Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Streetlamps, Stories, and Silence
Streetlamps, Stories, and Silence
1 Reviewsanother story that I wrote for English. (Wow.) It's a Mikey/OFC FRIENDSHIP BECAUSE FRIENDSHIP IS UNDERRATED ON THIS SITE
It was prom night.
The night that every high schooler dreams of. That one magical night that people get so worked up about, with lights and dresses and decorations in the school gym that somehow makes everything feel special. The one night where it doesn’t matter who you were in high school, who you dated, what you wore. No, it was the one night to enjoy with people you’ve grown up with. This was how you would last remember them, before you all parted ways and started your lives. Yes. This was magic.
Mikey Way had decided not to participate.
Being a school outcast had definitely affected him. Four straight years of bullying, verbal abuse, and rejection from his peers was getting kind of old. It wasn’t even really his fault- Mikey was simply quiet and reserved, and usually showed no emotion; his older brother had been damned as the local psycho, and now Mikey was dealing with the younger generation of jerks.
So magical night or not, no way was he sticking around his graduating class while they were busy grinding in a school gym. He was not going to make things awkward for himself or any girl he would lamely try to approach. He was too nice.
He was also a little selfish, though. He was going to see Radiohead tonight. Because seriously. Radiohead beats prom any day. It’s not even a competition.
So there Mikey was, walking into the small, dirty venue at exactly 6:48 p.m. on a rather warm Friday night in New York. He had driven for two hours from Belleville to get to this place, but it still felt like Jersey. It was probably the litter and the dirt and the smell and the hookers at the corner.
The sky was dark and the streetlamps were on. Mikey hopped up the steps, pulled open the small metal door and let himself in.
It was just a concrete hallway, lit by bare lightbulbs on the ceiling. At the end of the hall were some open stairs. Mikey walked down the stairs, passing the colorful graffiti and shuffling downstairs toward a small but tight mass of people.
It’s just like those underground rock clubs in the movies, Mikey thought. This should be good.
There must have been a hundred people in the 20 by 30 room. It was dark, except for the lights on the small stage, which was really just a two foot high platform attached to the north wall. It held several instruments already, and once the band walked out, it became extremely overcrowded.
There were some whistles and clapping and cheers and yells from the small audience, who were all older than Mikey, probably in their late 20s. That was comforting for him- there would be no awkward run ins tonight.
“Hello, New York,” Thom Yorke said quietly into the microphone. “We’re Radiohead.” There were more cheers. “We hope you like this song, it’s called Karma Police.”
The opening chords began to play. Mikey nodded to the music, his face showing no expression. But the music was amazing. He pushed his way closer to the band, where there was a metal bar gate separating the crowd from the stage.
The crowd pressed Mikey up against the gate; they were all moving to the sound in some way or another.
It was as if everyone here was being possessed by the music, or couldn’t not physically react to it.
Mikey grinned. As the band finished Separator, he glanced around himself.
There were mostly people by themselves. Most were in their 20s or 30s, and Mikey didn’t mind. He preferred it.
There was one man who looked about 30. He was wearing a David Bowie shirt and jeans, had longish messy blond hair, and he was smiling and swaying to the music. Just across the room from him, there was another man, about 30, with slicked hair and wearing a business suit. He was exactly the same, though, smiling contentedly and moving to the beat of the music.
It’s funny how such different people can be united by such an ordinary thing as music.
This is definitely better than prom, Mikey thought.
He smiled and turned his head to the right. A few people away, a girl wearing a strange fuzzy hat was looking right at him. He stared right back.
The awkward, intense stare down continued until the girl blinked, smiled, and turned away.
A new song began playing.
When you were here before
Couldn’t look you in the eyes
You’re just like an angel
Your skin makes me cry
You float like a feather
In a beautiful world
I wish I was special
You’re so very special
The words coming out of Thom’s mouth were hypnotic. Surprisingly, Mikey found himself turning around again to look at the strange girl.
She was pressed up against other people, like how Mikey was. She had fought her way to the front, and was now resting her arms on the barrier. He could tell that she had come alone, because she was keeping turned away from everyone else. Her eyes were wide as she stared up at Radiohead, every word keeping her in a trance.
Mikey looked away again. Everyone was silent, all just listening.
I want you to notice
When I’m not around
I wish I was special
You’re so very special
When he looked back for her, she was gone.
He gave Radiohead the rest of his attention and enjoyed the rest of the set.
The night that every high schooler dreams of. That one magical night that people get so worked up about, with lights and dresses and decorations in the school gym that somehow makes everything feel special. The one night where it doesn’t matter who you were in high school, who you dated, what you wore. No, it was the one night to enjoy with people you’ve grown up with. This was how you would last remember them, before you all parted ways and started your lives. Yes. This was magic.
Mikey Way had decided not to participate.
Being a school outcast had definitely affected him. Four straight years of bullying, verbal abuse, and rejection from his peers was getting kind of old. It wasn’t even really his fault- Mikey was simply quiet and reserved, and usually showed no emotion; his older brother had been damned as the local psycho, and now Mikey was dealing with the younger generation of jerks.
So magical night or not, no way was he sticking around his graduating class while they were busy grinding in a school gym. He was not going to make things awkward for himself or any girl he would lamely try to approach. He was too nice.
He was also a little selfish, though. He was going to see Radiohead tonight. Because seriously. Radiohead beats prom any day. It’s not even a competition.
So there Mikey was, walking into the small, dirty venue at exactly 6:48 p.m. on a rather warm Friday night in New York. He had driven for two hours from Belleville to get to this place, but it still felt like Jersey. It was probably the litter and the dirt and the smell and the hookers at the corner.
The sky was dark and the streetlamps were on. Mikey hopped up the steps, pulled open the small metal door and let himself in.
It was just a concrete hallway, lit by bare lightbulbs on the ceiling. At the end of the hall were some open stairs. Mikey walked down the stairs, passing the colorful graffiti and shuffling downstairs toward a small but tight mass of people.
It’s just like those underground rock clubs in the movies, Mikey thought. This should be good.
There must have been a hundred people in the 20 by 30 room. It was dark, except for the lights on the small stage, which was really just a two foot high platform attached to the north wall. It held several instruments already, and once the band walked out, it became extremely overcrowded.
There were some whistles and clapping and cheers and yells from the small audience, who were all older than Mikey, probably in their late 20s. That was comforting for him- there would be no awkward run ins tonight.
“Hello, New York,” Thom Yorke said quietly into the microphone. “We’re Radiohead.” There were more cheers. “We hope you like this song, it’s called Karma Police.”
The opening chords began to play. Mikey nodded to the music, his face showing no expression. But the music was amazing. He pushed his way closer to the band, where there was a metal bar gate separating the crowd from the stage.
The crowd pressed Mikey up against the gate; they were all moving to the sound in some way or another.
It was as if everyone here was being possessed by the music, or couldn’t not physically react to it.
Mikey grinned. As the band finished Separator, he glanced around himself.
There were mostly people by themselves. Most were in their 20s or 30s, and Mikey didn’t mind. He preferred it.
There was one man who looked about 30. He was wearing a David Bowie shirt and jeans, had longish messy blond hair, and he was smiling and swaying to the music. Just across the room from him, there was another man, about 30, with slicked hair and wearing a business suit. He was exactly the same, though, smiling contentedly and moving to the beat of the music.
It’s funny how such different people can be united by such an ordinary thing as music.
This is definitely better than prom, Mikey thought.
He smiled and turned his head to the right. A few people away, a girl wearing a strange fuzzy hat was looking right at him. He stared right back.
The awkward, intense stare down continued until the girl blinked, smiled, and turned away.
A new song began playing.
When you were here before
Couldn’t look you in the eyes
You’re just like an angel
Your skin makes me cry
You float like a feather
In a beautiful world
I wish I was special
You’re so very special
The words coming out of Thom’s mouth were hypnotic. Surprisingly, Mikey found himself turning around again to look at the strange girl.
She was pressed up against other people, like how Mikey was. She had fought her way to the front, and was now resting her arms on the barrier. He could tell that she had come alone, because she was keeping turned away from everyone else. Her eyes were wide as she stared up at Radiohead, every word keeping her in a trance.
Mikey looked away again. Everyone was silent, all just listening.
I want you to notice
When I’m not around
I wish I was special
You’re so very special
When he looked back for her, she was gone.
He gave Radiohead the rest of his attention and enjoyed the rest of the set.
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