I walked into the room. There was smoke everywhere, and it was fucking beautiful. It was like the air was trying to hide it’s pretty, clear face with the only veil it could conjure up. It was strange, there weren’t any ceiling fans in this place. Most places like this have ceiling fans, to at least pretend like they’re fighting all the smoke. That’s one nice thing about this place; if I’m out of cigarettes, I just have to sit in the right corner around the right people and I get my fix.
I walked up to the bar, and I was shaky. I was about to order a drink. I tried to hide my nervousness, but I’m sure I looked like I was about to disarm some fateful bomb.
“Yeah, can I just get a PBR?” I said. I threw the ‘just’ in there for good measure—like, ‘I totally have the authority to order a fancy ass drink, but for now I’ll stick with something cheap’. There was a pause, and I’m sure my face turned blood red, but nevertheless he gave me a PBR. My face probably lit up like I had just accomplished something amazing. I had. I don’t care what anyone says, when you’re underage and you order a drink at a bar, a real bar, and you get it, you feel like a fucking god. It was all I could do to hide my toothy smile, and I rarely let anyone see my toothy smile. I’ve got bad teeth.
The bartender seemed like a nice guy—later on I went up for another drink and there was no pause. I asked him what music was playing, and his face lit up like mine had earlier. He obviously had a lot to say about whatever it was.
This guy loved talking about music. Ron, I later learned his name was, couldn’t stop talking about music if you brought up the right band. I happened to ask about his favorite band, The Police.
“Oh! This is The Police! They made great stuff man, really great stuff. Yeah, man, if you like this stuff you should check out the album—uh—hmm—oh, Zenyatta Mondatta! Zenyatta Mondatta, that’s it. Hahaha, yeah man, I smoke weed, hahah. A lot of great tracks on there, a lot of great reggae-influenced stuff too. Their early stuff is the best.”
He went on and on. I began to notice he would write off every quirk of his as a problem because of how much weed he smoked. I think underneath all those quirks was a charming, eloquent, intelligent brain. I think part of his personality was just a facade he couldn’t help but put on in front of bar folks. Looking back, he was probably one of the kindest people I’d ever had the pleasure of being around.
I picked up my second drink, and made my way to the back of the bar. There was a cute girl back there, and I wanted to sit by her. Of course, I’m a huge pussy, and I had to disguise my efforts to get her to talk to me. I picked up my laptop and moved next to her, where there was a plug. I was hoping she would just think I needed a plug, and not her attention.
She was kind of gorgeous. I say kind of, because you don’t exactly notice it at first. It’s this sort of unassuming beauty that sort of lingers around a person. Hidden in mannerisms and subtle features. You want to be in a relationship with the person, not just fuck them a lot. She looked like someone who had something interesting to say. Don’t get me wrong, she had a very pretty face, and a nice body, but I wasn’t initially blown away. Not initially. She was sitting at her computer, doing some sort of work I assumed was for some sort of college. She looked very intelligent, and you could see from her facial expression that she was deep in thought. She had high cheek bones, thin bleach-blonde hair, and some awesome lips. For some reason, I pay extra attention to lips. I can look at a girl’s lips, and decide almost immediately whether or not I think it would be fun to kiss them. She had fun lips.
Ron came out to pour coffee for everyone, and she asked for coffee. This was my chance to talk to her. He poured her coffee, and when he left I turned to her and said ”Hey, next time you want some coffee you can go in there and pour it yourself—they don’t care here. Or, if you’d like, I can pour it for you. Pouring coffee is fun.” She blushed and said “Oh, thank you!”, with this really warm, kind voice. Damnit, she was as shy as I was. This was good though, you could tell she wasn’t arrogant.
I wanted to talk to her more, but I’m a coward, and I decided to turn to my friend Lots More Drinks for help. We got to talking, a lot, and I think I just about lost my mind. In a good way, though. Like an “Oh my god, you are so pretty and smart and fun, I don’t know how to contain my happiness around you” way. I offered to buy her a drink, and she took it. I wasn’t trying to get in her pants, I really wasn’t. I like offering things to people, it makes me feel happy. When I meet someone like this, the last thing I want to do is have sex with them. Maybe not the last, but sex has always just clouded things up for me. Sex makes me feel like I’m abusing something sacred.
We kept drinking until we were both sufficiently intoxicated. Somehow I mustered up the courage to ask her if she wanted to come back to my place to trade mix CDs. I just wanted to kiss her a lot. I thought about how nice it would be to sleep with her. Actually sleep, not sex. I derive some weird, primal comfort in sleeping or napping with someone I’m attracted to. I know it’s a cliche, but it really feels like home to me. She said she would love to come over.
Back at my apartment, I put on Radiohead. I’ve gotten into a weird habit of putting on Radiohead whenever I have company I want to impress over. When I put on music for company, I do it to portray my tastes. In the case of Radiohead, it’s supposed to say, “Hey, I’m a little bit of a music snob, and have specific taste, but I’m not so snobbish I won’t put on something you’ve heard of.” Plus, Radiohead is sweet.
She started touching me playfully. A hand on the knee when I made her smile. A brush on the shoulder when I say something endearing. Society these days is fucked up. It used to be that hyper-confidence and swagger inspired affection. Now it’s self-deprecation. Whatever, I’m good at putting myself down. After all, I know my flaws better than anyone else.
She leaned in to kiss me, and I didn’t fight it. This went on for about 15 minutes, and then a problem became apparent—whenever I would pull away to take a break, she would immediately lean back in. I didn’t want to have sex with her, not tonight anyway, but my hormones took over. 3 minutes later we were having sex. 30 minutes later she was asleep and latched onto me like an angry cat, claws sunk in.
I carefully removed myself from her clench, and moved to the living room.
***
In the car, I noticed something different about tonight. There was excitement in the air. Either that, or some excitement producing drug agent. There were more people in the streets than normal. Lots and lots of people, just sitting on their concrete stoops. People walking to bars, or God knows where. This was unusual, because it was so cold out, and normally people stay indoors, or at least bundle up. The sky was fucked up too—light pollution was at an all-time high. The usual navy-black of the night was replace with orange-yellow.
I was following my TOMTOM; one of those new GPS navigation units, to an undisclosed location. I was told by a peer of mine that there was to be good music there. I figured it would be in the usual Clifton, Downtown, or Over-the-Rhine area. I was wrong. I was entering a part of town I’d never been to before, and I know this city in and out. I was driving through an industrial area by the river, on the outskirts of downtown. I actually thought I was lost, but I wasn’t. Suddenly, a calm, soothing voice exclaimed “You have reached your destination.” I got out of my car, checked the address, then parked.
That was odd, this place didn’t have a name. Nothing. I went through what I thought was the right door, and entered a run down lobby. Completely abandoned and trashed, I thought I really had the wrong place. There was a shitty wooden door at the end of the lobby, and on it was a piece of paper that had “DOWN” scribbled on it with a permanent marker. I opened the door, and went into the next room. Same story, completely abandoned, and empty, but there was an elevator. It was on. I pressed down, and the door opened. The “B” level was circled with permanent marker, so, I clicked “B”. As the elevator creaked downward, I could here pulsating bass growing louder.
***
134 miles per hour. That’s how fast I was going. That’s how fast I was going when I realized how beautiful the world would be after we were all dead. It was snowing, and I was on I-65 S heading towards Nashville. My main route to Nashville (the only route I knew) was closed down because of an accident or something, and I had just spent 4 hours (the normal duration of the trip) driving around trying to find a way around to the other side, and following detours. I stopped in a gas station to ask for directions. The girl behind the counter gave me a way to go, and I had followed it.
Turns out no one else knew about this way onto I-65. It was totally deserted. It was absolutely gorgeous. Sunset, snowing, open road. I got the car up to 134 and lit a cigarette.
***
In the living room, I cracked open a beer and put on some Wilco. This was think/get drunk/feel strange time. This was “in my head” time. This was “clear my head” time. It’s hard for me to deal with ordeals like the one that had just occurred. I try not to stay in my head the whole time. I try not to stay in my head the whole time. I try not to stay in my head the whole time.
***
My boots felt good walking on the hardwood. Nashville felt so weird, so new. Fresh faces were all around me, fresh personalities too. “For once,” I thought, “I belong somewhere.” The atmosphere was brilliant too. The air was filled with a strange concoction of fajitas, smoke, and perfume. Romance in Durango by Bob Dylan filled the air. I let it consume me. I found myself a lawn chair on the roof, and lit a cigarette. This was excellent.
It was dusk, and I’d gotten into a conversation with some slightly familiar faces.
“So, you came from Cincinnati?”
“Yeah, I went to High School with Tyler, he’s letting me stay at his place until I get on my feet.”
“Oh, awesome man. I think you’ll love it here.”
“I do too!”
The conversations I had that night didn’t really have any substance, but they felt good. It felt good to interact with all of these new faces. I finished sharing a line of coke with a stranger, and I just wanted to talk to everyone. Suddenly, a large group of about 30, on another corner of the roof starting counting down—“10! 9! 8! 7! 6! 5! 4! 3! 2! 1!’ then a pause. Then fireworks exploded in the air, and were followed by overzealous cheering. I found myself dancing with a very pretty girl to the tune Sweet Thing by Van Morrison. She had long, blonde hair and a polka dot dress. She was very tan too. The only adjective that comes to mind when describing her is “free”. For some reason we just kept smiling at each other, not saying a word. We had come to some sort of understanding.
I began to lose myself in it all. Everything started to get blurry and warm, and it began to feel like a dream. Nothing mattered. When I could finally hardly stand, I found a corner in the living room and fell asleep to Bruce Springsteen’s “Havin’ a Party”.
***
My neck hurt. I had been sleeping on a hardwood floor for the past week, and it was taking it’s toll. But this was a happy place, and I was happy to be here. The trip to settling into my new home had been a hard one.
Almost immediately upon my arrival, others arrived too. My mom, dad, sisters, friends, old babysitters and distant relatives. I had grown accustomed to the constant “Will you play guitar more quietly?!” coming from the basement. I knew what was down there. It was an old woman, and I didn’t give a damn if she couldn’t sleep, she probably just wanted attention anyway.
The smell of home-cooked food filled the house. This was a big, Victorian house with a full old-fashioned bar downstairs. There was a constant racket, and it provided a deep comfort no other sound can provide. The sound that lets you know that you are in a good place, surrounded by good people. The sound of laughter, pointless debate, music, footsteps, and glass clinking.
Josh, Tyler, and Jamie showed up together, looking like some rag-tag 1940’s celtic gang, with flasks in hand and cigarettes in their mouths. I gave them a warm greeting and headed towards the bar to get drinks. A few unfamiliar faces were sitting at a table, and as I passed they gave me dirty looks. I forgot sugar and cream, and on my way back I could hear them sneering and laughing at me. I rolled my eyes, and one of them piped up and said “You look like a bitch.”
“What?” I asked.
“I said you look like a bitch, I just felt like I should tell you.”
“Well, alright, fuck you too.”
He stood up, and walked toward me. He looked about 3 or 4 years younger than me, and he definitely looked like he didn’t belong in this house. He gave me a big shove, upon my inquiry of “What the fuck?!” he punched me in the stomach. It didn’t really hurt, but it certainly knocked the wind out of me and I took a few steps back.
“Dude, I don’t want to fight you!”
He shoved again. He grabbed ahold of my arms and tried to wrestle me to the ground, and in between my gasps for breath and grunts I uttered “Man—Wha—What—the—fuck!?” and punched him in the face as hard as I could. He fell back and knocked over a table and broke some glass. I said “Don’t fucking touch me!” and walked back over to my friend’s table.
5 minutes later, he walked over and pulled my hair. I got up, furious, and said “What the fuck is your problem? Let’s go outside.” We walked outside to the cobblestone street, and it was strangely beautiful out. Gas lights lined the street, and across it laid a brick courtyard—we walked over there. He walked towards me, laughing, and I punched him as hard as I could in the nose. He fell down, and was bleeding. I climbed on top of him and punched him in the face over and over again, but he wouldn’t stop laughing at me. His face was completely fucked up, and I stopped and asked “Are we done here?” and he let out an extra laugh and grabbed some pieces of a beer bottle laying on the ground. He started trying to stab me with them, and I kept punching him over and over again until he was bloodied an unconscious. I sat on him, panting, and noticed that my hands were bleeding profusely and had big chunks of glass in them. My skin was falling off in a lot of places.
In my rage I had failed to notice that just about everyone originally in the house had come out to watch. They were all staring at this scene with disbelief and scorn. I looked up at all of them and I said “He… He wouldn’t leave me alone! He kept punching me!” and started crying. They all shook their heads and started to go back inside. The sound of sirens started growing all around me. I felt so fucked up—I was in my happy place, around all of these warm faces, and these random people had to ruin it for me. I collapsed next to the guy I had destroyed, and closed my eyes sobbing. As the sound of sirens got closer, strangely, the sound of a train barreling down the tracks also made itself present, and soon it drowned out the sirens, and all the other ambient sounds. Suddenly, I felt incredibly warm, and at peace, laying there in the street, listening to this train, if it even existed. A voice in my head said “Listen…” and I passed out in the mess I had created.
