"Stop pushing," Belinda shouted at Naomi, trying to push through the crowd of screaming girls gathered in front of the Arena where the concert was being held.
"If we don't go any further, we won't see anything," her sister replied.
"To do that, we'd have to walk over a lot of dead bodies, I think."
"Play dumb, foreigner, you'll get through!" Annalisa suggested, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes.
Belinda looked at the girls dressed in black, who were standing in front of the barriers just like them. Just thinking about the dirty looks she'd get if she followed Annalisa's advice, she decided to stay put.
Looking at Naomi, she smiled; all three had a very distinctive look and certainly didn't go unnoticed: they wore black shirts and pants of various designs and styles, and had dark, though not overly flashy, eye makeup. What set them apart was the colorful jackets they were wearing: electric blue for Belinda, orange for Naomi, and red for Annalisa. "At least if we get lost, we'll recognize each other in that human sea!" Belinda had said when she suggested buying them.
In that little picture, she seemed the smallest of the three, being at least six inches shorter and much slimmer than her sister and her friend.
The first shadows of evening were lengthening over the city, and soon the gates would be opened to allow the public to take their seats and watch the event.
The girls looked around curiously, scrutinizing the excited faces of the other fans, the slightly tired faces of those who had arrived earlier in the morning, and the patient faces of the parents accompanying the youngest ones.
A security guard warned them that neither plastic nor glass bottles, cameras, nor video cameras were allowed.
Then all hell broke loose: two burly guards opened the gates and checked the tickets, sparking a rush of girls toward the stage to grab the best seats.
Belinda found herself squeezed between a girl with a very high mohawk and a boy wearing makeup like Bill, whose chains dangled from his tattered black jeans, running like bulls in a Spanish bullfight. When she broke free, she barely had time to take a deep breath, as if before a dive, before she found herself crushed between two other guys who dragged her away at full speed. Naomi waved her arms wildly, gesturing for Belinda to join her, but it was impossible. She was so pulled by the crowd that, if the barriers hadn't stopped them, Belinda was sure she would have ended up under Klaus's drum kit, acting as a pedalboard.
The two guys lowered their heads and looked at her, almost surprised to find her among them. Belinda decided to take advantage of that moment to sneak away and join her sister, with whom she finally secured the seat she'd longed for.
"You were great! We couldn't have gotten this far even with cannon fire." Naomi hugged her tightly.
Belinda lowered her gaze, not daring to admit that it was the two giants who had caught her. She looked around and noticed that, from that spot, the view was truly beautiful.
They were positioned a little to the side of the stage, but they could see the band both live and on the giant screen positioned right next to them.
After the initial rush, and once they had taken their places in the stalls, the fans abandoned the frenzy that had moved them moments before. The dominant color throughout the entire arena was black, with red brushstrokes here and there and white posters painted like murals.
Belinda loved the opening moments of concerts, that slight excitement that starts in her feet, rises like a tingling sensation through her body, and, when the music starts, explodes into an unstoppable urge to scream, shout, and make her presence felt.
She began to abandon her distrust, feeling a current running down her spine that made her want to move, sing, and let go. Even though her mind tried to resist, being among people again, with music as her only means of communication, made her feel alive.
Sure, it wasn't her favorite band she was about to hear, but, as her sister had said, those who love music, love all music.
She thought back to the first day she'd seen Scream in a magazine. Naomi, as usual, had let out an absurd amount of shrieks and screams, praising Bill's voice, Tom's guitar solos, Kristian's statuesque beauty with his long, flowing hair, and Klaus's percussion.
Belinda had glanced briefly at their image, horrified by the singer's look: teased black hair sprayed upward, dark nails, thin, torn pants, and shiny chains hanging around his neck. He was definitely inspired by a manga character, given his eccentricity, and she had immediately mistaken him for a girl. His high, shrill voice had contributed to the confusion. The rest of the band was less flashy, but still easy to spot. Tom, the guitarist and Bill's twin, had a long hairstyle with black Afro-style braids and several piercings, especially on his lip and eyebrows; Kristian was the bassist with the long golden blonde hair he showed off during his solos, and finally there was Klaus, a sweet-faced, very blond boy with numerous tattoos, especially on his legs. What had struck the girl most was their height: all four were over six feet tall.
The band's fame had begun almost three years earlier in Germany, then spread to the rest of Europe, thanks largely to their audience, which consisted primarily of teenagers. From that moment on, every newspaper or magazine had covered their story as promising young musicians, even going into minute detail about how they dressed and ate, sending armies of hormonally disturbed girls into raptures. The worst articles were those that extolled their splendid amorous arts and their numerous conquests, despite their young age.
A sudden flash of lights tore Belinda from her memories, while thick, colorful smoke rose from the stage, intertwining with a few musical notes. A roar rose from the audience, cheering the band.
A voice from the control room announced: "Willkommen zu to Alien City!"
The twins appeared on stage, followed by Klaus and Kristian, who took up positions behind the instruments, amid the roars of the fans.
The air became electric, and as soon as Tom struck the first note on his guitar, time and space were no longer the same: the atmosphere became almost mystical, as audience and artists merged into one.
Bill held the stage in a black suit with high combat boots, a short-sleeved black leather jacket, and his hair shot into the air, like the crest of an ancient Roman helmet.
Belinda leaned against the barrier, letting herself be carried away by the music, no longer even feeling her physical heaviness.
Beside her, Naomi and Annalisa sang the songs, clapping and jumping in place, their eyes shining and smiles on their lips.
Belinda smiled, remembering what it felt like to be on stage...
Although she had never sung in front of an audience of this size, she was convinced that when an artist found someone willing to listen to their message, whether it was one person or a hundred thousand, it didn't matter.
She felt the adrenaline surge through her, the music pounding in her ears, and an old tingling tingle tingling in her fingers.
The desire to play her guitar returned forcefully, the sound of the sound echoing in the speaker becoming more pressing, overwhelming her.
Without realizing it, she began to hum, improvising on lyrics she didn't know, even though if you listened carefully, you could almost guess the words.
But that Bill: he didn't write elaborate lyrics; they were so simple and flowing, they seemed to come from the heart. And that music, so in tune, so captivating…
Okay, it's not U2, but it's a good start, she magnanimously conceded.
And Bill talked, ran on stage, joked with his brother, cheered on the other two members; he had an incredible determination and seemed to live only for that moment.
He never tired of thanking the fans for their energy, for their encouragement, and he merged into that mix, returning it amplified and enriched with all the love he felt for what he did.
Belinda stopped for a moment to look intently at the stage on the big screen, wondering if she could seriously give up music. If a concert she didn't even want to go to made her so fragile, so receptive, what would she feel if she were the one performing on that stage?
A violent heat invaded her, and she found herself singing louder than ever to the notes of the next song, "Heartbreaker" the hit that had taken the band to the top of the charts.
After a few sentences, the music suddenly stopped, the lights dimmed, and a roar rose from the audience.
With a sly smile, Bill leaned toward the audience. "I don't remember how this song goes on... Is anyone willing to help me out, come on stage and sing with me?"
Screams and raised arms erupted from the audience, the girls shouting "choose me," while those pushing toward the stage attempted to climb over the barrier.
"We'll find someone with the help of the director: light up the audience."
A large circle of light moved over the screaming crowd, which was trying to attract attention with every trick in the book.
"You go," Naomi shouted, laughing, in her sister's ear. "At least you're in tune."
"Don't even say that as a joke," Belinda retorted, her eyes widening.
In response, Naomi and Annalisa waved their arms more vigorously, trying to attract the attention of the beam of light, which had come closer to them.
With a sly smile, Naomi took her rhinestone cross necklace and pointed it toward the lighthouse, creating a sparkle and catching Bill's attention, who signaled the light to move toward it.
The girl pointed to her sister, who was trying to blend in with the crowd, terrified of being noticed.
"Oh, there's a volunteer! All right, guys, let her up," she said to the security men.
Belinda kicked and tried to free herself from the hands reaching out for her. No one understood that she wanted to be left alone, and instead they mistook her agitation for a cry for help, to be hoisted over the barrier.
While Naomi and Annalisa laughed and shouted enthusiastically, Belinda found herself in the area in front of the stage, with a security guard lifting her and placing her on the stage.
Embarrassed, angry, and annoyed, she freed herself from the man's arms and tried to straighten her jacket to look more confident. She smoothed her hair, while the light from one of the spotlights continued to shine on her; She couldn't see anything except a blur of people waving their arms at her.
Damn, I'll kill him as soon as I get off here, she thought. What do I do now, where do I go?
She sensed a presence near her, and suddenly the stage lights came on. Bill and the others stared at her, surprised by her confusion and stiffness.
Usually, fans would rush toward them, screaming and waving.
"Are you okay?" the boy asked, perplexed. "Thanks for joining us."
"I actually didn't want to come up," Belinda blurted out. "I'm not even a fan of yours..."
As soon as she said those words, she immediately regretted it: she had made her usual good impression live in front of thousands of people.
She kept touching her hair, and the urge to jump off the stage was growing stronger and stronger.
"Oh, then I have to do my best to introduce you to our music," Bill laughed, embarrassed by the strange situation. "What's your name?"
"Belinda." She looked up at him, and had to tilt her head back, he was so tall.
"First of all, let's thank Bilinda for being here with us. Where are you from?" Bill mispronounced her name, making her even more nervous and irritated.
"Turin... from Italy."
"A friend from far away... But you speak good German, right, guys?" Bill pointed the microphone at the audience, who roared in delirium.
"Thank you," Belinda muttered.
She could see the situation becoming increasingly delicate, and her desire to escape becoming more and more evident.
Oh my God, how had she ended up there? She cursed Naomi, whom she could see in the front rows. She was smiling enthusiastically and kept waving at her.
Oh, but she was going to go down and give that little rascal a good beating!
She realized that Bill had asked her something, but she hadn't understood; what a fool she was!
She recovered quickly, as he repeated, "So, do you want to sing?"
Belinda hesitated for a moment, torn between running away and showing that giant in black leather what real music was.
She swallowed and looked at her sister, who, with her hands cupped in front of her mouth, was shouting something like, "Show him what you're made of!"
She shook herself and held out her hand for a microphone. She glanced at Tom and signaled him to start the music.
"Okay, let's go," she said, launching into the first verse of "Heartbreaker."
Her voice filled the air, clear, limpid, and in tune, making the girls in the audience scream.
With a smile, Bill began singing along, and soon they found a connection, he with the higher tones, Belinda with the lower, deeper ones.
A successful mix of voices also overwhelmed the rest of the band, who gave their all with music and solos.
Belinda sang, moved with Bill on stage, and could feel the plucking of Tom's guitar strings between her fingers, mimicking his gestures.
The song reached its end, leaving everyone speechless, drawing applause from the audience accompanied by cheers of enthusiasm.
Out of breath, Belinda found herself looking out at the audience, happy and surprised by herself and by that feeling that made her electric and alive.
She turned beaming toward Bill, who was smiling at her from his lofty stature.
Despite his heavy makeup, the vivacity in that look was genuine; she wasn't surprised her sister was in love with it.
She turned to look for her, saw her applauding like crazy and shouting, "That's my sister!"
Belinda felt a certain unease; she couldn't stand on stage any longer; she needed to get off.
"Thank you," she stammered, handing the microphone back to Bill. She gave him a quick bow, raised her hand in greeting to the other band members, and prepared to leave the stage, while giving her sister a rude gesture, which was promptly caught on camera and shown on the big screen.
A soft laugh, followed by spontaneous applause, rose from the audience.
Red-faced, she jumped off the stage, trying to get back to her seat, while a security man came to her aid. Bill thanked her once again and another melody started from the instruments.
Belinda reached out to her sister, who hugged her, anticipating her furious reaction, thus postponing the moment of a scolding, since she wouldn't have understood anything anyway.
She was stunned, confused, and couldn't believe what had just happened to her. She had ended up on a stage in Berlin, singing in front of thousands of people, with a band of a certain caliber she didn't even know, and who had offered her a moment of joy, thus overshadowing a year of pain.
She couldn't believe it; it had seemed so natural to start singing again... What had happened? What had made her pick up the microphone again? It would have been easy to jump off the stage and refuse to sing; she could have said she didn't know the songs, but instead she had taken up the challenge and sung. She had sung!
Peace filled her as she listened to the music, lulled by the intense notes, feeling completely empty.
A prolonged round of applause and the names of the band members being obsessively shouted made her realize the concert was coming to an end.
Bill gave a long thank you to his audience, and amid bows, the four boys left the stage.
Belinda stood up and tried to get her sister and her friend back. They waited for the arena to empty before they could reach the exit.