𝑫𝒖𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒏 𝒊𝒏 𝑬𝒄𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒚 ☘︎ Robert Keating

013

She couldn't wait to give it to them.

..

The days that followed were properly insane, or so June felt. Each morning June woke up to new notifications: follows, reposts, tagged stories. Her Spotify for Artists app became a constant in her hand, and she'd refresh it like a nervous tic. One hundred, then two. Five hundred. A thousand streams. It kept climbing.

Her follower count doubled, then tripled. And it wasn't just friends anymore. The usernames weren't familiar, people she'd never met were resharing lyrics, quoting "Can you see me I'm waiting for the right time." like it had come from their own diary.

She saw a tweet from a DJ who sometimes spun for a local Dublin club:

"Just heard 'Bags' and now I'm lying face-down on the kitchen floor. Thanks @junemccartney."

More than one person with a blue check shared the track, other musicians who were friends with Inhaler, a group who once opened for their gig in Belfast, even an indie actor she vaguely recognized from a TV show she'd half-watched in early quarantine. Most of them were Irish, but a lot from much further away than just Dublin. She never expected it to reach that far.

By mid-week, Bags was added to a few curated playlists, Fresh Finds Ireland, New Wave Sad Girls, even BBC Introducing: Irish Alt. The cover art, the one she'd agonized over for hours with Noora and Niamh, kept popping up on her timeline like it belonged there.

It still didn't feel entirely real.

The highlight came on Thursday when she got a DM from the Trinity University student radio account.

@trinitysoundwaves
Hey June! Massive congrats on the release, we're all obsessed. Any chance you'd be up for a quick interview for next week's feature? Nothing fancy, just a short chat on Zoom. We'd love to spotlight you.

June blinked at the message, reread it, then smiled. She typed back quickly.

@junemccartney
Yes omg!! I'd love to!! Just tell me when :)

The radio spot wouldn't be massive, she even knew the person behind it from when she still went there, but it was still real. Her name on a mic, her voice talking about her music, not just in a tweet or a story, but in her own words.

When she told Rob about it later over the phone, he made an exaggerated gasp.
"An interview already? Look at you, McCartney. Next stop Jimmy Fallon."

She snorted. "Shut up."

But his voice softened. "Seriously, I'm proud of you."

She didn't know how to say it, but that meant more than any curated playlist ever could.

That night, she lay in bed with her laptop open, the Bags cover paused mid-stream, as if the song had caught her in the middle of a moment she'd been too afraid to chase until now.

She was still terrified. But she was also certain now.
And maybe, for the first time in her life, those two things could coexist.

..

⋆. 𐙚 ̊  august 2020

The summer sun was lazy but warm, stretching across St. Anne's Park like a well-worn blanket. It was the first time in months they'd all seen each other in person, masks in pockets, hand sanitizer bottles tossed among the bags, and a shared blanket spread wide over the grass.

Lockdown had loosened, slightly. Enough to let people out in clusters as long as they stayed apart. Around them, families picnicked, teenagers kicked a football across the grass, and couples lounged with coffee cups in hand. The city wasn't normal again, but it was breathing.