Enough

By Mandi K.

            The church organ drone; the keyboard whine and he was ready to go. Ready to give it all away, ready to lose it, ready to let go, ready to go out of control. The gentle tap of drumsticks, the shimmer of cymbals, the delicate flicker of a guitar. It all fell over him like a cool wave: joy, frenzy, longing, panic, excitement and happiness, all rolled into one exhilarating, heartfelt song.

            After all these years he should have been used to the natural reaction his body takes up. He should have been used to his pulse quickening even worse than before, the sweat suddenly flying freely instead of clinging to his clothes, his spirits jolting up in a spur of joyful animation and that feeling within him spreading out and over the audience like a warm blanket.

            But he wasn’t used to it. It did feel like putting on an old comfortable sweater on a chilly day, but he still was not used the rush that came with it, the sudden nakedness of himself. No, he wasn’t used it. He never would be. But that didn’t mean he didn’t love it.

The red, blank screen. Here we go.

            He looked to his right to see Edge give him an encouraging smile. He looked to his left: Adam bouncing anxiously on his heels and winking at him, his calm, cool persona never wavering. Finally, he behind him, wondering idly if he’d even get a reaction from his drummer, who usually had his head down in concentration. But Larry was watching him and when he saw Bono looking back, he smiled a bit and gave a slow nod. A nod that did not simply say “don’t screw up” or “go for it”, but a nod that said simply “I believe in you”.

If he believes in me, I must be capable.

            “Twenty-five thousand people don’t gather for nothing,” Larry had once said to him when he’d admitted he wasn’t so sure about his ability as a front man.

He was right. They’re not here because they think I’m bad at this. Quite the contrary, it seems.

            Yes, and Bono’s insecurities of late. Fears, anxieties. The fear of not seeing his children grow up. The fear of not spending enough time with his wife. The fear of someday losing one, or all, of his three best friends. The fear of moving on without either of his parents there. The fear that one day he’s never be able to stand on a stage scared shitless with the rest of U2 again. With people before him that respected him for what he did and people behind him who had been there for him since he was a kid and who loved him unconditionally, no matter how badly he fucked up.

They’ll always be there for me, U2 or not, I know that…

            Those keyboard notes always seemed to swell up so gradually, everything and everyone moving in slow motion, and yet, still only blurs. The insane ejaculation of fervor, of passionate noise, following constantly like it only lasted a couple seconds. Far too short.

            Then that one couplet, (so benign in his mind), which had brought out the best in hundreds of thousands of people, in his bandmates…in himself.

                        I wanna run, I want to hide.

                        I wanna tear down the walls that hold me inside.

            Highschool poetry, really. To him, anyway. But at the same time, pure, unexplainable communal joy to others and also, in the end, to himself. No matter how much he hated the uselessness, the meaninglessness of those words, they meant something to his fans. Because of this, he would never be able to fully discredit their worth.

Besides, I couldn’t imagine ever not wanting to sing it.

            Edge’s chiming, rhythmic guitar and then – BAM – Larry and Adam kicked in full swing, lifting the song out of the ethers, out of the blood and sweat, and into the heavens, into the grace of what God had given these four people.

            The houselights went up as if the song had then pulled down these same heavens for all to see, and now he could see the people himself, the thousands and thousands of people, jumping up and down in perfect unison, their hands reaching up to him in desperate, elated hope and joyfulness.

Fuck it. I love this too much to ever question myself. Just run.

            And he did, running with a bewildered happiness around the ramp, unsure of what he was doing, but just knowing it was the right thing, that it was connecting him with his crowd. The breathlessness he had felt before the song was gone now, his voice strong and powerful, reaching the back of the arena just as well as in the front. He leapt forward, reached out to outstretched hands as Larry’s bass drum vibrated through his backbone, making him feel like he should just collapse into the group of people in front of him and let them take him where they wished. Everything in his life, all his uncertainties and fears and aggravations…gone.

Yes, where the streets have no name! Yes, I will go there with you. And it really is all I can do.

But for tonight, it was enough.

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