Blaring music. Above all else, I could hear the music blaring before entering the room. People were shouting over the singers and instruments at the front of the room. To my right was a dispersed crowd surrounding merchandise stands with t-shirts and sweatshirts hanging up. In the other back corner of the room, people were lined up for popcorn or had IDs out and ready for drinks.

“This is just the opening band,” my sister shouted to me. I recognized some of the lyrics but not enough to sing along in my mind. When “just the opening band” was over, my sister and her friend and I stood behind the horde of teenagers and young adults. As Sleeping with Sirens continued playing, the fans shouted along with Kellin Quinn’s equally as muffled voice. My lips would move, as if to prove I knew the lyrics and possibly to convince myself that I belonged here, but not a noise escaped. My sister and her friend kept creeping closer to the stage, slowly allowing the crowd to engulf us. To consume us. We would move up a few steps and my sister would look at me with a grin and tried to force a squeak from me.

“You like this band, right?” “You listen to them, don’t you?” She would repeat the same question, tweaking the wording, but each time she only received a nod before I redirected my gaze elsewhere to free my nose from the stench of beer. She would place her hand on my shoulder or my arm, encouraging me to dance. Or place her hand on my back and nudge me closer to the stage to “get the full experience.” She tried repeatedly to pass on her excitement to me, or even worse, to bring my own excitement out of me. But it wasn’t there.  I could only stiffen more and brush her away as slight guilt nibbled at me.

At one point she rushed me to the middle. Teenagers and preteens raced in the same direction. I nearly parted my lips to speak in annoyance but I quickly understood. I caught a glimpse of the singer walking down the middle as hands reached out, trying to just brush their fingertips along his red and black flannel. I managed to shrug my sister off and explain to her that I just wanted space. She didn’t understand it, my need for space, but she let me be. And as for me, I didn’t understand her burning desire to reach the stage. Everyone’s need to reach for the band members. Their reason for taking low quality pictures and videos that they will never again look at.

And I still don’t understand. Everyone scurries around, showing off their concert tickets beforehand and their blurred pictures and videos afterwards. Concerts are made out to be a huge deal, but in the end it’s sometimes more comfortable sitting at home and watching their music videos, allowing their music to leave from my headphones and soothe me.