of them to drive on the highway in pitch darkness.

This concert was a safe secret kept between us two.

Months of sharpening up his driving skills, saving up for the concert that leaves us high and dry (concert tickets cost an arm and a leg for how much they charge), making sure that we don’t get caught by our families, we’re finally here.

No one tells you about the thrill you get, anticipation rushing through your veins each day you’re counting down until the concert. The outfits you meticulously try on before picking the perfect one for the special day. The pulsing energy of the crowd as soon as the light dims. The unison we all share in this room, expressed in the cheers and echoes of the lyrics etched in our hearts that come effortlessly. When the lead singer, Chris Martin, performs, I’m so lost in the moment that it feels he’s serenading the heartfelt words to me and me alone, even in a room rich with people who share the same passion for his music. Simultaneously alone and together, concerts bring so much magic in a contained space.

Three familiar notes make an appearance. My heart recognizes this melody before it even fully begins. Drifting into a slow tempo, Chris’s voice starts with so much depth and emotions, in such vibrancy that transcends me in to another reality. In online videos, it’s hard to perfectly experience what it’s like being in the audience. When everyone sings along, I get chills running straight to my core. Videos mask the lively volume, doesn’t portray the connection and untold stories of the fan’s voices, singing from the top of their lungs in harmony that nearly vibrates the entire venue.

Before the chorus of “Fix You” hits, the electronic guitar is being brought into the mix with the rhythm of the drums. It fills the large room like a soft blanket enveloping me in comfort. On the screen before us, the singer’s lips caresses the microphone. His eyes are shut, lost in the bass of the tune as he sings the next lines like they’re being conveyed from his soul.

Tears stream, down your face,

When you lose something you cannot replace.

Warmth encloses my left hand. I look down to see Kai’s hand holding mine. Even in the absence of lights, I can still decipher the glossiness that coats his eyes. He’s not looking in my direction, concentration immersed on the stage and the music. His face is open. Vulnerable and pained.

I’m suddenly reminded of the scars. The wounds. The broken boy I met, breaking down in tears after I chased him down, demanding what was the problem in his shift of mood on one particular afternoon. The smudgy clouds that sometimes come into existence for a few days. The sleepovers. The nights we paused sleep until 4AM just to talk about everything, because sentences always fall naturally out of our lips. The serene silence when we listened to this song together for the first time. The same wetness in the corners of his eyes when the words struck home. The same day I learned how music can save someone in the darkness of days.

I tighten the grip in our joined hands. My head lays gently on his shoulder.

Lights will guide you home, and ignite your bones.

And I will try . . . to fix you.
 

•    •   •   •   •   •   •

The thing about lying to your parents for the first time is there’s a high possibility that you can make rookie mistakes. These rookie mistakes cost you. They cost even more than our concert tickets. During the short break before the final song, Kai decides to check his phone and the horror that flashes by his face is enough to tell me we’ve been caught.

His sister has texted him at least 20 times, demanding a call back from him. He fumbles to reply an explanation that we’re safe and sound...at a concert miles and miles away from where we claimed to be.

My phone, on the other hand, nearly gave me a heart attack when I saw the long list of missed calls from Mom and Dad.

We are in deep .

Doomed.

This is the last of us.

“How did they find out?” Kai question, bewildered and incredulous. We really believed our plan was foolproof.

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