Jericho

I just remember that their chants were so loud. In that moment I'd say it was the loudest sound I had ever heard. We stood backstage, sweaty, bloody, for a few moments longer just to take it all in. The lights were dim in anticipation, the subtle hint of marijuana and cheap beer lingering. I was emotional, of course, knowing that this was the last time that the four of us would experience this moment together. Any other night we'd barely pause to think about it, but now, their insistent plea, these three simple words, crashed down on us like the walls of a city we constructed with our bare hands. "One more song! One more song! One more song!" Jericho.

The Cathedral was sold out that night. The lights danced and flickered with a calculated ferocity as the entire floor beneath us bounced like rubber. It was loud. The deafening cries of the fifty-two hundred illuminated faces made it nearly impossible to hear my own guitar. They were belting our songs back at us. It still blows my mind. It's hard to explain, but something spiritual happens. There's a consecration that takes place where your artwork, this delicately crafted piece of yourself, becomes nourishment, or perhaps even healing, to those who attend to partake. Body and blood. It's a paradox, being both god and man, at least for those two hours each night.

It was the culmination of the prior twenty years. You know how people talk about your entire life flashing before your eyes? Standing in that dark backstage hallway, I was suddenly everywhere all at once: our very first show in Chris' basement, the gig at that trailer park where Mark somehow cracked his head open with his guitar, the first time we filled the Masquerade, signing our first major deal with Eccentric Records, having our entire trailer stolen—twice, and finding Matt in his hotel room, dead, a half-empty bottle by his side. The nights drinking and dreaming on the bus, and all the flights that carried us around the globe ultimately led us to that night on the sticky stage of The Cathedral. Every moment rushed back to the present, and I experienced them, in their fullness, all at once.

I stared down at my shoes as I held my guitar. It was all I could do. To acknowledge the moment, to acknowledge each other, would be to accept this ending—this spiritual death. This was church, and we had devoted a lifetime to our continuous prayer. A bead of sweat rolled down my cheek and splashed onto the floor as we processed onto the stage for the final time. "Atlanta!!!" This was ten years ago.

* * *

"Next!" The bank teller finally waved me over. There was no line, but I stood there anyway, between the stanchions, waiting on her to acknowledge me. It had been years since I'd actually been inside a bank, and unlike everything else in my life, not much had changed. The mundanity of the stale, grey carpet tiles beneath my feet welcomed me back to the type of ordinary life I thought I had left behind. I had just sold another guitar, and I needed to deposit the cash.

"How you doin' this mornin'?" she asked without looking up from her computer.

"I'm breathin'. How 'bout you?"

"It's another day!" She looked at me and smiled.

I handed her my deposit slip and pulled the wad of cash out of my pocket. She took the cash and the slip and started entering my information. She read my name and paused for a moment.

"Do I… Do I know you from somewhere? Your name sounds kinda familiar." She resumed plucking away at the keyboard.

"Hmmm, I'm not sure."

We stood there quietly, awkwardly, for the next thirty seconds or so before she handed me a receipt for my transaction.

"Alright! You're all set! Have a great rest of your mornin'."

I looked down at the receipt. "Thank you. You do the same."

I got into my car, drove across the parking lot, and stopped at the red light. I noticed the church across the street was boarded up. One of its walls had collapsed, and the roof was caving in. The grass was overgrown, littered with broken shards of stained glass. The red, arched door was pushed open. I heard the echoes of adoration from inside, and I could feel the flesh being carved from my body as the blood poured out; the satisfaction of being eaten alive.

Suddenly I flinched as the car behind me honked its horn. The light had turned green.