I had just finished playing a show and had already had much more to drink than I should have. That's one of the perks of being in a popular band: people are more than happy to help you make an asshole of yourself.
The night was warm and Michael and I were sitting outside of the bustling club, under a tent at one of a few bistro tables scattered around. The show had ended about twenty minutes before and already I had had a line of drinks set up around me that people had brought over. I began to count them. Six shots of whiskey. Two glasses, two cans, and one bottle of various beers, and a glass of red wine. A girl had brought that over, instantly becoming my favorite person so far in the evening. Most nights people bought us a few drinks, but tonight was a flood and for that I was thankful, because I was desperately trying to keep calm.
Across the parking lot, in front of the doors of the club, sat a fellow I had been waiting to run into for the better half of a decade. A fellow who had stepped on my toes, who had stolen my dance, who had pissed me off.
Michael was talking. I wasn't listening.
Someone gave me another glass of wine. Another girl.
"Good show," she said, and kept on talking.
I smiled and said thank you. I tried to be grateful and kind, but I couldn't bring myself to back down. I drank her glass.
"You know if you ever want..." she said.
I didn't. All I wanted, all I could dream of, all in my universe of stars and fire and chaos and endless limitless abyss, was the sound of my bistro chair as it broke teeth, eye sockets, skull, vertebrae. As it tore and smashed, ripped and crushed, over and over and over and over...
My eyes burned. The girl was gone. I took two of the shots.
The fucker.
The mongrel.
The cunt.
"James."
My muscles were booze soaked and bursting.
"James."
The scales between my revenge and my reputation were tipping with each drink. My need to behave began to diminish. I drank two more shots.
"James. What the fuck?" Michael.
I looked at him. "You see that guy?"
"What guy?"
I nodded in the direction.
"In the scarf?"
"Yes."
"Yeah."
"That's him," I said. "Alex." My body burned. Even sitting, my balance was faltering.
"Alex?"
"The guy I told you about the other day."
"The toe stepper?"
"Is that what I said?"
"Yeah."
"I guess so then," I said.
Alex looked at me, then away, and back to me. I could see him realize who I was.
"You going to be all right?" Michael asked.
"I'm going to kill him."
"He's not worth the trouble."
I drank the last two shots. "No, maybe not. But a man doesn't let someone get away with that shit."
"A man let's it go," Michael said.
I couldn't.
Michael stood up. "Before you do anything, come with me."
"To where?"
"Just come with me." He began walking back into the club. "Come on."
I got up, took two of the beers with me, and followed. Alex kept his eyes on me as I walked. I was still together enough to try to fight the urge, so I looked forward, smiled, and faked a conversation with Michael as we passed.
We moved through the crowd and the dark. A DJ was on stage. The smell of sweat and gallons of perfume filled the air. I saw a couple of guys with popped collars and wondered who did that still. A girl in tiny white shorts, choking a beautiful ass.
Michael pulled me aside, into the bathroom. "Look in the mirror," he said.
"Why?"
"Just do it."
I did. "So?"
"Take some deep breaths. Splash some water on your face."
"I'm fine."
"Just..."
"For fuck's sake!" I turned on the faucet and let it run into my hands before throwing it at my face. See?! Fucking fine!"
Michael smiled, holding a laugh. "You look retarded. Just relax man. It's not worth getting arrested over."
I looked back into the mirror. My hair was a mess, my shirt drenched with sweat, beer, and now water. My eyes looked sunken. "You don't understand."
"I know man. The guy's a scumbag. The things he did were unforgivable. You have every right to want to kill him, and no one would ever think other wise, but you can't. You aren't that guy. You're better than that. You know it and I know it."
I took the deep breaths. "I think I have to get out of here."
"Okay man."
"Can you and Grant grab my gear when you leave?"
"Sure. Come one. Come to the bar first. Let's have one more, and then we'll walk you to your car."
"Okay."
We left the bathroom and out into the S.T.D. pool. Despite my anger and my opinion on the young, rich, and carefree, I can't help but stare at small shorts or tight dresses. It numbs the hostility for a second.
I take a stool at the bar. Michael sits next to me.
"What do you want?" He asks.
"Whatever the next girl buys me."
He laughs. "Wouldn't Marie be pissed if she knew girls were buying you drinks?"
"No. I'm saving a ton of cash and being a complete asshole to them. She'd be proud."
"You're probably right," he said. "Until then though, how about a whiskey?"
"Okay. Double. Neat."
He flagged the bartender over. "Can of PBR for me. Whiskey double for my friend. Neat."
The bartender nods and hands him his beer. A few seconds later, me my whiskey. I swallow it fast. No bullshit.
"I'm just so fucking angry," I said.
"I know man. Let it go. You'll be happy you did in the morning."
"I know. You're right."
He finishs his beer and we order another round. I'm smiling. Feeling good. Some of the other musicians from the night come over and buy me drinks. An hour goes by as I laugh, drink, and watch legs and asses sway. Life is beautiful. Even in the midst of all you despise, it can be beautiful.
I start to feel weak. I have officially passed my limit. "Time to go," I tell Michael.
"To your car?"
"Yeah."
"You okay to drive?"
"Not right now, but by the time we walk across this fucking town to it I will be."
"Okay."
We stand up. Say our goodbyes. Finish our drinks. Everything had turned out fine. We pass through the crowd again, and by the door I spy a poster for the show with us at top billing. It makes me feel good, as little as it actually means.
We step outside and in a chair, Alex sits by the gate.
My brain lights up. "Hey! Asshole!"
He looks at me like he doesn't recognize me.
"You know who I am!" I say I stamped over to him.
"Nope."
"Fuck you!" I kick the back of his chair, just behind his shoulder. The chair falls over and he spills out onto the pavement.
"James!" Michael grabs my arm.
I barely hear him, and don't give a shit.
Alex begins to get up and people are shouting around me.
"You fucking asshole," he says.
I could only see him. Pinpoint focus. I am fire. I am a black hole. I am Hell itself. I can't speak.
Before he can get to his feet I run up and kick him under his chin. Something cracks. He hits the pavement again and spits out blood. Bent over, grabbing his side, he says; "James..."
"James!" Michael says.
I barely hear either.
"James! I'm sorry!"
Fuck him. Fuck his apologies. Alcohol raged through me like gasoline. I kickhis face hard with my heel.
"I warned you!" I say. "I fucking warned you!"
Alex rolls onto his back. I look around me. Watching for bouncers. A thousand onlookers, no bouncers. I wonder if Alex was the shittiest fucking bouncer. I see a bistro chair and grab it.
I pick up the chair. "Get up."
Alex just looks at me.
"Get up!"
"I'm sorry."
"Get the fuck up."
He comes to his knees, then stands. "Just please, let's talk."
"James! Stop!" Michael is yelling behind me.
I swing the chair. It hits Alex across his face. Without resistance, like empty clothes, he falls to the ground again. He doesn't move.
I drop the chair, and walk out the gate, drunk, vindicated, and immediately wishing I had listened to Michael.
The night was warm and Michael and I were sitting outside of the bustling club, under a tent at one of a few bistro tables scattered around. The show had ended about twenty minutes before and already I had had a line of drinks set up around me that people had brought over. I began to count them. Six shots of whiskey. Two glasses, two cans, and one bottle of various beers, and a glass of red wine. A girl had brought that over, instantly becoming my favorite person so far in the evening. Most nights people bought us a few drinks, but tonight was a flood and for that I was thankful, because I was desperately trying to keep calm.
Across the parking lot, in front of the doors of the club, sat a fellow I had been waiting to run into for the better half of a decade. A fellow who had stepped on my toes, who had stolen my dance, who had pissed me off.
Michael was talking. I wasn't listening.
Someone gave me another glass of wine. Another girl.
"Good show," she said, and kept on talking.
I smiled and said thank you. I tried to be grateful and kind, but I couldn't bring myself to back down. I drank her glass.
"You know if you ever want..." she said.
I didn't. All I wanted, all I could dream of, all in my universe of stars and fire and chaos and endless limitless abyss, was the sound of my bistro chair as it broke teeth, eye sockets, skull, vertebrae. As it tore and smashed, ripped and crushed, over and over and over and over...
My eyes burned. The girl was gone. I took two of the shots.
The fucker.
The mongrel.
The cunt.
"James."
My muscles were booze soaked and bursting.
"James."
The scales between my revenge and my reputation were tipping with each drink. My need to behave began to diminish. I drank two more shots.
"James. What the fuck?" Michael.
I looked at him. "You see that guy?"
"What guy?"
I nodded in the direction.
"In the scarf?"
"Yes."
"Yeah."
"That's him," I said. "Alex." My body burned. Even sitting, my balance was faltering.
"Alex?"
"The guy I told you about the other day."
"The toe stepper?"
"Is that what I said?"
"Yeah."
"I guess so then," I said.
Alex looked at me, then away, and back to me. I could see him realize who I was.
"You going to be all right?" Michael asked.
"I'm going to kill him."
"He's not worth the trouble."
I drank the last two shots. "No, maybe not. But a man doesn't let someone get away with that shit."
"A man let's it go," Michael said.
I couldn't.
Michael stood up. "Before you do anything, come with me."
"To where?"
"Just come with me." He began walking back into the club. "Come on."
I got up, took two of the beers with me, and followed. Alex kept his eyes on me as I walked. I was still together enough to try to fight the urge, so I looked forward, smiled, and faked a conversation with Michael as we passed.
We moved through the crowd and the dark. A DJ was on stage. The smell of sweat and gallons of perfume filled the air. I saw a couple of guys with popped collars and wondered who did that still. A girl in tiny white shorts, choking a beautiful ass.
Michael pulled me aside, into the bathroom. "Look in the mirror," he said.
"Why?"
"Just do it."
I did. "So?"
"Take some deep breaths. Splash some water on your face."
"I'm fine."
"Just..."
"For fuck's sake!" I turned on the faucet and let it run into my hands before throwing it at my face. See?! Fucking fine!"
Michael smiled, holding a laugh. "You look retarded. Just relax man. It's not worth getting arrested over."
I looked back into the mirror. My hair was a mess, my shirt drenched with sweat, beer, and now water. My eyes looked sunken. "You don't understand."
"I know man. The guy's a scumbag. The things he did were unforgivable. You have every right to want to kill him, and no one would ever think other wise, but you can't. You aren't that guy. You're better than that. You know it and I know it."
I took the deep breaths. "I think I have to get out of here."
"Okay man."
"Can you and Grant grab my gear when you leave?"
"Sure. Come one. Come to the bar first. Let's have one more, and then we'll walk you to your car."
"Okay."
We left the bathroom and out into the S.T.D. pool. Despite my anger and my opinion on the young, rich, and carefree, I can't help but stare at small shorts or tight dresses. It numbs the hostility for a second.
I take a stool at the bar. Michael sits next to me.
"What do you want?" He asks.
"Whatever the next girl buys me."
He laughs. "Wouldn't Marie be pissed if she knew girls were buying you drinks?"
"No. I'm saving a ton of cash and being a complete asshole to them. She'd be proud."
"You're probably right," he said. "Until then though, how about a whiskey?"
"Okay. Double. Neat."
He flagged the bartender over. "Can of PBR for me. Whiskey double for my friend. Neat."
The bartender nods and hands him his beer. A few seconds later, me my whiskey. I swallow it fast. No bullshit.
"I'm just so fucking angry," I said.
"I know man. Let it go. You'll be happy you did in the morning."
"I know. You're right."
He finishs his beer and we order another round. I'm smiling. Feeling good. Some of the other musicians from the night come over and buy me drinks. An hour goes by as I laugh, drink, and watch legs and asses sway. Life is beautiful. Even in the midst of all you despise, it can be beautiful.
I start to feel weak. I have officially passed my limit. "Time to go," I tell Michael.
"To your car?"
"Yeah."
"You okay to drive?"
"Not right now, but by the time we walk across this fucking town to it I will be."
"Okay."
We stand up. Say our goodbyes. Finish our drinks. Everything had turned out fine. We pass through the crowd again, and by the door I spy a poster for the show with us at top billing. It makes me feel good, as little as it actually means.
We step outside and in a chair, Alex sits by the gate.
My brain lights up. "Hey! Asshole!"
He looks at me like he doesn't recognize me.
"You know who I am!" I say I stamped over to him.
"Nope."
"Fuck you!" I kick the back of his chair, just behind his shoulder. The chair falls over and he spills out onto the pavement.
"James!" Michael grabs my arm.
I barely hear him, and don't give a shit.
Alex begins to get up and people are shouting around me.
"You fucking asshole," he says.
I could only see him. Pinpoint focus. I am fire. I am a black hole. I am Hell itself. I can't speak.
Before he can get to his feet I run up and kick him under his chin. Something cracks. He hits the pavement again and spits out blood. Bent over, grabbing his side, he says; "James..."
"James!" Michael says.
I barely hear either.
"James! I'm sorry!"
Fuck him. Fuck his apologies. Alcohol raged through me like gasoline. I kickhis face hard with my heel.
"I warned you!" I say. "I fucking warned you!"
Alex rolls onto his back. I look around me. Watching for bouncers. A thousand onlookers, no bouncers. I wonder if Alex was the shittiest fucking bouncer. I see a bistro chair and grab it.
I pick up the chair. "Get up."
Alex just looks at me.
"Get up!"
"I'm sorry."
"Get the fuck up."
He comes to his knees, then stands. "Just please, let's talk."
"James! Stop!" Michael is yelling behind me.
I swing the chair. It hits Alex across his face. Without resistance, like empty clothes, he falls to the ground again. He doesn't move.
I drop the chair, and walk out the gate, drunk, vindicated, and immediately wishing I had listened to Michael.
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