Press Play
By Gia, age 18, Florida
Sweet Designs Featured Writer
Four friends, waking up in four separate beds, daydreaming. It's only 9:30 am but we've been waiting for 7:30 pm for months. Silence. Feet on tile and hardwood floors. We fought to get to this evening. Tears and yelling matches. The tickets were printed, waiting to be used. "I want Kevin to go."
It's 3:30 pm now. We pretend to be busy. Switching out shirts. Red tights, oversized blue shirt, flats. "I'm so excited!" "Me too!" "Tonight is going to be so awesome." The perfect purse. A wallet full of daddy's money. A camera. A cleared memory card and batteries. "Magic, Gabi!"
"It's a long drive to the BankAtlantic Center." A red convertible in the driveway. Three different spirits. Katherine - the youngest. Outspoken. Gabriella - in love. Walls up. Anne Marie - shy. A writer. Three identical smiles. Giggles. Bass drum pounding through the car's worn interior. "Alright, shut up. I'm walking out now." Four friends giddy with excitement.
Pictures in the backseat. 6:25 pm. Long stretch of highway. No traffic. Four friends, singing at the top of their lungs. Out of tune, with scattered laughter. "This is how it should be." Almost there.
Jet-black Miami night. Top down. Wind in our hair. 7:00 pm. "Hurry up! This stupid traffic."
Toll booths. Attractive young men next to us. Weaving in and out of piled up cars. 10 dollar parking. Slamming doors. "Let's go!"
Expensive shirts, key chains, and drinks. Sleepercar. Too loud. Sold out arena. "Do you want me to take your picture?" A familiar guitar riff. One voice. A thousand screams. Technicolor lights. Seeing is believing.
Lead singer. Running around the stage. Wild dancing in front. Hugs. Four friends, hearing their favorite band together. 8:00 pm. "I'll start before I can stop, before I see things the right way up." Never want this night to end.
Tears of joy. Tears of sadness. "This is for you, wherever you are tonight." Three friends, comforting another. Mile-a-minute flashes. Everyone singing along. Holding hands. Blowing kisses to the stage.
Four musicians, five rows away. Four friends, practically crying. "This night couldn't get any better." Jumping up and down. Stepping on seats for better views. Clusters of fans with cameras and phones. Chris, Jonny, Guy, Will. Singing about a Scientist, Politik, Lovers in Japan and Death and All His Friends.
Katherine, Gabriella and Anne Marie. Sway back and forth. "Good night!" Chants for one more. A yellow light from the stage and the globes above. "He's singing 'Yellow'". Feet hurt. Hoarse voice. A thousand more screams. Curtain goes down, lights go up, people file out. "Let's just wait." Paper butterflies in our pockets.
Four friends singing the last line of "Viva La Vida" with strangers. Skipping down the sidewalk. A cold night. Unaware. Best night ever. Red convertible doors slam, top down, seat belts on. "I love you guys." Excitement runs through our veins, radiating smiles jump from our mouths; four friends drive down I-95 at what to us is the "speed of sound."
