last night i went to see quasi at the magic stick. i went with adam, grace, and steve. i told myself i wasnt going to drink at the bar because money is tight, but since miles and tiffany were visiting, the spirit (and spirits) of celebration took over. before i knew it, i was standing on the dance floor, vigorously chugging my third 22 of budweiser, and wating for the opening bands to start. In fact my attention was so focused on emptying the big-ass bottle of beer I was holding that I didn’t notice as the evening’s ‘alternative entertainment’ sidled up to me. When I looked up to catch my breath between swallows, his hand was dangling in front of my face, a gesture usually accompanied by a lilting “Enchante,” and a rustle of peach satin.
“So shannon wright’s up next?” i said, to break the uncomfortable silence.
“You have a beautiful nose,” he answered, and without warning suddenly he grasped my nose between his thumb and forefinger. That was when I knew this was going to be nothing but bad trouble. I stepped back quickly, freeing my nose from his grip.
I was standing in a small group; jackie, tiffany and i had been discussing- oh, it’s not important…i don’t remember what we's been discussing. i only remember looking up, and there he was- Rocky. All six feet, two hundred thirty pounds of him.
I’d seen him mincing from his seat to the bar and back again for the last half hour, and apparently I had elicited his attention as well. “I don’t really like quasi,” he stage-whispered, leaning in confidentially. “I’m more of a sleater-kinney fan, myself.” SHIT. this was going to be worse than I’d thought. I tried to respond politely.
“Yeah, Janet’s a great drummer. She can really-“
At this point rocky saw fit to interject.
“It’s too noisy over here! Let’s go somewhere quieter.”
Before I could offer a single word of protest he grabbed me roughly by my upper arm and jerked me in the direction of some abandoned pool tables. I looked back over my shoulde at jackie, frantically mouthing the words please help me .
It was minutes before the girls joined me; minutes that seemed like hours, during which rocky held forth on a number of completely unrelated subjects of absolutely no interest. I will not relate them to you here because somehow the course of our desultory-ass conversation is no longer a memory that I can recall. All I know is that at some point, rocky’s monologue shifted to the topic of Art that Rocky Likes, and I was informed that rocky had, in his first life, been a renaissance painter of some note.
“I always resisted studying medieval art and history, and stuff, you know? Because I always kind of knew it would mess with my memories.”
I nodded wordlessly, the response rocky seemed to appreciate most.
“Then one day I was in a history class and the teacher mentioned the poet Petrarch, and I was just SO RELIEVED, right?! It was like, ‘There was a Petrarch! okay, I’m not crazy after all!’”
I think the blood probably left my face or something, because rocky asked me how I was doing. He offered me a cigarette, which I accepted.
“I don’t know if I should be offering this to you…you old enough to smoke, kiddo?” he asked in a disingenuously offhanded tone, although there were obviously important connotations to this question for rocky. I was like, “umm…I’m twenty-three. How old are you?”
His response, “I’m twenty- whoa! dude I thought you were, like, 17!” was not what I had been hoping for. Luckily at that very moment jackie appeared out of nowhere announcing that the band was about to start and, in a less-painful approximation of the technique rocky had employed, took hold of my arm, steering me into the farthest corner of the dancefloor where I proceeded to relate to her the dark tale I’ve just shared. the rest of the night unfolded relatively uneventfully, although it was difficult to enjoy myself and the wonderful music under the looming shadow of Rocky.
ps. YO, ROCKY- IF YOU'RE READING THIS...I HATE YOU