Kevin or Brandon or some fucking thing.
I can't remember his name. He's standing in the middle of a sparse crowd, smiling at a girl with his eyes squeezed shut, in jogging shorts and a tank top and I'm fucking freezing. The rest of us are in sweaters and coats and freezing. Smiling with his eyes squeezed shut. We're friends online.
It's a block party. We're between bands. People meander and drink and I'm doing my best to kill the inner monologue but the only thing that seems to do the trick is fucking hating Kevin or Brandon or whatever his goddamned name is. Let's call him Tribeca.
I try not to read people anymore. In the past I've been exceptional at it. Knowing intentions. Knowing fears. Knowing motivations. The amount of times I've heard "you were right".
After it doesn't matter. After it's too late.
I can read Tribeca. It's all over him. I don't want to anymore, but it's plain. Try to see a marquee without reading it. He'd love knowing I compared him to a marquee.
It's freezing.
Earlier I stepped into the restaurant that was hosting the block party. A friend was serving and I smiled and said hello and ordered a drink from her. We're in a strange moment right now. She knows it. I know it. I move past it.
People shuffle all around the small and dim room.
Because of the block party the restaurant has an odd system for ordering and picking up drinks in place. Order here. Pick up over there. I'm not sure if it solves anything. They offer $4 "mystery cans". Whatever they are over-stocked on or trying to get rid of. I don't plan on staying long. I order a mystery can and walk to the bar across the room to pick it up.
Among a handful of others, Amber is working. I don't know what to say about Amber. She reminds me of amber. We get along well enough but there is something I can't identify. Rosemary said there was something there, but Rosemary thought there was something there between everyone. Maybe there is. I don't know. I don't care.
Won't.
Generally, the mystery cans are small niche local brewery beers. Amber comes over and hands me a tall 9.1% beer.
"You want the good one?" she asks.
I smile at her. I'm fighting the inner monologue. I smile. Hide it.
"That'd be great."
"I knew it." she said, still smiling. She reminds me of amber.
"Thank you."
"Of course."
She reminds me of amber.
I make my way through the restaurant and outside to sit at a single-chair table, be present, and fucking hate Tribeca.
The big move was getting out of the apartment. Getting off the couch. Wiping my eyes, catching my breath, and making the decision. To put a coat on. To leave the dark. To go. I didn't know how the night would go, it's hard to tell when I'm in these states, so I walked into town. A quick fifteen minutes. I've been trying to get into New Order lately. In my headphones as I crossed the college parking lot, down the hill, into town. To life. Away from death.
I didn't look up when I knew you were watching.
Won't.
Tribeca smiles behind thin lips and he reminds me of a rotting yam. I take a sip from the mystery can and watch the band set up. The drummer sets his cymbals, screws them into place. The bassist thumbs at his E and A and glances casually at the crowd.
I've not been well.
Some people have been genuinely worried. I try to reassure them, but I'm also worried.
I get like this. Waves. I assume I'll pull up. Hell, I got out of the house. That's something.
Soon the band begins to play. They are tight. They're having a good time, and for a moment I think about music. It's rare that it even crosses my mind anymore. I think about the math of music. Both timing and tone frequency. I think that maybe "rock & roll" is the voice of god. I think that maybe "rock & roll" was the greatest discovery of the 20th century. It certainly had a far greater impact on humanity than the fucking moon landing. How many lives have been saved by a rock band? How many lives changed, directly or indirectly by a three chord song?
Billions.
For a moment I am lost. I am weightless and nothing hurts and nothing is speaking to me and nothing can touch me. For just a moment.
I don't feel you.
I don't feel loss.
I don't feel fucking anything.
I simply AM.
There is no Tribeca. There is no amber. There is no 9.1%.
There is no you.
For a moment I am nothing. I am at peace. I am beautiful. I simply AM.
I got out of the house. I put my coat on. I put my headphones in and listened to New Order. I didn't look up when I knew you were watching. I walked across town, and I came to life. For a moment.
For a moment
everything was beautiful.
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