Prologue B: Kiss

Large neon lights had started flashing into the night sky. Sharp, synthetic shrills blared urgency across the barren fields on the outskirts of Vallago. More than a hundred heads turned towards the epicentre of this rippling chaos. Warning lights. With the coordination of an ant colony, the crowd marched to unite within the visible range of the main stage, their voices ready to start chanting. Ma-ri-ah, Ma-ri-ah!

Catherine scoffed. “So, she gets all the credit?” she asked the distressed woman behind her. “There are others in the band! Why not Di-sid-dents, Di-sid-dents? Maybe not as catchy, but less annoying for all the—”

“I’m going!” shouted her listener after agonising moments shaking her head and pacing on her spot. She stepped out of the queue with an urgent smile on her face and starting sprinting away.

“Nonono, wait!” Catherine sputtered, growing more desperate as she lost her. “I’m sorry I’m sorry, I’ll stop, just…” She had to start yelling. “Please don’t leave me here alone with them.” She tried (and failed) to whisper the last word. “It’s just a few more minutes! We’ll not get another chance the whole night!”

“Not for this either,” she commented—loudly. The woman was already halfway towards the back of the crowd. Catherine was left standing alone and helpless. Not alone—within a queue of youth. The youth youth. She was youth too, wasn’t she? Thirty-one shouldn’t be elderly, yet the twenty-somethings in that area clearly disagreed. She caught their momentary glances at her—judging her annoyed expression, her sensibly tied hair, her clothes… Oh, how they judged her clothes.

The wicked lady with the foresight to bring a thick, cosy coat. Someone who knew that alcohol didn’t warm the body up. Did the opposite, in fact. Everyone else danced around the fields of almost rural Vallago in multi-coloured tank tops and pants cut so short, they were almost indistinguishable from underwear. There was a sick joy knowing how they’d regret it in only a few hours.

Besides, these glances at her attire were entirely Suzie’s fault. Catherine’s twenties were spent with her best—her only friend—making all these decisions for her. What to wear, what to do, what to say… It wasn’t that Catherine was overly formal. Rather, she simply didn’t know how to deal with a new experience. For an interview with her dream university, she ended up wearing a collarless shirt and a clip-on tie. Suzie pulled her back inside before she could exhibit her choices to the world. It was her duty to safeguard her friend’s dignity.

Yet, for that night, she couldn’t have been bothered. Wear what you want, as if she was capable of making this decision.

Catherine scoffed again—as she did every minute of every hour. If Suzie was hoping for some confession—Please save me the embarrassment, I’ve only my work clothes for a concert—she could forget it! Youth was all about rebellion, wasn’t it? In a way, she was doing very much that!

Suzie, though… She knew how to conform to this energy. Spent all of the previous night slicing up her denim pants with a box cutter. Horizontal exposure near the middle. Why? What good did that do? Wasted a perfect pair of pants as far as Catherine saw. Even while she sprinted away, she caught Suzie reaching down and pushing her knees back inside.

Catherine wondered—Would anyone within that field guess that the two were the same age? They’d be wrong. Suzie was older. Two whole years older. She was supposed to act as the older sister, but she just couldn’t.

Picking fights at pubs with people twice her size—that was who Susan Martin was. At least, when she was with Catherine. The comfortable dynamic revolved around her uncompromising instinct to keep Suzie safe. Her role in Suzie’s choreographed dramas was to pull the rabid woman away, pretending to protect them from her. She often urged Suzie to, at the very least, learn how to throw a punch, just in case, but she always refused. She never wanted to hurt anyone. It was all for the rush.

Was that why she started becoming distant? Did she not want Catherine to be so… Catherine anymore? A bit more enjoyable—someone who didn’t stand at her spot cross-armed when invited to dance. Maybe then, she wouldn’t have to pick fights to get some attention. What she needed was, for once, to put Suzie first. Not as someone who needed saving, but as a person who needed levity and enjoyment—an escape from her demoralising work. She wondered—How to prove to Suzie that she didn’t have to compromise on her zeal when she was with her?

“Hey!” Catherine took two steps out of the queue and walked up to the barman himself. “I need two beers—now. One with no ice.” She slid her hand carefully across the table and let go of a twenty.

“Sure thing.” The barman, with a comfortable smile on his face, pocketed the amount and started filling the cups. Despite her sleight of hand, the queue of teens noticed the act and started booing them both.

“Oh, shut up! It’s called the privilege of having a job!” Catherine snapped back, yelling so even people at the back could hear. She was grateful for the ugliness of her scowl—how it made her tone clearer. “A job—ask your parents what that is!”

As she jogged away with a Styrofoam glass in each hand, trying to dodge the crushed balls of paper launched at her face, she flashed her grin to the crowd. Their disapproval meant nothing to her. No, she actually liked it. Hate me more! I'd still have my beer and you’d still have nothing! A great story to share with Suzie after the concert.

Where was Suzie? The music had already started, and earlier, she said she wanted to go up to the front, so… Catherine grunted at the mere sight of the impenetrable crowd in front of the stage. Not one of them seemed circumspect enough to hear her gentle excuse-mes. She decided to navigate a path not through the shallow spaces, but through the easiest-to-move people dancing around.

Two teenage boys at the back of the crowd cheered in a manner to flex their muscles—the bodybuilders. They were copying that strange gesture made by the short drummer to make his chest expand. Bryan Beats. She was eighty per cent sure that wasn’t his real name. The youngest of the band, and a favourite of the boys. Lean, well-built and a complete show-off. Wasn’t even wearing a shirt on that stage. Every few seconds, he did a strange flip with his drumsticks, pointing it at the ladies that caught his eye the most and winking.

“Move!” she commanded the sweaty men blocking her way. Once someone spoke to them with such parental authority, they loosened their shoulders (which, in turn, showed their physique for what it truly was) and timidly stepped aside.

A little further in were the teenage girls. The cheerleaders. Far more intimidating than anyone else there. The bodybuilders might win a fight, but this clique could break you down, then and there. About as easy as taking a breath for them.

They were all about the lead guitarist, Marlowe Stiller. Bright eyes, long dark hair tied in a bun and incredibly handsome. Catherine could’ve sworn he didn’t know how to play his instrument. Over the lead singer’s guitar, his strumming was barely audible. No, he was only there as eye candy—a collection of physical traits.

“Please make way,” Catherine asked one of the girls who stood shoulder-to-shoulder with a boy. She cleared the way by climbing on the shoulders of her boyfriend—no, her hopeful boy friend. Maybe tonight’s the night, Catherine mouthed as she passed them by. I’ll be her servant, then she’s bound to start respecting me!

For the final stretch, the crowd got thicker and more stubborn. Catherine had to pop her elbows out to keep the cups—which were only half full—stable. Everyone in all four directions was pushing. No, everyone was just enjoying themselves. It was her that created the disorienting ruckus, forcing her way in despite being late. It was worth it, though, to reunite with Suzie—to regain her friend’s admiration.

The first song came to an end when Catherine finally saw her. Suzie was right beside the stage, waving at the lead singer, the same as everyone else.

Maria Vegh… Guitarist, lead singer, rebel and the most treasured celebrity in Vallag—no, the whole country. It wasn’t just that they loved her, but that they were in love with her. Her mere gait riled up the crowd when she made her entrance—the last band member to do so. Every action had something to say. The rhythmic tapping of her heeled sandals against the wooden floor—My steps, like everything I do, are loud and certain. The posture—You don’t need to tell me I look amazing. I know. The loose grip on her electric guitar—Not a tense muscle on me. I don't need to look at it. I know how to play, and hell would freeze over before I play a wrong note.

Instead of starting her next song, Maria planted herself at the front and centre of the stage, observing the faces of her audience one by one. Catherine tracked her gaze to spot a strange pattern. She was staring above their heads, almost at—

No! She had to stop this insistent overthinking. That’s what they did on Cathy Nights. This was a Suzie Night, so no deep analysis, no news, no mean comments about everyone on TV who didn’t look and act perfectly. She walked up to Suzie and tapped her back with her elbow, yet she didn’t turn back around.

“Suzie. Suzie!” No response still.

Looking up, she saw a different gesture made by her best friend than by the others—open palms towards the lead. Catherine remembered back to that evening. When Suzie was locking up the door, she saw a strange symbol on her palms. Half a heart on each one. Suzie drew strange, overly-romantic symbols everywhere all the time. Hearts had been drawn on Catherine’s cheeks every morning after she slept over at Suzie’s, so there wasn’t much to read into that.

Maria’s head kept tilting right until she matched her gaze with Suzie’s. Once she did, Suzie stopped jumping. Catherine couldn't see her face, but she felt it. Maria removed the strap of her guitar. The audience grew quiet by the second. Is she stopping? The girl on the keyboard—Christie Morgan if Catherine remembered correctly—she grabbed the guitar with an impatient and excited strut. Maria stepped up to the edge of the stage, all the way towards Cath—No, towards Suzie?

Catherine remembered the most imprinting face that night—an unseemly smirk on Maria’s face as she stared down at Suzie. The memory was a little fuzzy, but she could swear that the fearless musician learned what dread was, that night. The way she squeezed her eyes, Catherine swore that was faithlessness. Not in Suzie, but in herself. What if she doesn’t want to take my hand?

Suzie, however, did. She grabbed Maria’s hand with both of hers and stepped up to the stage. The crowd—people who didn’t even know this new woman’s name—started cheering. Good for her, they must’ve thought. Maria needs a volunteer for this next one.

The cheering dropped once more as the two stood on the stage, not a lyric or a hum from the entire band. Everyone on stage reacted in vastly diverse manners. The guitarist tried to avoid looking at them, only pointing infrequent glares towards Maria. The drummer gazed at them with lustful eyes. The keyboardists—a much more innocent smile, an anticipative one.

Catherine’s eyes focused closely on Suzie’s face. For once, she couldn’t tell what her friend was thinking. What range of thoughts and emotions was spiralling in that mind of hers? Even Maria seemed confused, yet she didn’t say a word. Why pull up a stranger and then instruct her nothing? Were they communicating simply through those awkward glances towards each other?

Before anything could happen, Catherine’s eyes lowered to the ground. The dry sand where Suzie stood became a screen for her thoughts. There were some strange events at work here. Above all—this performance.

Only three months ago, one of her colleagues was interviewed to exhaustion. On that weekend, he got the privilege to see The Dissidents—to see Maria Vegh live while chaperoning his teen daughter and their friends. Catherine saw his right to privacy get wavered as colleague after colleague pressured him into exposing every detail about the lead.

That weekend was especially memorable for another reason—For the first time in years, Suzie and Catherine had not met.

Friday, she was relieved. A chance to rest in. Saturday, she was a little concerned. Is she okay? Suzie would’ve called by then—or showed up at her door. On Sunday, Catherine made the call. Suzie forgot to tell her that she was out with some friends from work.

She didn’t think much of it back then, but it was the start of the growing distance. Suzie had some excuse every other weekend and had far less time to spend with Catherine. Three months later, this band returned to this sparsely-populated town. Was it so financially viable? Did the band get so attached to the town of cynics? Could it be... that Suzie was always supposed to be pulled up on that stage?

Catherine’s eyes went back up. Suzie had started leaning her face towards Maria’s. The brave singer remained bashful at that moment. That moment when time had stopped—that moment before their lips touched. Suzie wasn’t shy at all. Her expression was more commanding—I’m done waiting for this to happen. The conclusion to a tale she shared with no one but the woman she was staring at.

Catherine, with a less approving expression than that of the audience, held on to their bent-out cups of beer. Her breath was measured, trying to endure the stench of sweat mixed with alcohol and perfumes. Her arms were tired and her ears were sore. Her ice had almost melted and watered down her beer. There was nothing more for Vallago to throw at her to make her life more miserable.

At the same moment, Suzie, sober as can be, went up on the stage and kissed Maria Vegh—lead singer of The Dissidents.