Beni Bands

Beni Bands - Chapter Two

"Elbows out, we're not here to make friends," I muttered to Justin. The movement by the door had rustled the crowd into a state of alertness. Shadows flickered in and out of view by the window panes and for the last couple of minutes all conversation had halted to muted whispers as we scrutinised the door for more signs of action. There were only twelve people in front of us. Just twelve. I made Justin count because he's a bit taller than me. Several times. At least five; just to make sure.

Already eyes had narrowed in concentration. We'd been stood for hours and each one of us was determined to scrap for a place at the front. I could feel the breath catching in my throat as my arm jabbed out to prevent the person behind us wriggling into a position to jostle us out the way. I know it was ridiculous but there in the queue, caught up in the tense nerves of waiting, it seemed of vital importance that I got to the front. Especially important was to be in front of whoever it was that kept jabbing me in the back.

The ticket in my hand was crumpled slightly around the edges as my hands clutched at it in whitened tension.

"Here, have another one. We have to finish them before we can go inside anyway." He must have noticed my agitated state as one of our remaining bottles of beers was pressed into my hands. We'd been spacing them out since starting them on the train and now, just minutes away from the doors opening, we had whittled the box down to the last two. I took the bottle just because it was something to do. Something to take my mind of the snake pit of nerves twisting and winding in the pit of my stomach.

I didn't even like the taste of it. Justin knows me well enough to know I don't like beer so I'm not sure why he brought them for us. Apparently they were on offer at Tescos. I begrudgingly gave him my half of the money for them anyway. So it made sense to drink them and get my money's worth. I winced at the bitter tang as it hit the back of my throat. The anticipation, the beer; it was beginning to make my stomach churn and so I thought I'd start a conversation.

"Do you think they'll play much of Humbug?" Obviously the best album. This didn't need to be discussed. The fact had been established early in our friendship and there was no room for doubt.

"I hope so." He wasn't really paying much attention to what I was saying. Instead his neck was craned to get a better look at the door. I couldn't see much, but clearly something was going on. Justin's mouth was hanging slightly agape in careful concentration. I was in the midst of swallowing my latest swig of beer in order to ask what exactly was going on. But my question had been answered before I could even form the question.

"Down it. Doors are opening."

I winced at the prospect of finishing off the foul tasting and nastily cheap beverage. My stomach even gave a groan; seemingly in mutual protest. But my love for Arctic Monkeys got the better of me. Squeezing my eyes shut, I pressed the lid to my lips and continued to force the contents down my throat until the thing was done. Without any consideration I sent my bottle clattering down to the floor as Justin grasped the shoulder of my leather jacket to drag me forwards.

If the crowd had been silently hostile before it had descended into an all-out war of shuffling and vying for position. A particular sharp elbow jutted into my ribs provoking an indignant fury within me. In a pointed glare of anticipation I caught the eye of one of the ticket checkers. My hand stretched out bearing the ticket aloft in ostentatious arrogance. We had earned our place in the queue. And I was in no mood to give up thirteenth and fourteenth position. They had no choice but to sweep aside the forest of clamouring hands and accept our tickets first. Dragging Justin along behind me we secured our position inside the venue.

"That bumps us up to eight and ninth!" I said in an outburst of triumph as we rattled through the foyer. I had enough merch to sink a battleship and downing that beer had satisfied my alcohol needs. All I needed now was to get that position at the front. Needless to say we didn't pause for breath.

Even empty the main room seemed to possess an electric current of expectancy as the stage lay awaiting; bathed in shadows. It was now my hand gripping onto Justin's jacket as I hauled us closer to the stage. My eyes calculated every taken spot as I steered us forwards. Eventually my gaze settled on an empty space just to the right of centre stage. My breathing closed entirely as a sense of ownership grasped hold of my thoughts. That was our spot and I was not prepared to relinquish my claim. With a final spurt of speed I slammed into the closing gap and pulled Justin into place behind me.

Now was not the time for celebration. Still clutching onto each other's jackets we secured our place by closing off every possible gap that could be taken advantage of. A moment of eye contact was shared to acknowledge our gleeful triumph before we quickly turned our attention back to maintaining our position.

My spare hand, not the one clutching onto Justin, clamped onto the cool metal bar; separating crowd from stage. We had done it. The place was ours. I glanced towards the pair next to us. Eyes darting around in startled panic. Out of their depth. They probably wouldn't even last it through the starting act.

A tug notified my attentions back towards Justin. But my concern was immediately numbed as I realised he was simply removing his jacket.

"Are you not going to take yours off? It's boiling in here!" He was forced to raise his voice to compete with the rush of the crowd which had already accumulated to a background roar of murmurs. And he was right. Being this close to the front, compacted and compressed against the barriers, had certainly raised the temperature. I could already feel an uncomfortable bead of sweat tracing its way down the back of my neck. It made a startling change from the bitter October winds outside.

I wanted to remove my jacket. But then my eyes clocked the flash of fluorescent pink on his wrist. Two wrist bands in pride and place. As the timid pair beside us stumbled in contention against the movement of crowd I noted another flash of colour on their wrists. Even they had proper wristbands. Suddenly Woolacombe Bay and a hastily constructed fake Beni Band seemed to fall short of the mark. Without intending to carry out the movement my hand shot down to tug the sleeve protectively over my homemade wrist accessories.

"I'm alright for now. Maybe later." I pretend a need had arisen to shuffle a contender for space out the way in order to avoid Justin's incredulous stare.

I could last through the first act. Surely. No one bothered much with the opening act. A calm crowd meant durable temperatures. But lasting through the entire night was an impossibility. When Arctic Monkeys took to the stage the jacket would have to come off. That meant revealing the wrist bands. And suddenly they didn't seem like a good idea at all.