About me, about you, about us

Warning: Racial bias, prejudice towards black people

“And for those of you wondering, those of you who have been commenting, posting and reposting,” I paused, turning to my left to look at my bass player, his lips pursed, eyebrows furrowed slightly in a disappointment only I could understand.

I looked behind me, at the drum player, his sticks in hand as he blinked at me.

I looked to my right, at my guitar player who wasn’t looking at me even though I could see the subtle shake in his head.

Then I looked past them…at her.

The whole reason I was about to lie to my entire fan base, all for her.

It was to protect her, that was the easy answer. The simple way out so we could both avoid what the truth was.

The truth. It seems so far away, so distant now as I stand here, sweat dripping down my face after performing for the last hour and a half to a crowd of mosh pitters and screaming fans.

The problem here is that they want me to lie to them, to make them feel better. They want it not to be her.

Here’s the truth:

I posted her.

It was one night.

She was dancing by the bonfire we’d made. She was carefree, sultry and downright eternal.

Colorado is her favorite stop on the tour because we performed outside which meant we’d usually camp out the night before versus getting a hotel.

I was there, Bobby (bass), Tyler (guitar) and Jonas (drums) and her.

Luna.

Her name is rightfully placed as she reminds me of the moon; mysterious, shining even in the darkness, forever changing.

I was intrigued the moment we met in that dingy dive bar six years ago when my band was still performing in dive bars and not concert halls holding thousands of people.

She went shot for shot with me. Danced with me even when I only had two left feet. Laughed at every joke I made despite no one else around me finding it funny.

By the end of the night, I had her number, a pink kiss mark on my right cheek and a swelling in my heart the size of the Grinch.

She came with us to our various shows across the country as our band grew, she was a column writer so she could work anywhere.

One show turned into two and then eventually she was there for the entire tour, working the merch table, chatting with fans about the album and even being the photo handler during our VIP stops.

As we grew more popular, our privacy dwindled and I, the lead singer of this metal band, became the topic of a lot of conversation, fan pages and what the young people call ‘stanning’.

The way people talked about, lusted after, wanted me despite not knowing anything outside of what I’ve shown them on stage and in the few interviews I did, didn’t phase me.

I had people hit on me wherever I went and though I’d politely decline without giving reason, it started to eat at me.

I wanted people to know about her, about us, about what the last six years meant to me.

I wanted people to know how she was the one I’d run to after a long show, who’s arms I’d fall asleep in after a particularly draining set.

I wanted them to see who washed my hair, who sewed my pants when I ripped them, who I’d go to with any new song ideas, new merch designs, anything that was on my mind, she knew about it first.

So I posted her.

A week ago, at that bonfire.

Her locs were down out of her signature ponytail, curls flowing around her shoulders. Modulo in her hand, a pair of my joggers adorning her sculpted body, a navy blue cami cropped to show off her sapphire belly ring that matched her nose ring.

She was swaying to the beat that Tyler was strumming on his guitar, her eyes hazy, a smirk on her face as she danced like a tipsy cat in front of us.

The fire bouncing off of her blue tipped hair, brown skin shining under the moonlight that always seems to follow her, she was relaxed and sated and my favorite person in the entire world.

So I snapped a picture.

It wasn’t out of the ordinary, I had thousands, hundreds of thousands of random photos of her in my phone. She was my lock screen, my home screen, my computer screen and my TV sleep screen. She was everywhere, all the time and I could never get enough.

The mistake I made, in my half-drunk, overly in love state, was posting it.

I put the blue heart, the one that matched her blue hair as the caption. The photo was a bit blurry but it was clear that it was taken out of adoration. By someone who loved her and wanted to show her off.

That was me.

I didn’t think anything of it. I hit ‘add to story’ without a second thought and tossed my phone to the side when I saw her hand reach for me to dance with her by the fire. I couldn’t tell her no even if I wanted to. I danced with my two left feet, kissed her sweetly and held her close to me for the rest of the night.

She curls around her later, peppering my face with kisses and telling me she loves me in that low, sweet voice she always says before she drifts off into sleep.

It was the last time she slept for a week straight.

She was gone when I woke up that next morning and I thought it was to get a head start on packing the bus. Everyone was up before me and when I joined them on the bus after packing my tent, the place fell silent, all eyes on me.

I searched for her and when my eyes landed on hers, my heart shattered.

She’s been crying and only cried harder when she saw me.

“What happened?” I whispered, balling my fist up, ready to ruin whoever did this to her, only to find out it was me.

The response to that post was disgusting.

I’d never thought people who were fans of me, someone who promotes love and acceptance even though my music is metal, could be so hateful.

I had hundreds of DMs telling me she wasn’t good enough for me, that I should be with someone better, someone smaller, someone lighter.

I could have thrown up.

The comments, the DMs, the messages from the fan pages, all telling me that I deserved someone who looked better, how they could all treat me better than she could and that wasn’t even the worst of it.

The blogs. How could a metal head like me, covered in tattoos, straining my voice to scream about God and the universe, be with someone like her.

I read through it all, holding back my own tears.

Is Fortunate Fame’s lead singer, Theo Rackner, dating a black woman?

Who did Theo Rackner post on his IG story, all the details about the mystery girl!

Why this metal head just made a huge mistake by posting a girl to his IG page.

I could have eaten my phone.

“Give us a minute guys.” I ask my friends, they clear out, each of them giving her words of encouragement on their way out.

My hands are shaking, palms sweaty, knees weak as I walk across the bus and kneel in front of her.

Her head is in her hands, heels of her palms digging into her eyes as she rocks back and forth. I saw the comments under her own page, calling her every negative thing under the sun, all because of me.

“My love–” I start but she cuts me off with a hand to my shoulder, pulling herself up and falling into me to sob.

My jaw clenched tightly at the way she cries and all I can do is hold her.

We discuss it, it’s not easy and it takes days before we come to a decision.

I deny it.

I say it was friendly.

I lie to everyone that she isn’t mine.

She doesn’t want me to lose fans, lose favor, not when we’re so close to what we want, all we’ve ever wanted.

She doesn’t want me to lose it all for her.

I disagree, I fight it, I argue that I don’t want fans like that, who think like that, who act like that and she just shakes her head.

“You’ve wanted this since I met you, since before I met you, Theo, this is your dream and I will not be the cause of your demise! I can’t live with it.” She insists, her tears mostly dried but her eyes still puffy and distant.

I shake my head.

“I was fine being a secret, I was fine being behind the stage, being in the background and getting to love you privately and away from everything. You have to deny it.”

My head shakes so hard, I feel it might fall off.

She takes my face in her hands, stopping me and relaxing my neck.

“I won’t leave you, I won’t ever leave you but I won’t let you be hated because of me.”

The rest of the band doesn’t agree either but they respect it.

Hours later, I’m standing in front of a crowd, out of breath and so in love, it makes me want to die sometimes.

I look at her, the sad, hopeless look in her big brown eyes, the pinched corner of her mouth attempting to give me a smile. The way her arms wrap around herself in my hoodie, our beanie from our merch adorning her head to hide her face from the crowd, she gives me a nod.

“You all are wondering, who was that girl I posted,” I pause again, looking out at the crowd who’s quieter now.

“Yeah who was she?!” Some girl to the left screams out, the crowd rallying to agree with her.

The crowd wants me to say she’s no one, that she means nothing, that we're friends and I’m still available for the taking.

Luna wants me to deny her, deny us.

My band wants me to stand up for her, for us, for everyone who’s ever felt like they had to hide their love.

I can hear my heart beating in my ears, the blood is rushing through my veins so hard I think I might burst.

My jaw clenches and we have to get on with this set.

My heart and my head are at war.

“It’s okay,” I hear in my earpiece the sweetest voice. I look over and see her with the mic from the sound guy pulled down so she can speak in it.

“I’m not going to let them get to me. I love you.” She assures me.

I stared at the crowd and told the biggest lie of my life.

“She’s just a friend,” I mutter and the piercing screams that follow break my heart.

I can’t turn to look at her, I can’t look at my friends, I can barely cope with what I’ve done. The smiles, the adoration I see return to the girls in the crowd, it makes me sick.

I pull back from my mic, turning to Tyler and Bobbie.

“I wanna perform Everything.” I tell them. It’s a song I wrote for her after our first year together. I’ve only performed it a handful of times, it’s hard on my vocal chords.

Bobbie and Tyler smile, nodding. Tyler jumps up to tell Jonas the change in plans and he bangs his head in agreement.

“And because of that crap I just told you,” I say, returning to the mic.

“This song is dedicated to that friend. She’s very special to me, to my band, and y’all need to treat her with some respect,” I turn towards Luna, she’s smiling finally.

“This song is called Everything. Because Lu, you are everything.” I say to her and not to the audience who are still cheering despite my lie.

She blows me a kiss worth a thousand words and I sing with my head turned towards her.

I cry on stage, the crowd eats it up and I block out all the noise to get to her before the encore. People are dressing and undressing me, hooking me back up to the mic but I don’t let her leave my arms because despite my lie, she is everything.