Robin:
As we touch down at JFK I think about what a terrible idea this is.
Jay has told me about so many "work" trips to New York that I feel like I've been there already, and I want to shout that this is going to be nothing like those trips. We won't be sitting around drinking talking about rubbish 3-hour long meetings, we'll be plumbing the depths of our very souls goddamnit.
But sure, we can have a couple cocktails whilst we're here.
Cunningly, I've insisted that the band stay on a different floor to us in our five-star Manhattan hotel, and made sure they were on a different row to us on the plane. That being said, I can still feel the camera on us. I'm sure I noticed people wearing green taking photos of us at the airport too.
Conversation with Badger, Stoat and the gang has been a little stunted since we left France so I might have some bridges to build, but we're all in this together now as far as I'm concerned, so that can wait. First and foremost, I need to prove to them, the Little Leaves watching and myself that I got this.
"Huh, lots of frowners here," Stoat notes, as we walk out of the airport towards a large van that waits to take us – very slowly – to our hotel. It's hard not to feel like rockstars instead of people walking with rockstars when people start to recognise us.
It begins with looks and evolves to pointing quickly. Even Frowners appear to know who we, they just don't ask to take selfies with us. Ferret gave us a bit of a crash course on social media whilst we were travelling, and I know I need to post something about hashtag USA but I honestly don't feel like it just yet and am not sure I ever will.
It's a relief once we're all stuffed into the van, even if we're all forced up against each other, and I can't wait to get to the hotel room and shower. I've told them we'll need a few days so we're all booked up for five but really that's for me and Jay.
I think we can do the challenge in one. Then maybe we'll get the chance to relax a bit – or Jay can do some work, which is probably the same as relaxing – and the guys could see their family or visit fans and have some down time.
I think we'll need it, and hopefully we can do still do stuff together, if they don't all hate me after what I'm about to put them through.
Jay:
When Robin first whispered the plan for the Wrath challenge to me on the plane as we shared some crisps and beer, I threw my head back and laughed.
"You can't be serious? That's fucking diabolical." I said.
"That's not everything, you don't know how it ends."
I'm not really sure what Robin is up to here. It's like, deliberately trying to be offensive, but I have to admit there is a sort of twisted, genius logic to it. My ideas around how to do a Wrath challenge mostly involved yelling.
Robin's plan may involve some yelling, but I mean more directly at each other. The plan we've got? Well, it's big. Too big, probably. But I'm more curious about it than I am scared.
Robin made some extremely valid points and I've got to say I'm impressed by the gall of it. The band are clueless, and will likely be horrified. The British awkwardness in me is trying to tell me not to do it, which is why I feel like I have to. Not just for my, but for my 11.3 million followers, who have just seen my first post:
"Like the Lust challenge? You ain't seen nothin' yet – Jayx"
Robin:
In the hotel room, after unpacking but before getting ready to leave it hits.
This is insane.
It's insanity.
"Jay," I squeak, as my throat closes up.
I can't breathe with the weight and intensity of being in America on this insane mission. The pressure is unreal, how does anyone do this? No wonder I was so fucking mad back in France, I have no idea what I'm doing!
Splashing cold water on my face and looking in the mirror above the sink in the bathroom with its bright hotel lights, I see none of the determination or fire in my eyes that I … assumed was there? Was none of it real?
The little white room starts to spin and I can't tell what's toilet or shower or sink and falling over or fainting is a terrible idea but is becoming increasingly likely as black dots grow to the size of fists in my vision as they swarm from the edges to centre, threatening to bring some unconscious oblivion with it and before I know it I'm falling and... being caught.
"I didn't know I was falling till you caught me," I say cheesily as the blackness takes hold. Jay is saying something, lots of things, but they fade out.
When I fade back in however long later, Jay is sat on the floor of the bathroom with me, holding my hand and a moist flannel to my forehead. Thankfully it's just us; I didn't embarrass myself in front of anyone else. Or, it appears when I sit up a bit, hurt myself any more than just the headache.
"Something you want to tell me, writer?" Jay asks, serious but kind, as always.
"Yeah, I'm not so tough. Like, at all."
"I know, I can tell a panic attack when I see one. And there were other clues."
I bristle at Jay's words and immediately get defensive, ready to make excuses before going on the attack and lashing out at the closest thing. Jay.
"It's ok, it makes perfect sense. Did it start when your parents left?" Jay asks, leaning in for an answer, and really listening.
"Before, like I knew they were going to before they did."
"It's not your fault Robin. They're dicks and I hate them for leaving you. Whatever strength I have that you need, you can draw it from me any time-"
Jay can't finish that thought, because we're kissing now, and I'm saying thank you with my mouth and my hands and my heart.
Later, when we're laying on the bed, breathless and happy and thoroughly in the moment, Jay says we don't have to go through with it if I'm not up for it, so I grab hold like a baby koala and refuse to budge, digging my claws in.
"You're drawing my strength aren't you?"
"Yes," I stick my tongue out, "going to need it, we've got a full day of…activities ahead. Are you ready?"
"Certainly," Jay affirms, getting up out of bed and standing tall, skin looking bright and colourful in a room of white. Gorgeous.
"Any idea how we get there?" I ask the one of us who has been here many times.
"We can walk, it isn't that far and there'll surely be signs to something so…monumental. Also, I was thinking it'd be nice for you to see the city and if we left early we could swing by one of the Little Leaf clubs they've set up here and…meet some fans?"
"No, that's a great idea, but not today, why don't we do that once we've smashed this challenge to pieces?"
"Ok, yes, that's sensible. We will walk though and stop to take photos and see the sights. Alright?"
"Alright."
"Great, I'll let the band know. I'm sure they'll agree with the plan. They no idea what's coming but I'm sure they'll love it until they don't."
"Reckon Badger'll be mad?" I ask, feeling zero guilt.
"Nah, he'll understand what you're trying to do I think and maybe even agree with it like I do, it's the others who might not be ok with it. We haven't exactly got their consent."
"You read those forms we signed, if those shady puppet-masters have their consent, so too should we!"
"You have a point there, to be fair."
"Damn straight,"
"That's the Robin I know, the fighter. You're tough after all! Who knew."
"Shush, let's go," and with that we pull walking boots on – green ones – and wrap ourselves in coats and scarves for the chilly New York weather, which is nothing like the sun in France. It's so much moodier here compared to the sun and frolic of the European countryside. Jay has told me something of 'New Yorkers' but I'm reserving judgement.
It doesn't last long, on the way out of the hotel lobby and into the street a tall Frowner in a very smart suit bumps right into us, and tells US to watch it! He was texting with one hand whilst holding both a spilling coffee and a hot, moist, stinking pretzel in the other.
Jay just laughs at the astonished look on my face but we both know a Londoner would have said sorry between five and seven times before quickly running off. As we make it onto the street the busy-ness and the sounds threaten to doom me straight into another panic attack. The honking of horns and queues out of coffee shops and down the streets is overwhelming for every sense I have, but rather than give in to the fear, I instead focus on my breathing, and prevent myself from looking and thrashing about wildly, bringing my heart rate down to a more manageable level.
Jay patiently watches this take place as I realise I haven't moved for a few minutes. Progress is always slow, but if I can do this challenge, I'm confident I can do anything.
I take the first step.
Jay:
Can't tell if this is really brave or really stupid – even I'm having second thoughts and I never have those.
Probably because I've never tried to solicit an emotional reaction to something like this before. If anything, I've sought to avoid conflict by being as…generic as possible. Androgenous, neutral, without binary, thoroughly halfway between everything. Makes sense that the only quarrel I'll have is with myself.
Robin has a whole thing about abandonment and loss, what do I have? We're united in absence, but can't see that for each other because our different hurts are exactly that, different.
Pain doesn't have to be the same to be shared, and I suspect that is Robin's point about this whole thing. It's remarkable really, and I do wonder if the idea hadn't been informed somehow. Can anyone be as brave to suggest something so heinous without additional courage from…
Oh god,
Was it drawn from me?!
Robin:
I was wrong. I was foolish and wrong, to suggest this
Hubristic, almost, to assume that I'd know something about something like this. What on earth was I thinking.
But, well, we're here now.
Ground Zero is exactly how you might imagine it only all wrong. Where the towers once stood tall, there's now a hole so deep that one can hardly see into it and only imagine, as the water falls into it. Something awful happened here, in a world-changing event that upped the anxiety levels of almost every human on the planet.
They never came down.
Now, a few days later, it is a new Agora.
What do I mean by that? Whatever image you have of this beautiful, poignant, man-made monument to misery, please keep it, because the reality is far more sinister and far darker and far sadder. History isn't taught so much anymore, and memory is much shorter than a history book.
The giant, deep square is flanked by so much wrongness, and it's all I can do to hope that the cameras don't catch the sheer revulsion, hate, and indeed wrath on my face as young people – who perhaps don't know any better, but should – line up for selfies with grins and peace signs around it. I want to shout at them, punish them, push them in almost.
I watch the others watching me, and see conflictions. We're young, this tragedy – that give rise to a new age of surveillance, fear and forever wars – happened before we were born. Does Ferret, for instance, understand it?
Badger does, and guides himself to my shoulder.
"I get it," he says, "and I'm sorry I said you didn't. I should never have said that."
Instead of replying I just grab his hand and we stare into the square dark. Something stares back at us from it, and based on the steel of his gaze Badger sees it too, and squeezes my hand just that little bit harder.
If our belief is true, we aren't just being aided, but opposed.
***
Jay:
Robin and Badger are having a moment. Again.
Fox, Ferret and Stoat ask me what's happening, as if I know. It feels important to pretend, in this moment, that I understand exactly what's going on, so I tell them that we're stood on a place of awful, and it's our job to make happy memories here instead to defeat the evil ones.
And, in a moment of what I'm sure Robin would call "infantilisation" I invite them to come to get ice cream and see the memorial museum with me, even though it's all very expensive. It's useful to help them understand and contextualise our own histories. I've heard all about it, because my boss was working here at the time and lost people – I swear he has worked everywhere – and I'm grateful that I wasn't around to experience that day, but I do start to appreciate how hard it is to win ideological wars and how challenging that must be for Robin and Badger.
We're struggling to win wars against terrorism, drugs and diseases, so how on earth are we meant to win the war against atheism? We'd need a miracle. Or to stop trying.
When Robin finally turns from looking into the hole with Badger and sees us heading into the museum with our ice cream, there's only one word I could use to describe the look we're being given: wrath.
Robin:
Jay doesn't get it, maybe never got it.
Why does nobody except Badger get it?! It's a good thing we've got immortal hell to damn some souls to, because if people can't understand that this is the time and place to be still and be reverent, they deserve the punishments that are coming their way.
How can they not get that mass-murder took place here, and at the other areas we will visit throughout New York. Loss has been incurred by members of our own race, our own clan, and even though the eight billion of us aren't universally loved or respected or even liked by everyone, we, the children of God, do have room in our hearts for all of them.
Offer a prayer, not $8 for an ice cream for fuck's sake.
***
Jay:
They say that us Little Leaves can always hear each other singing the songs that these guys wrote, even if we're only whispering. That power is telling me now that the energy here is chaotic, as gratitude and forgiveness come into conflict with depression and loss.
There's no denying that people experience loss in events like this – or their everyday lives – by raging against it is just the first step in the grieving process, and at some point, we'll need to find a way to be able to move beyond the pain and see it as external to ourselves.
Even I know that.
Robin:
I tear Badger away from the hole, and the presence that challenges us not really because I'm full of wrath, but because I want to be closer to Jay, and I drag him to the exit of the museum that I know the others will be coming out of soon.
When they do emerge, smiling and laughing and jovial and awful, I march on over to confront them. As I do so, I hear Jay say to them "I've got this, go get Badger and we'll meet you at the next place here's the address", I'm even more livid.
"How DARE you be so fucking okay with this?!"
Jay doesn't respond, and I move closer, pushing my face up towards broader shoulders than mine.
"Robin," Jay starts, but is interrupted by a thump and a push from me, that carried more emotional, spiritual wait than physical strength.
"You're not annoyed at us, Robin," Jay is saying as I push and shove and cry and shout and hope that nobody is watching even though I think everyone is watching.
"It's raw, it's hard, it's difficult, and I get it. You identify with the victims of this and the other awfulnesses you'll drag us to, but that's because you identify as a victim. You can thump me in five different places in New York today, and I'll still tell you you're stronger than I am."
"How?" I ask, looking up at Jay through impotent tears. "How do you just move forwards?"
"It's simple," Jay says, simply, "It's like a heavy, uncomfortable coat that I picked up and put on once, mistaking someone else's for my own. I didn't like it, so I just took it off, put it down, and never put it on again."
Jay:
"I'm very grateful to you," Robin is saying, ashamed, and yeah, it tests my patience, but the lowness of it doesn't make me feel bigger or better, I just want to reach down and lift others up. Not because I'm some saint, but because I'm responsible.
"Robin," I say, forcefully, "when we've 'smashed this challenge' we're going to find you someone you can told to about your issues that isn't me or Badger. You understand why that is important, right? Especially when we're about to head to places that'll be even more challenging for you than this?"
"Yes," Robin says quietly.
"You're challenging yourself more than me, the band and the 1.5 billion Little Leaves, aren't you?"
"Yes,"
"Well stop, Robin! You have nothing to prove, you don't owe anyone anything, you don't need to spend all your mind's rent in the past or the future, you were so happy 48 hours ago and now as things get even better, you're crumbling? Why?" I can't help myself, my voice gets louder, my patience lessens, my understanding evaporates, and my wrath emerges.
Fuck.
Robin's done it; riled up that extreme anger in the two of us, and most likely in the band and our followers. I can't honestly say that it hasn't gone too far already, and there are four more stops on the tour. How on earth are we going to walk ourselves back from this edge?
As I look around at how different we are, it kind of dawns on me and I laugh at the simplicity of it – risking further ire from Robin – if we're going to move past this, we do it together.
***
Jay:
We're on the subway, it's busy, but nobody is talking. There's an uncomfortable silence and a stink in the dirty air that's causing everyone to scrunch up their noses. The band have no idea where we're going, and it's clear they aren't familiar with the feeling of being followers instead of leaders.
Even I don't know exactly where we're going, and curiosity is getting the best of me.
"Which one are we going to?" I whisper-hiss into Robin's ear, hoping nobody else could hear me.
"All of them," is the response.
"All of them?" I ask, seeking clarity.
"There have been over thirty school shootings this year, and we're going to a memorial that is for all of them."
"That is absolutely awful. Horrendous. Who shoots kids?!" I just about manage to prevent my voice from getting so loud the others hear.
"A lot of people, turns out," Robin says, mouth downturned.
The gravity of the words add even more weight to an already heavy atmosphere and it stokes a flare of anger in me, not towards school shooters, weirdly, but towards Robin.
"It's like you're determined everyone be as unhappy, upset, and WRATHFUL as you!" I rage, before taking a deep breath and controlling my emotions lest they control me. I'm taking the bait and Robin is winning right now. Robin must not win because this game is comprised entirely of losers if that happens.
Eventually, it's our stop, and pushing my anger to one side, I get up first and offer my hand to Robin, who takes it, and I pull us both out of the smelly, ugly carriage.
"Can we get a cab next time?" I ask, half as a joke, and getting half a laugh in response from our little party. I'm about to issue a sort of rallying speech when, to my surprise, Robin motions us all to wait and form a circle. I can't quite believe it, am I watching real-life leadership development instead of boardroom and classroom exercises?!
"Everyone, thanks for sticking with me so far and keeping open minds. I appreciate it and even though our day is going to keep getting harder, I'm hopeful that by the end of it we'll all have gained something really important: a little perspective and ability to see things as being relative.
This is the real shit, whether the cameras are rolling or not. We cool?"
Another long, uncomfortable silence before Fox, the tallest and most noisily dressed of us, takes a step forwards and slaps robin on the shoulder.
"You're a badass Robin," he says, and with that we all start walking.
Seems we aren't the only ones heading to the memorial, as Little Leaves and Frowners swarm around us and beyond, united in their facial expressions and mutual respect for the dead.
"Oh man," I hear one of the band say. Doesn't matter which one I guess – they're feeling whatever Robin wanted them to feel.
Robin:
There's an awful power to opening people's eyes and showing them the horrors of the world; that even if their own life is going great, there's still something terrible out there.
Relativity means that the worst day in someone's life is the worst day in someone's life, regardless of whether we've stubbed a toe or broken up or lost someone. But there's always someone who has had it so much worse and we need to understand that our concerns and ills, whilst the worst in our lives, relative to the awful that exists, are probably quite manageable, actually.
That's what this is about. It's the only thing that keeps me going to be honest. Every time someone is like "oh, actually your life is pretty fucked" I respond with "at least I'm not a refugee or dead?".
I don't mean to shit on what people find hard, and I'm trying to be mindful, but let's be honest if the worst thing we're going through is that our swimming pool is too cold or our Wi-Fi is too slow, that's a first world problem and we need to check our privileges.
It makes me so fucking angry that people don't realise that. If they can't see it, maybe they deserve to be punished with eternal torment in hell if they can't be arsed to develop empathy and compassion for their fellow man.
The golden rule passed down to us was to treat our fellows like we would want to be treated. As life moved on, it should have become treat others how they want to be treated. Instead, at some point, it became treat only with yourself, and it makes me mad as hell.
As that rage threatens to spill over and out of me into the real world, Jay grabs my hand and strokes a thumb across the back of it. It's such a small thing, but it brings me back into the moment and I wish that everyone had someone that could do something like that for them.
Thanks to this literal stroke of genius from Jay, I'm able to see that the band haven't been idle, watching and waiting for me to lead them as I expected. Not at all. Ferret has been buying flowers from a street vendor and leaving them under each of the photos that adorn the walls around the park we've arrived at. Badger prays on his knees with a collection of both Little Leaves and Frowners. Fox is carrying a huge tray of tealights from a van to the vigil, surrounded by tired looking Frowners who might accept help from anyone at this point.
Stoat is crying, on his own, on a bench. Without anyone, and alone in his tears.
I approach him and sit and make it clear that if he's willing to talk I'm willing to listen.
"We had a brother," he says, gesturing at himself and Badger. I ask no questions, feeling all the more devastated for his truth. As he said it, his voice cracked, and he slumps in a way that says everything I need to know.
In some ways, he's further along than Badger is.
Jay is walking over, and rather than interrupt this moment, I get up and walk away from Stoat.
"You know these guys are American Robin, this might not have been the best idea."
"They've got over a billion and a half followers, Jay, they can show the world it doesn't have to be this way. We don't have to always be reacting to loss."
"Of course we do Robin, don't be so immature and naïve, loss is a natural thing that happens. We have to accept it."
"Without a fight?"
"You don't get it,"
"Fuck you,"
"Nice, real mature, let me save your second great idea in one day then."
Jay has learned how to hurt me, and so quickly I've gone from leader to follower. The dynamic shifting from my negativity perspective towards Jay's more mature approach.
I hold the flats of both palms up; the universal sign for peace. I want no quarrel with Jay, who is strong enough to not only stand up to me but also to kick my ass.
"Let's do the next one together, as a unit," I tell not only Jay, but the tearful, assembling group of us that has now picked up Little Leaves and Frowners alike.
"Where are we going, Robin?" two very young children ask me. They're holding hands. One is dressed in the forest green of a Little Leaf, whilst the other is clearly the product of neglecting Frowner parents, but they look at me with equal hope and expectation.
"Hi there," I say, crouching down so my eyes are level with there, and I tell them that next we're going to go to a homeless shelter and hope dish out the soup – maybe they could hand out the bread rolls to the over sixty thousand homeless people in New York, many of whom are veterans.
"We thought about doing th-" Stoat starts before Fox elbows him in the ribs.
"Great idea Robin," he says with a grin I am sure is meant for Jay.
Everyone seems upset, but they do walk a little taller as we head to the "kitchen". It's not fair to call it that really, as it's the rear of a van backed up onto a patch of grass that looks as haggard as the people occupying it.
Before we even start offering our help to the van operators and the denizens of the park, the Little Leaves and Frowners who join us spring into action, offering hugs, listening ears, and even change from their pockets to the needy.
"Woah," Ferret says, whipping out his phone and filming a quick reel before posting it with the caption 'humans did this' overlaid on top of people of different groups feeding each other and in some cases literally lifting each other up.
One elderly woman can't be lifted, as her time is near. She wants to remain on the floor, in the dirt. Incredibly, a reverse standing ovation happens, and the people nearest to her all sit on the filth-covered pavement and grass, bringing themselves down in the name of equal standing.
As one, hundreds of individuals breathe the woman's last breath, and it's a beautiful moment as sad as it is. She lived alone, but she's died together with us now.
"We tried to take her to hospital," someone says, "she didn't want to go."
"They wouldn't have taken her anyway,"
"The public hospital down the street would have!"
Jay looks up at me, knowing where we're going next.
Jay:
Someone has just died in front of us and we've already turned our backs, marching onwards.
I don't know how I feel about it beyond breathless, smothered in new and alien feelings. I guess that's part of Robin's message right? Even when you feel like the world has stopped spinning, it hasn't and life goes on for most of us.
It's an ugly message, and one I don't care for, but I'd be lying if I thought ignorance was synonymous with bliss. I'm holding Robin's hand as we walk at the head of a growing group of people, and grateful to notice just how sweaty it is; not just me then!
The energy feels momentous and galvanising. The band have noticed too, and are holding up signs with a QR code people can scan to instantly follow all of our social accounts, and emblazoned with the hashtag #WhispersongRobin&JayTour. I don't remember this ever coming up, but now isn't the time to ask questions; it's the time to make a statement.
Having united Little Leaves and Frowners like this, it feels like we could take on the world. Everyone's in a constant state of overwhelm and caught up in it; I thought we'd be passively consuming Robin's cavalcade of misery but now we're actively getting involved.
The public hospital is at the end of this street, and our little army is bearing down on it, following us aimlessly and without anything more than a direction of travel. Cars from the road are honking at us in support or frustrated rage as we slow the traffic, it's hard to tell.
Some of the vehicles are ambulances.
This isn't going to end the way I think we thought it would.
"Don't obstruct the traffic!" I start shouting, but it's hopeless over the noise of the crowd and the city bustle. "Move out of the way!"
How quicky I've gone from feeling powerful to powerless.
As the crowd enters the hospital I see that we've lost control entirely, no longer leading the pack, and falling behind the most vehement of our followers, who burst through the doors dozens at a time, invading the reception.
"Someone just died in the park down that road!" a Frowner shouts, and I'm unsure what sort of reaction they were hoping to illicit.
An unimpressed looking receptionist looks up at the assembled chaos of colours and emotions and sighs.
"Activists again," she says, pushing her glasses a little further up her nose.
"People die here too, guys." She says, addressing the congregation calmly and in the face of certain impasse.
"But you have to do something!" another person shouts, a Little Leaf this time.
"Hun, I don't have to do anything. Here, we settle for doing what we can, now are you going to keep blocking our ambulances and preventing the real work from getting done, or, if you want, you can scrub up, muck in and actually help instead of posture and gesture like this?"
This modern Moses has faced down the green sea without fear, and as quickly as the carnage got riled up, it becomes un-riled, and everyone begins to stream out of the hospital lobby.
"Guess that's it then, someone else says," as they turn and leave, seemingly more about the gesture than any possible action.
Through it all, Robin and I have watched in dumbfounded confusion.
Ferret approaches, having seen off a group of fans that wanted to connect with him.
"Don't take it personally guys, it's New York, stuff like this happens twice a day."
"I'm embarrassed, I thought something might actually happen," I confess.
"Like what? Everyone getting the help they need? Never, Jay, sorry." He says, looking down at his feet whilst I search his face and see the acknowledgement that if this is the American dream, it might need a rebrand to nightmare.
Robin hasn't been watching us or taking part in the conversation, instead scanning all the work taking place that we nearly arrogantly interrupted, swept up as we were in the rebellious, injustice-fuelled wrath of people that don't know any better.
"We're just kids playing at change-making, aren't we?" Robin asks nobody in particular.
"Maybe, maybe not," comes an answer from Badger, who has successfully moved on the rest of what I recently referred to as an army but perhaps was never more than three dozen people, promising them a free acoustic gig in exchange for their disbandment until later. He's trailed by Stoat and Fox, who are unfazed.
"It's more important that we try, regardless of whether we fail." Badger says, and we all nod; we can do better. He fiddles at an item contained within an inner jacket pocket and produces a chequebook, writing a number we can't see on it and taking it to the receptionist.
"A donation for the Children's Ward," he says handing it to her, and turning away without seeing the shocked expression on her face when she reads the number.
"Guys, I know I'm not the one to normally suggest this," he says, returning to the group of us who are standing dumbfounded in a semi-circle, "but can we go get a drink?"
"Well, about that," Robin begins to say.
Robin:
I can't help but grin from ear to ear as I explain the plan to Jay and the band.
It's either going to send a powerful message and make one hell of a statement, or fall right on its fucking face. Certainly, I think only Jay has any idea of what we might expect. The band, demonstrating their youthful exuberance and naivety one again – but who I am to judge – cannot understand how playing, drinking and dining at one of the most exclusive nightclubs in the city, with the elite establishmentarians might exhort some wrathful feelings from us all.
Unfortunately, I will delight in their near-inevitable disappointment, and revel in my own vindication: this final part of the wrath challenge is important for tying the seemingly disparate previous steps together in a way that contextualises and makes relevant the place of wrath in our society, whilst hopefully educating us as to how to overcome it, no matter how challenging that may be.
Whilst the band play, Jay and I will be listening not just to their songs, but to the socio-political commentary the glitterati will no doubt be providing and I'm quite sure it'll be worse than nauseating. Unlike with Lust, there's a real chance we may fail the Wrath challenge. I'm concerned I won't be able to pull myself back from the edge, and I'll tumble off the cliff into Hell's lake of rage.
Given we aren't investigating greed or gluttony yet, it is decided – by all of us thank you very much, we voted on it – to travel to the venue later in style. A limo, of course. The champagne will be flowing, and everyone can try to relax a little before the band will have the opportunity to give a small, intimate gig and try out some new material in front of the most discerning audience one could imagine.
Arranging it was simple, I just replied to the email that regularly sends us new terms and conditions to sign as part of the challenge. I got a response shortly afterwards saying only, "done", with VIP guest passes to our own event attached.
Given our ages and disparate backgrounds, it's likely only Jay and I have set foot in a nightclub before and even then thanks to the lockdowns, very few times. Extremely smart green outfits have been arranged for us all, that I'm sure will be a talking point for the… I suppose punters is not an appropriate word.
We're soon to enter an entirely different world to the one with been living today, and it's on the same tiny island. How many of the staff from the public hospital have ever set foot where we're going? How many of the homeless know it exists, and can the same be said in reverse?
Wrath is a reaction, but to what, only time will tell.
"You look deep in thought," Jay says to me quietly as we get ready in our hotel room later.
"Do you think I'm pushing this too hard, Jay?"
"Yes, I thought I'd been pretty clear about that?"
"You have, and I double down don't I?"
"Yep, starting to regret it?"
"Yep."
Jay hugs me and looks into my eyes in a way that says more than words can; even if this is a mistake, Jay has my back. That's love right there.
Interrupting the moment is a knock at the door that is so gentle and polite it could only be Ferret.
To my surprise, when I open the door, it's not just him but the whole band, wearing the most beautiful, tailored green suits that shimmer with the bright light of the hotel hallway. They're all wearing smiles too, and carrying their instruments. I love that they do that; won't let roadies carry for them. Interestingly, they've brought extras.
Badger and Fox approach, their arms full of cases that they hold out for us to take.
"A guitar for you, Robin, an acoustic," Badger says, the true blue of his eyes revealing by the sea of green around us.
"And an electric drum kit that is portable and folds out real nice for you, Jay," Fox says, with eyes that flash gold every time he looks at Jay.
"Whatever happens, we love you guys, and you'll be part of the band forever whether you play on stage with us or not." They chorus, and I think they don't deserve what I'm about to do to them.
***
Jay:
I'm in heaven. This is how life *should* be. It should allow entrance to anyone willing to pay the entrance fee, and for those of us who have risen up the meritocracy, that entrance fee is zero dollars and zero cents.
Exclusivity doesn't threaten me, and to be honest I find the glitz and the glamour quite appealing. Robin is pub, I am hotel bar and there's nothing wrong with that, especially when we understand that these things aren't mutually exclusive. Try as hard as they might, humans have ultimately failed to render everything into the binary. That's probably policy-driven, but I don't want to get political.
My point is that we operate in an all-encompassing ocean of grey morality and crowing about equality for all would necessitate a drop in standards for the people we're soon to be surrounded by; surely we could drag each other up instead?!
We're the first people inside, but the queue of glamour glitterati waiting to get in was expansive already in the early evening as we arrived. Each and every one of the hundreds were unimpressed by our waltzing in, past them, and more than a few asked each other who we were. None of them, I noticed, were wearing green.
I'm not thinking much about the lack of welcome, and more about how glorious this place is, and how delicious the Manhattan iced tea I'm drinking is. The club is split over a few levels, each equipped with well-stocked bars, that all offer a large view of the stage the club is centred upon. Many famous acts have played here, and soon Whispersong will be amongst them. Tonight could be what takes their following count up to the next level, if some of these influential people share anything to do with the surprise gig.
The bar staff are very friendly; whenever I finish my drink they bring me a fresh one, and they never ask me to pay. The band have been given a spacious greenroom backstage and invited me to hang out with them, but I opted to get a feel for the place and walk around instead, finding a little alcove with two seats for me and Robin up on the third floor. Near the bar and near the bathroom, but with a great view from above where I thought we could take some photos for our new followers.
Robin looks anxiously at the time every few moments, and taps a foot. The guests will start to be coming in soon; doors open at 7, it's 6 50 now and the band is due to go on at 8. They haven't told us anything about what they might play, but I do know Robin and Badger have been swapping notes, so I'm curiously, cautiously optimistic.
"It'll be fine," I say to Robin, who repeats it. Several times, fighting some war against an anxiety demon and seemingly losing. Robin gets up, goes to the bar and returns with two bottles and two shots each.
"For the nerves," we cheers, and I add "and the journey to two billion followers! Have you checked your count recently?".
"Constantly, I don't even have to check to know it's over 30 million already."
"Omg same," I confess, reddening.
The booze is good and we are quickly onto the next round. I've been watching my increasing intake carefully as something to address later. For now, we're "clubbing" like really clubbing and I want to get loose and enjoy it.
I'm here for right now.
***
Robin:
This place might be called Paradise, but I assure you tonight will be hell. I am in the malebolge.
That's the trenches of hell for those who don't know their Divine Comedy – also translates to ditch or tunnel, but I feel trench is especially appropriate. Jay might be won over by the glamour of this place, but glamour is all it is; illusory good looks that are only skin deep, true of both the venue itself and the people that work at and occupy it.
Yeah, I get it, it's super tempting to go and be beautiful with the beautiful people, but the harsh light of drunken late-night public transport is my domain, and it reveals the ugly reality within all of us, so I skip all the pretending, even if it does feel nice to be dressed a little smarter than usual.
I need to pee every ten minutes, even though my bladder is painfully empty. Places like this just set me right on edge. People from places like this stare at people like me and Jay, whether we're both cognizant of that fact or not.
I can't stop my foot from tap, tap, tapping either, as if to the beat of the music that hasn't started playing yet. I wish I could say I was excited but I'm full of dread and apprehension for all of us. It's been an intense and crazy day and I'd rather be sat in a pub necking pints than doing this, even if it was my idea in the first place.
Jay did a great job of finding us somewhere away from the bustle of the crowd that's forming below the stage, and it's nice to be seated, but I can feel the claustrophobia of a crowd building around us, and soon enough we can hear everything everyone else is saying, with twenty minutes to go before the band comes on.
Jay is staring right at the stage, eyes half-closed with tipsyness whilst I turn back to do some people watching and look at the faces of people talking. This appears to be a fully-Frowner affair, with myself and Jay the only Little Leaves in sight.
Hopefully Badger and the others will have taken my advice and tried out some more pop-punk and rockier material as Green Leaf Country might not get the reception we're hoping for here. It'd be a great time to debut some of the newer, new material.
"10 minutes till they come on, how did these smelly hippies even get booked here?" a skinny, tall young man with impressive bags under his eyes for someone his age says to a near-twin next to him, as they stand casting judgemental looks at everything in their vision, including me noticing them, whilst they drink whiskey on the rocks. Their sneery faces and commentary already make me want to wish bad things upon them, but I reach for my beer instead, before deciding to head up to the bar again and listen to more of the commentary.
"So their fans are called Little Leaves, and that's gotta be two of them right. Can't tell you much about who – or what – they are, don't rightly know. But what I can tell you for free is that nobody wants to fuck this lot, not even in a bad way. When will they leave?"
"Hopefully the set won't be long, I can't do coke to country music!"
They laugh at their own jokes as my blood boils. Everything about them is judgemental, condescending and patronising. One of them clicks their fingers to get the bar staff's attention, and that's the last straw for me.
"Assholes," I say loud enough for them to hear, and storm off to the bathroom to catch my breath as other people cast glances that indicates it's me who is the trouble maker, not them. When I return, they're thankfully gone, and I figure it's time to do some reconnaissance at the bar whilst Jay sits happily watching the band start to set up on stage.
There was a tiny clap when they came out waving.
I ask the polite, and very pretty, bartender whether they're expecting a big crowd tonight. Very quickly I'm brought up to speed; it'll likely be the same people here tonight that it is every night. Extremely unlikely any Little Leaves will be in attendance.
This is an enormous oversight on my part, and I can't believe I didn't do any research on this when I was on my mission. The band would have done… Ferret must have known. They've walked willingly into my trap, and it's too late to undo it now.
When I return to Jay and try to explain what has happened, the reaction I get is not one of surprise, but more of one a parent humouring a child might give and my rage builds ever-higher.
"Well we'll just have to sit and watch it now won't we, it's only an hour set, but poor Whispersong…"
"Is alrightt," Jay slurs, enjoying the 100% discount on what looks like Moscow Mules, now, "They'll have have had a bad gig, before," waving a hand around the place.
"I hope you're right," I say, knowing the only gigs they've done are the ones we've been to.
***
Jay:
Better to be a crowd splitter than a crowd pleaser am I right?
Whispersong can't possibly appeal to literally everyone, so they'll have to make do with nearly two bloody billion. I'd love to accuse them of a lack of gratitude but I can't, they are grateful, even as nobody claps when they flood onto the stage.
Robin's being angry on their behalf, and that sets a dangerous precedent. Nobody elected us to feel on their behalf, and actually when someone is different to us that doesn't mean they're worse.
"Eugh, they look like they catch the bus," someone behind me says, and I think about the fact that in the USA most people drive for half a day or a day to get somewhere but this ignoramus obviously doesn't understand that, because New York is the only thing that exists. Some Londoners are the same, which is sad. Just feels kinda like taking pride in ignorance, and championing narrow-mindedness.
Robin has been in the bathroom for a while, so I use the opportunity to turn and take a look at the people making these comments. From where I'm sat, slovenly in enjoyment of my own inebriation, I se young women with V-shaped mouths and sharp eyebrows, as if their very faces are weapons they might use to attack anyone that looks at them.
I'm about to rise and speak to them to ask what they think about Whispersong when I overhear one of them start talking about something totally unrelated.
"I walked past that awful park where the homeless people congregate today and there was just a dead woman on the floor. How disgusting is that, so unhygienic."
Shocked is an understatement, appalled might be closer. Zero empathy, zero compassion, I almost want to beat it into this barbie, but I don't have the context to understand why she's so awful, so I turn back to the band and hope they start playing soon. I want them to drown out the speech of these…vampires? That might be an appropriate way to describe these energy-suckers.
Badger's started speaking into the mic, and whilst I'm so used to him commanding a room, it's heart breaking to see how these…people… ignore him. He's giving the context to the latest song as if anyone here might care, and I shout and scream and yell and hold my hands up on behalf of me and Robin, that he might know there are at least two people that care.
"I saw a tip sign for the bar staff earlier. The only tip I'd have for the hot one is to come and work for me and then they'd be drinking it instead of pouring it."
I quickly turn and give a warning glance to the speaker, that he might know it's unwise to be disrespectful like that in my company and I feel tough, like Robin, with a significant height advantage.
He just shrugs at me, like what's he's saying is reasonably.
I'm trying to listen to the lyrics of Whispersong's new ballad, and all I can catch is fragments of verses. Something about walking towards danger, staring at suns and when preparing for a knife fight, to take a gun…
The lyrics are so appropriate for New York, and so much less apt for a world that should be over shooting each other. And yet everything anyone says does indeed make me want to shoot them.
"There's something really sad about the fact people still play instruments…it's so redundant. I bet these idiots still ride horses," someone behind me is saying, and I round on them, fully an inch or two taller. I'm not strong or wide, but my ability to loom might help me intimidate this prick into shutting up for a moment.
***
Robin:
I turn my back for one minute to have a crafty glass of water, and immediately regret not getting Jay one, now that there's clearly beef going down. I throw my 5 foot 8 frame into the frame, immediately on the defensive trying to understand who has offended who.
"They won't shut up during the music," Jay says to me as I come back over with more drinks, carried mostly by the staff as if I'm one of the most important people in here, and it's amazing how quickly that shuts them up. They flee in the darker corners of the already dark nightclub to lick wounds and I think it must be hard to always be somewhere special people are, but never be special.
Don't get me wrong, we aren't special, but do you hear that? That's Badger singing my lyrics, about the pyrrhic victory of violence and how any victory has a price. We've been listening and learning and our contributions mounting as I check my phone and see both Jay and I have crossed the 50 million followers milestone without even doing many posts.
I'm so wrapped up in the euphoria of recognising words I wrote being sung that I fail to recognise the hate – the wrath – in the air. Different people are here, being different, and that upsets the equilibrium of the elite who seek only, mostly, to preserve the status quo.
Nobody else is wearing green, and Jay's gangly form can hardly stand straight.
It was inevitable that I'd hear the words I'm hearing.
"Hey weirdo! We're trying to decide what you are, give us a clue?!"
Banker-type douchebag number 2 can't handle a tall, beautiful, androgynous person wearing a nicer suit than him so now he's lashing out of course. I try to steer both of us out of the way even and around a corner where this is less likely to happen, but Jay turns, rounding the shoulders in what could be seen as aggression.
"Whoa, we're only kidding man, woman, whatever," Douchebag number 1 says, a lot more quietly.
It takes us a moment to realise that the music has gotten a whole lot quieter too, because the drums have stopped and Badger is trying to draw attention with a quick acoustic set. I can't understand why until Fox's fist explodes into douchebag number 1's face, and then an elbow arrives in douchebag number 2's gut. They both crumple to the floor, and he looks like he's about to start wailing on them whilst they're on the floor, but Jay grabs his wrist.
"Is ok. Am used to it,"
Fox looks at me, frustrated and wanting to break something. I feel the same, without the power to achieve it. Must be near impossible not to break stuff when you're strong enough to have the opportunity to every day.
"This place is literally full of cunts, and I include myself in that for using that word." Fox says, knuckles bloody and eyes full of wrath. He apologises, as if it's hit fault, and I see how real his feelings for Jay are. I almost feel bad for hoarding them for myself, but isn't it better to have loved than hated? They prop each other up now, and I pray they'll settle for just being friends.
"Let's go home guys," Badger says, having cut the gig short and wearing a dark aura, his shoulders sunken and eyes sad and for once all out of words.
"Badger," I tell him, "I'm so sorry, I didn't know it'd be like this."
"We did," the rest of the band say, carrying their instruments and the weight of being hated, as if they did all this just to prove how far someone can run in the wrong direction if you never call them back.