JELLIE: A Band Story

02. Welcome To My World

When Elise entered the venue she was nervous, all right.

It shouldn't be a big deal: just a bar in the boring part of town that usually went ignored, with a small stage that really wasn't more than an elevated platform with a dusty spotlight. The problem was just that Elise never visited bars unless someone dragged her along kicking and screaming, and the moment she stepped through the door she couldn't help feeling like she was totally out of place.

There were already quite a few people here, all college-aged like she was, but otherwise they couldn't be more different from her. At a glance she spotted a myriad of tattoos and piercings and dyed hair in adventurous haircuts, worn-out boots or sneakers, black T-shirts with band logos on them. Eyes adorned with heavy makeup followed her as she walked into the venue, the clacking of her heels uncomfortably loud on the creaking wooden floor. Elise avoided their gazes, even as every part of her was shouting at her to turn back and go home. It had barely been a minute, and she was already feeling like an intruder. To these strangers she had to look like one of the very people they stood against, someone old-fashioned and rule-abiding who would judge them for expressing themselves.

Huddling into one of the corners, she kept staring at her phone, waiting for the band to take the stage. But every minute or two she glanced up, her eyes scanning the venue for a flash of pink hair. Part of her, it seemed, was still hoping to catch that girl's attention, no matter how silly it felt.

The minutes ticked by. Nothing happened. On the stage the equipment was set up, but there was no trace of the pink-haired girl or the rest of her band.

Then, without warning, a single chord shook the building.

All lights in the bar went out, except for the single yellow spotlight pointing directly at the stage. And there they were, the boys from the pedestrian zone, and in front of them all, the pink-haired singer.

"Good evening, guys!" she shouted into the microphone like she was facing a crowd of thousands, not a few dozen college students in a half-forgotten bar. "Who's here to make some noise?"

And the crowd cheered. They weren't many, but they were loud, enthusiastic, just as excited about this performance as the girl was. These weren't just friends and acquaintances dragged along to the performance of someone they knew, Elise realized. These people were here for the band.

"I can't hear you!" the girl yelled into the mic, grinning as she spoke, fully aware of the absurdity of her statement. "C'mon, I want the whole city to hear us! What do you say?"

The crowd cheered again, even louder this time. Elise didn't quite have the courage to join them yet. Over the years she had become accustomed to getting excited over things quietly, so accustomed that she now had a hard time doing anything else.

As the shouts faded, the band launched into the first song—a cover song, Elise recognized, a loud, powerful number to get the crowd going. The small bar trembled under the sound. Several dozens of voices rose up to join into the lyrics, the choruses, hands clapping and feet stomping along with the rhythm until the walls and the ground were shaking.

But all of that still had nothing on the singer's voice.

Her voice was fierce. It was vibrant. The old microphone's terrible sound quality couldn't restrain her; the narrow walls of the cramped space couldn't contain her, and her voice broke out through the doors and the windows, out into the street, into the world, fearless and furious and demanding to be heard.

Elise stepped out of her corner. Ignoring the strange looks, the sideways glances, she sang and danced and clapped along, her awestruck eyes glued to the flash of pink on stage, this small, slender, stubborn figure whose voice and boundless energy had singlehandedly transformed the dusty old bar into a huge, flashing concert arena.