Ransom(35)
With a mixture of relief and disappointment, I followed Levi out to our seats. Karen and Paige went on and on about how great the view was, how happy they were that we weren’t down in general admission with the masses that had apparently been let in during our time backstage. I didn’t realize I’d forgotten my purse until after we sat down. I felt bad, knowing Levi was busy, but he only smiled and ushered me back to the dressing room.
To Daltrey.
I just stared at him, shocked, until we were somehow back in the hallway. I couldn’t tell if he was mad or hurt or annoyed that I was looking at him like a fish gasping for air. All I could think was how beautiful he looked, how much I had missed him, and how I wanted him to wrap me in his arms and help me find my way back to a place where things made sense again.
Instead, we had said goodbye at the end of the hallway, with promises to meet up after the show, and Levi took me back to Karen and Paige.
“They’re pretty good!” Karen yells.
It takes me a second to realize that she’s talking about the opener. I force my eyes back to the stage. They do seem pretty good, but for all I care in that moment, they could be a polka band.
When they leave the stage, I’m surprised. How had so much time passed already? Because you’ve been mooning over Daltrey. I feel as if every nerve, every muscle is tensed for his arrival on stage. My desire to see him again is becoming a physical ache. This feels so familiar, sitting in a darkened theater, waiting for Ransom to take the stage. How many times have I done this? Dozens, probably.
There’s a break of about twenty minutes after the opener finishes. Karen and Paige occupy the time by using the restroom, checking on their makeup, and talking ad nauseam about how excited they are and what songs they hope to hear. I think they can both tell that I’m not really in a chatting mood, because they mostly leave me alone.
Finally, the break is over. The lights dim before cutting off completely, plunging us into complete darkness. The crowd roars. Anticipation and excitement are heavy in the air, along with that unnamed sensation of a mass of people being so totally in sync, of every brain and heart in the room waiting for and wanting the same thing in the same moment.
Someone starts a rhythmic clapping at the back of the theater. “Ran-som! Ran-som! Ran-som!” The chanting and clapping spreads until the noise is deafening.
The little hairs on the back of my neck stand. Even if I didn’t know the boys, even if my only connection to this band was as a fan, I’m pretty sure I would feel the same way—happy, excited, overwhelmed, anxious. A delicious shiver runs down my spine.
“This is it!” Paige yells.
She has the same wild look, the same uncontrollable grin on her face that I know I do. On her other side, Karen is leaning over the balcony rail, screaming along with the crowd. In this moment, I’m so grateful to be here with these two girls, so thankful that Paige went out of her way to pluck me from my loneliness and obscurity.
For the second time today, I reach over and squeeze her hand. “Here we go!”
The music starts before the lights come up, a sudden loud, thudding pound of Reed’s bass drum that sends goose bumps up and down my arms. The screaming reaches a fever pitch as Cash comes in on guitar with a steady strumming chord that hits me right in the chest. Then the lights suddenly blaze, illuminating the stage.
And there they are, the Ransome boys, my oldest friends in the world. Lennon’s head is bent over his bass, his long brown hair covering his face, but I’d recognize him anywhere. Cash stands front and center, grinning lazily out at the crowd, the ease of his face not matching the intensity with which he’s hitting his chords.
The piano bench is empty, and Daltrey is nowhere in sight. Lennon and Cash step up to their mikes and begin to croon in perfect harmony. Their melodic “Ooh-la-ooh-la” causes a lump to form in my throat. The opening of “Heartache” always got to me, from the first moment they played it for me in their garage.
Daltrey appears, walking across the stage as if he owns the place. The crowd goes insane. I thought they were loud before, but now I realize that I never really understood what loud could be because the noise level is out of control. Daltrey’s face is closed, seemingly unaffected, as he sits down in front of his piano. For one brief moment, the drums, guitars, and backing vocals cut out, the band silent. He places his fingers on the keys then looks up to scan the balcony. Just as his eyes meet mine, he starts to play.
“Lonely, lost, and broken, babe,
I’m looking only for your face, babe.
You are my heartache. This is my heartbreak.”
I know these words by heart, could sing them in my sleep, but never have they gotten into my heart the way they do right now, staring down at Daltrey, watching the entire theater adoring him, knowing he’s made his dreams come true. Am I imagining the pain in his voice? The intensity of his gaze in my direction? Everyone else fades away, just for that brief moment. It’s just the two of us, and he’s telling me something so true and vital.