Free Tyler & Stella (Tattoo Thief) by Heidi Joy Tretheway

panicked, with a violent edge. The fence lifts slightly and the pressure on my back lessens.
    I peek up at Tyler’s new shoes in the light spilling over from the stage, his strong hands grasping the edge of the fence above my head.
    “Stella!” he yells, and it’s choked and wrong, nothing like Marlon Brando’s passionate cry in A Streetcar Named Desire . Tyler’s “Stella!” is hoarse and cracking with fear.
    Tyler pulls the fence almost up to forty-five degrees, even though people are still trying to walk or climb across it and I hear him shout at them angrily. He reaches a long arm toward me and grasps my hand, but I think he’s afraid to pull in case I’ve broken something.
    I tug on him for strength, trying to scoot forward enough to get my feet under me and get out from under the oppressive fence. We’re each clasping the other’s forearm and with my head down I can only see where my small pale fingers cover some of his tattoos.
    I push and crawl and find my footing, wrenching myself to standing as Tyler keeps one hand locked tightly on me and the other holding up the fence. It’s bent completely over around us, pushing us flat against the stage and my body directly into Tyler’s.
    I look around and see that only part of the fence has collapsed. The security guards are working at each end to right it while dozens of fans surge over it like a military invasion.
    Noise clangs in my head. The band is still playing. I’m at the center of a microcosm of panic near the stage while thousands of people at the concert are unaffected and unaware.
    I was nearly crushed to death by a crowd and almost nobody noticed. The band didn’t even stop playing. The show must go on.
    I’m freaked out by the fact that what almost happened to me was nothing more than a blip on the radar. Considering I’ve spent my life trying to get noticed, first on stage and now in print, it’s more than a little bit sad.
    But Tyler noticed. His eyes are blazing as he looks for our best exit. The fence is collapsed on both sides of us, blocking our way out. He releases my forearm and wraps his arm around my waist, pulling my small body against his frame. His eyes search my face.
    “Are you OK? Tell me where else you’re hurt.” He touches my chin gently. It’s throbbing and sticky and I smell the dull, rusty stench of blood.
    “I don’t know.” I shake my head, the shock disorienting me. What do I do next? The crowd is still pushing, more people climbing over the fence as the band plays what sounds like a finale. “I’m scared.”
    The fence lies heavy against our lower legs and Tyler sandwiches me between himself and the front of the stage. His body protects me. I hear him shout something at the guards but they’re too far away to help us and they’ve got an obstacle course of fans and fencing to navigate first.
    I hear Tyler curse in frustration and he looks down at me. “Can you walk?”
    I nod.
    “OK, I’m going to give you a boost. Just walk to the back corner.” He points to stage right. Before I’m ready, he reaches under my armpits and hoists me skyward, my butt just clearing the edge of the stage. He pushes my dangling legs to the side so they’re on the stage and I see my knees are deeply scraped and bloody.
    I can tell Tyler sees them too.
    Tyler points me to the back of the stage again and I scramble up on my feet as he boosts himself up on strong arms, kicks up a leg and rolls onto the stage. The band’s last chord plays and I hear the crowd explode in cheering and applause as I clamber offstage.
    More pyrotechnics blind me and sparks shoot from the cannons on the stage perimeter. I blink hard and try to avoid tripping on cords strung across the floor like ropes in an obstacle course.
    Tyler nods briefly at The Ruins, but he doesn’t slow down to take a bow with them. He grabs his guitar by the neck and follows me toward the backstage exit.
    Tyler catches up to me as I navigate black steps that are illuminated