The Blanketed Blackness

The drummer kept slapping at the snare and the rhythm guitarist and bassist plucked away at the stringed instruments, respectively. A sense of euphoria swept throughout the packed stadium. As their last sold out show, Steel Spirit, rocked with an all-black hip hop and rock and roll nu-metal disposition. Lights from smartphones looked like lightning bugs swaying all over the in the open air. The little dots of light illuminated the night.

The band banged and shredded with a might and wit of the best artists of  their age. The incessant cheering drove them. Next, the lights of the smartphones, one by one, started to go out from the Wilmington, Delaware arena. Steel Spirit played, and played, and played. Drummer Dolph Jenkinson looked up and saw the lights vanish from the crowd. He never hesitated, however. Keyboardist and bassist and lead vocalist Cruz Hawkinsburg kept singing. Lesley Cooker on rhythm guitar noted the absence of lights but continued to shred. A few shrieks rose up from the crowd.

Then, a deafening murmuring lifted up from the spectators and supporters.

More shrieks. People began moving towards the exits. 

“No, no,” Harkingsberg protested. “The show goes on, man!”

The muttering seemed like a honey comb, the crowd all abuzz. 

Cooker looked at Jenkinson. “What do we do man?”

Jenkinson looked at Cooker. “Let out our ‘Make Do, Make Don’t.’”

Cooker nodded in agreement as the music had been drowned out by all the noise concerning the smartphones going blank. Like slates cleared of all ideas with the wipe of an eraser, every single phone in the open air stadium lost its power.

When Cooker started to play the opening chords of ‘Make,’ the people, befuddled, confused, even hurt by the turn of events began to return to their seats. Some left, most stayed. The intricate tonal shifts and ability to change chords enlivened the audience and even some of the people headed for a way out found their seats again.

Hawkinsburg took to the microphone. “Like y’all, we don’t know what’s happening, but we will do the utmost to provide the rest of the night with excellent entertainment.”

Sporadic applause, whoops, and yelps called back to the rocker. 

As about a third of the crowd spilled into the streets, the parking lot seemed like a murder scene. People couldn’t locate their cars. Some fender benders and bumper crunchers arose out of all of this, but not because of drivers using smartphones here. Some vehicles didn’t even start. So, some people just walked down to the corner bodega on the other end of the street. Folks stocked up on flashlights, candles and lighters. More people barreled into the store to cop such paraphernalia and distributed them to the other people. TVs still worked at the little shop. A breaking news headline read: “All smartphones on earth and in space rendered inoperable.” Some people cried and sensed the cold piece of glass and microchips in their pockets had turned into a casket. 

Back at the arena, Steel Spirit continued to bang out hit after hit to an audience in flux. People began to pass around the moonbeams, lighters and candles. Whistles and claps broke through the din of bewilderment. Every note seemed more precious, more clean, more meaningful as the congregants of the church of rock yearned for their band to push through all the madness. 

Cooker just sliced through every line with aplomb. Jenkinson pattered, knowing that he still had to play despite the circumstances. Hawkinsburg just kept singing with a voice not wavering or faint at all. A robust, strong vibrato broke free from his vocal chords. He envisioned the amount of refunds that the band might incur as a result of this most extraordinary night. 

“Play ‘Dawn’s Here,’” Hawkinsburg spoke to Jenkinson. Cooker got the cue, too. They launched right into it. Screaming guitars, and exemplary drumming boosted Hawkinsburg’s keyboard playing. Again, some people populated around the bodega and bought more flashlights, lighters, and candles. The newsman looked grave as pictures of the White House flashed on the screen. A chyron read: "World governments shut down all phones in apparent test of emergency system.” More uncertainty coursed through the throngs of people. It seemed like only vehicles made before 2010 left the parking lot. Electric cars and those that featured smartphone configuration remained stranded like huge lumps of glass and steel magnetized to the grids. So people came back into the arena with their lighters and their candles. Security, somehow, remained lax. The personnel busied themselves trying to figure out how to scroll on lifeless phones. They didn’t care too much about people re-entering the stadium. Smart watches, smart radios, and smart TVs linked to the smartphones all remained mum due to the uncertain nature that had arisen.

Steel Spirit kept playing and those who left began cheering as the hits cascaded down through their musical tools. Each of them performed through the brief exodus and the triumphal homecoming. Lighters sparked. Candles floated around the room. The lights created an analog glow that matched the cerebral offerings of the rockstars. Hawkinsburg got on the mic again to speak.

“As you know, our lyrics can be surreal and political. Y’all know more about what’s going on right now than we do.” He laughed and grinned.

“I see lighters from nonsmokers and candles, as well. Hold them up high.”

Thousands of lights all around lifted to the sky as the cool autumn night brought about more people. Those that didn’t even have tickets got in as the security continued to determine what happened. Steel Spirit looked out into the crowd. Like a thousand shimmering stars everywhere, the lights swayed against the blanketed blackness of blank screens in the open air arena. No heads looked down at devices. No one talked on their phones during the display of superb musicianship. Instead, the ambience remained fraught with both peril and wonder. People got crafty. They wondered if they could stand it any longer and started thinking if burner phones could be purchased. Steel Spirit finally stopped the playing and besides the flashlights, lighters and candles, no lights existed on stage and they took to the back of a Sprinter van and collected themselves. A TV in the van showed pictures all over the world of smartphone failures. 

“Jesus,” Hawkinsburg remarked. 

“It’s the whole goddamn world,” Cooker observed.

Jenkinson just sat with his arms folded. He had a notion to lean into the moment. He wanted to voice his disapproval of the nations, but he just held back and uttered nothing. 

“We’ve gotta fight this,” Hawkinsburg announced.

“What are we going to do? We’re just a band….” Cooker observed.

“That’s more the reason why we should do this.”

“Do what?”

“We’re going to go to Washington,” Hawkinsburg retorted.

“No,” Jenkinson finally spoke.

“Why not?”

“We’re not a political band. Sure we have some allegories about the government, but that’s it. That would mar our reputation,” Cooker pointed out.

“We can  start to be one. Our reputation ought to reflect how we addressed this situation with clarity,” Hawkinsburg pointed out.

“Well, y’all go to Washington. I’m getting my chirp phone back,”  Jenkinson asserted.

“On the most momentous night of our lives, with three sold out shows, we’re just supposed to sit on our hands and act all jolly?” Hawkinsburg asked, some tension colored his voice.

“This is not for us. We record music. That’s our thing. We let the politicians handle this. As we’ve seen, it’s not just America. This is a global thing,” Cooker riposted.

“I don’t care. The United States is the sole superpower. If we can just make it to D.C.,” he stopped. They looked at the roads. Some cars had stalled, unable to link their phones to their cars. People waved like swimmers in distress. The Sprinter continued on its excursion.

“What are we supposed to do? Don monkey suits and head down to speak to Congress?” Jenkinson pondered.

“Once we reach the morning, if there is to be a morning, we can put on our best double-breasted suits and state our case to combat this madness,” Hawkinsburg mentioned.

Just as he said this, the van swerved to avoid hitting someone walking on the highway. The three of them all shifted in their seats.

“Sorry about that,” driver Ed Royson called back to the bandmates.

“Okay, maybe you might have a point. We’ve been able to traverse this music business for years. This is an emergency. There just might be a way for us to  show the world that we’re concerned about the safety and longevity of people all over the place,” Cooker conceded. 

Hawkinsburg’s eyes widened. “Now, you’re starting to see.” Jenkinson still looked unsold.

“Dolph, what’s the problem? Sixty-six percent of the band seems to be on board with all this. What’s your gripe?”

“Let’s just let law enforcement and anyone but a band handle this thing. This is a global phenomenon that has never been experienced before. With us grandstanding in front of a bunch of suits would be a travesty,” he noted.

“Send me,” Hawkinsburg proclaimed. “That’s what the faithful say. If you’re not going to do it and Lesley and I are on board, we could just do it without you, sir.”

“You do that and you’ll be short one hell of a drummer,” Jenkinson retorted.

“There are always replacements. And in times like this, desperation grows. People will be lined up to take your place.”

The TV broadcast the world in turmoil. Cars burned. People looted phone carrier stores and took whatever traditional phones they could grasp. Still, in other regions, peace reigned. People huddled around campfires and exchanged ghost stories with aplomb. The members of Steel Spirit continued to assess the situation, despite having no experience in geopolitical games. Young children burst out crying in other places around the world, yearning for screen time. With each and every smartphone disabled, there appeared to be a trove of scavengers seeking to prey upon people that didn’t have anywhere to go.

“We can do this. It doesn’t matter if we’re the final band standing and the first to stand up to what’s going on out there, we can certainly cut through the confusion. We’ve witnessed disasters without smartphones. We can get through this,” Hawkinsburg announced.

“Alright, if it makes you feel better….” Jenkinson sighed.

“It doesn’t make me feel better. I just know that you’re on board with all of this.”

Cooker produced a  pager, a relic from some bygone era of mobile telephony.

“Where’d you get that?” Jenkinson asked.

“I always keep it with me. It’s my little plastic fortune cookie. It’s all battered and bruised. Falling apart. I tried taping up the damn thing. Who knew I would be able to use it again?”

“Does it work?” Hawkinsburg wondered.

“Yeah, it works. It should. I haven’t had a chance since this thing,” he held up his smartphone, “revolutionized all our lives.”

“But that’s going back close to thirty years, what are you doing with a beeper?”

“My dad was a hustler and he would use this thing every day. He passed it along to me to never forget the soul of the dealer is still alive.”

“Jesus, Dolph.”

“I know, it seems quaint but I’ve always kept it to remind myself of what can happen to people if they actually peeled away from the screens and participated with their compatriots. That’s another reason I hesitated before committing to anything. I’m okay, now, though.”

In a few hours, the band would return to their Delaware homes. They could see everything had been left untouched. They just had to go through the old timey way of actually unlocking their doors with their keys. Jenkinson’s wife Brazil had been asleep. He crept into the room and kissed her cheek. With her eyes still closed, she uttered, “They’re going to start a riot.”

Jenkinson froze. “I don’t think so,” he replied.

He remembered the faces of the band of miscreants alongside the road.

“We’re going to do something about it.”

“Hhmmph.” She was awake now. She rose from the pillow and sat up in bed.

“‘Hmmph’ what?” Jenkinson asked.

“I think you should be resting. You’ve been all up and down the East Coast. It’s time that you relaxed.” She hung her arms around his shoulderblades.

“I can’t disappoint Les and Cruz. We’re planning to go before Congress to address the world crisis.”
“I don’t want you to do that.”

“And I don’t need you to say you don’t want me to do it.”

She withdrew her arms and raised her eyebrows and eased back into her original position on the bed.

“You pick the band over me and we’re through. This is a time to sacrifice for your wife and children. If you can’t do that, you’re going to be all alone.”

Jenkinson absorbed the blow posed by Brazil. 

“If that’s the case, I can always use free time all by myself. I don’t see our marriage going away just because the world is without smartphones,” Jenkinson remarked.

“It’s okay. The problem will solve itself. So what if your highest values are swept aside,” Brazil muttered and found sleep again.

Cooker looked in his closet for the right suit. He found it. His wife Mariska put her hands on her hips and yawned. She dug through the closet as well, looking for an alarm clock.

“I’m going back to bed but this will be my only refuge to get up again,” she intoned.

“That’s alright. We’re going to make it through this together. We’ll sing for our supper and make it known that we’re not playing,” Cooker kissed Mariska and she plugged in and programmed the alarm clock.

Hawkinsburg found the right attire but didn’t know what the weather was going to be, didn’t know when to start his workout, and didn’t even know where he would end up in the next few hours. He, nevertheless, pushed past all of that and persevered. When he saw his wife Azula sleeping, he kissed her cheek and walked back over to the closet and retrieved a burner phone.

In the morning, the band reconvened. With a renewed sense of hope about their endeavors, Royson picked up all of them and they headed to D.C. A mixture of queasiness and confidence stirred in the souls of the bandmates. Their unease and conceit enveloped them and propelled them forward on this adventure.

“I’ve drafted something on my desktop. The tablet wouldn’t work either,” Hawkinsburg announced.

When they had finally reached their destination, they walked into the halls of Congress and noted the people already in suits less formal than their own. Hawkinsburg sat at the microphone while Jenkinson and Cooker sat with their arms stretched out on the table.

“Good morning, I am Cruz Hawkinsburg, that’s H-A-W-K-I-N-S-B-U-R-G, from the band Steel Spirit. And I  wanted to discuss this global emergency explicitly created by this United States government. Without the use of one of the greatest tools ever conceived by man,” he held up his disabled device, “we have seen the devastation that lacking this particular instrument has caused around the world. The smartphone is an example of the might of the mind. It forever changed our lives for the better more than the worse. Its cessation has reverberated around markets and in offices and homes and on the street.

“What we can do is find some way for the government to remove itself from the affairs of private citizens and only stand guard to secure and defend individual rights. With smartphones back online, we have a chance to see that hour where we’ll be looking down again but at the same time ahead to a better world. Thank you.”

Cooker and Jenkinson looked at each other. The people of Congress all peered at each other as if a gust of wind had blown through the hall. The little piece of paper that Hawkinsburg had printed out looked all folded and crinkly after the speech. He placed it in his pocket and arose. Cameras snapped and reporters followed the three men out of the building. In moments, smartphones began to go back online. A sense of relief shot through the band members and the rest of Wilmington, Delaware, America, and the world.

The band arranged for another concert in the open air for free. This time, the blanketed blackness of the pocket-sized screens had been replaced by apps. The night, too, had been punctuated by thousands of lights emanating from smartphones.