I glance at the clock on the night-stand next to my bed. 7.35. It's dark outside and the sky is inky black through my bedroom window.
'Sam...Sam?'
I can hear someone calling my name up the stairs. It's Kevin.
"Yeah?" I shout, not wanting to move from under my duvet. I'm cosily covered, propped up on fluffy pillows, spooning an obscenely large bowl of cereal into my mouth while watching TV in the dark. Friday night, at home, alone. I just can't deal with the effort of getting dressed up and going out tonight, it's too much work.
"Phone!" Kevin's voice comes up the stairs again. Fuck, now I have to get up. I put the bowl on the floor and reach for a cigarette, grab my lighter and climb out of my nest with a sigh. I sling a huge, stripy jumper over my head and pad down the stairs in my socks. Kevin's left the receiver on the stairs and disappeared back into the basement. He's a DJ, like every other boy at college. Our basement has been transformed to house his collection of rare dance music white labels and his outrageously expensive decks. Kevin locks himself down there for hours on end, which is actually fine because the foundations of the house seem to muffle most of the noise. Kevin's cool and we get on really well, we just have very different views on music.
I sit on the bottom step, light my cigarette, take a long drag, exhale and then pick up the phone.
"Yello?"
"Hello darling," my best friend Kirsty purrs, "are you sitting down?" Regret knots in my stomach, I should have told Kevin to say I was out. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I rack my brains for a feasible excuse before she asks the inevitable.
"I'm not coming out K, it's no use." Smoke gets in my eye and I rub it with the heel of my hand, "I don't feel well, I'm in bed" Pathetic, even a useless liar like me could do better. Kirsty's giggles are starting to irritate me. I can hear music and bar noise in the background and what sounds like more excitable squeals. I'm so not in the mood for this tonight.
"I only asked if you're sitting down sweetheart" more giggling and squealing. The only way out of this is to play along.
"Right, fine, yes, yes I'm sitting down," I sigh, wondering if there's any beer in the fridge. I need a drink.
"Guess where I am?" Kirsty's giggles are reaching fever pitch.
"A bar by any chance?" I snap sarcastically, "Kirsty, listen I'm not in the mood, I'm not gonna come out," I move to hang up the phone.
"Wait! He's here!"
I freeze, my hand in mid air.
"right now at the bar, and... he asked about you."
My interest is peaked. Nick!
"He did?"
"Yep, he asked where you were, and of course I said you were on your way. So... you have to be on your way, right? We're at the Off Ramp Cafe."
I suddenly feel an urge to kiss her.
"I'll be there in 30."
"No need to thank me babe," I hear Kirsty smile as I replace the receiver.
I sprint, taking the stairs two at a time and burst into my bedroom, flicking on the lights. Only 30 minutes to get ready! What can I wear? I've been in love with Nick since the first day of college when I saw him at the bottom of a stairwell. I know it sounds stupid but I fell in love with his backpack first, or maybe it was the way he wore it slung casually over one shoulder. Nick is so gorgeous, blonde, blue eyed with preppy floppy hair. Kirsty doesn't see it, she always wrinkles her nose when I mention him, but she respects my obsession regardless. Her taste in men is totally different to mine. Her crushes always look like they've been dragged through a hedgerow, all long hair and crusty looking t-shirts, whereas I prefer the boy-next-door. Less threatening, safe and harmless I guess. Someone to take home to your Mom.
I fling open my wardrobe to search for something to wear. After trying on everything I own I'm so sweaty I have to jump back in the shower. Eventually I decide on a black mini skirt, black tights and a Cramps t-shirt. Nick and I may not be aligned sartorially but I can't abandon my first love of music for any boy, no matter how cute he is in his bright blue levis 501's. I opt for my favourite pair of Blundstones, giving my docs the night off. I leave my hair down, it's long now, halfway down my back, in messy, chestnut coloured waves. I check my face and apply some serious liquid eyeliner, lashings of black mascara making my blue eyes pop. I step back to assess my work. Not bad, my aim was somewhere between cute pixie and intimidating siren. I think I've done quite well. I grab my favourite stretched angora cardigan and rush out the door.
It's already over an hour since Kirsty called by the time I arrive. Fuck, I shouldn't have spent so long getting ready.
"Where the fuck have you been Sam?" Kirsty meets me inside the entrance to the smoke-filled bar.
"Sorry, shit I'm sorry. I didn't know what to wear and then I couldn't find a cab. Anyway, I'm here now, where is he?" I look at Kirsty expectantly and notice her sheepish look.
"Uh, do you want a drink? Let's get you a drink first and then we can talk." Kirsty grabs my arm and heads to the bar. Confused, I follow.
"What the hell K? Is Nick here or not?" Kirsty is busy trying to get the barman's attention, ignoring me.
"Kirsty Geraldine Lewis!" I shout. Kirsty spins around.
"Hey! We agreed, no middle names." I stare daggers at her and as I do I glance over her shoulder. My heart flips. At the end of the bar I see him, Nick, in all his coiffed haired Jason Priestly 90210 glory, wearing a perfectly pressed shirt and a dazzling smile. Except he's not smiling at me, he's smiling to his side. To a girl, at his side. To my friend Becky to be exact.
"Sam, I'm so sorry." Kirsty is looking at me pityingly. My heart splashes into my Blundstones.
-----------------------------------------
Forty minutes later Kirsty and I are sitting in a booth, each nursing a vodka and coke.
"You were way too cool for that guy anyway." Kirsty has been doing this since we sat down, giving me reason after reason why I'm too good for Nick.
"He has zero edge for starters."
I gulp my drink and think about what she's saying.
"What does that mean exactly, zero edge?' I ask, putting my empty glass on the table and signalling for another.
Kirsty perks up at my question. This is her favourite thing, amateur psychology. She prides herself on it. It's important to note that Kirsty's major is Music Theory.
"Nick has no edge, therefore, in other words, he's not attractive. It's my new theory for the perfect guy." Kirst looks so pleased with herself, as though she's solved the secrets of the universe.
"What are you talking about K?" I may have had two drinks in forty minutes but I'm not drunk enough for this to make sense. "I found him very attractive, like very, very." I feel tears spring and swallow hard.
Kirst looks at me pityingly, like I'm an injured puppy or a bit thick.
"Don't get me wrong, you liked Nick and had a little crush, kinda like when you were in love with that guy off of Family Ties, but it's not the same thing."
I'm confused and I don't know why Kirst insists on doing little air quotes with her fingers when she says 'a little crush'.
"Excuse me, but I really liked Nick, and Alex P.Keaton. I thought they were....sexy?" I don't know why it comes out like a question. I mean, I thought they were both cute. I think. Kirst rolls her eyes.
"Listen, I'm not talking 'cute', kittens and babies are 'cute', I'm talking carnal, that feeling when you want to lick strips off a guy, literally drink his bath water, rub your face in his chest sweat. Visceral, unholy lust," she grins wickedly. "You ever had that? A guy who can make you feel things, not emotionally...more...physically?" Kirst raises her eyebrow at me with a glint. 'When just thinking about him makes you need to excuse yourself...if you know what I mean." Kirst giggles and takes a swig of her drink.
I shake my head. I have no clue what she means. I don't imagine Nick naked. I imagine him by my side, meeting my parents, taking walks and going on dates, that sort of thing. She may have a point. Is that wrong? I'm so confused. What's wrong with me?
"Guys get it so wrong. They claim nice guys finish last but we know that's bullshit. That's just what shitty guys use as an excuse, rather than admit they're not actually that nice. And then they say we only like bad boys, which is also bullshit. It's not bad boys we want. It's an edge."
I'm completely lost, "Sorry, what's your point?"
Kirsty looks so pleased with herself, "A good guy, but with an edge," she announces proudly. "It's the most devastating combination and rare as rocking horse shit. A truly, genuinely good guy, with a good heart but, and here's the twist, with an edge. Like, fire behind the eyes you know? A guy who will be crazy for a cause, get angry, have a depth of feeling. We want a pure human but with the capacity to cause problems if needed. An edge. We all go crazy for that."
"And Nick?" I ask warily, "what's he?"
"Neither, not particularly good and straight down the line that dude."
I laugh out loud and Kirsty smiles at me. "Laugh all you like Sam, but believe me, when you see it you'll understand."
I sit back in my seat and think about what she said. It's true in a way, I never really understood the way my friends talk. I appreciate a pretty face but I have never, ever lusted over a guys body, or got over excited by some dudes chest or biceps. Is that really a thing? I never understood getting excited by some guys butt without knowing him first. Is that what Kirsty meant? I just assumed I was a bit more picky. As though reading my thoughts Kirsty nudges me.
"You'll know it when it happens babe, trust me. When it hits, it's an unstoppable force of nature."
I smile and hug my friend, but something in me shrinks. I'm still having teenage fantasies, boy band types. What am I so afraid of? I try to shake it off and take a drink. The bar is getting really busy.
"Is there something on tonight?" I indicate the stage at the front. Instruments set up and a growing crowd.
"Oh yeah, a band. First tour I think. Supposed to be good, they've played at like Tower and stuff Becky said, some promotional stuff". Kirsty offers me a cigarette. I ignore the mention of that bitch Becky's name and take it.
"What like shopping malls?" I laugh.
"It's not fucking Tiffany, Sam! We can go somewhere else if you like, somewhere a bit quieter?"
I look around the room. It's filled with a sea of denim and t-shirts and flannel. I can never refuse some live music, and the atmosphere has begun to feel charged. It is exactly what I need.
"No, lets at least see what they're like first, if it's shit we can always go somewhere else."
I gesture to Kirsty that I'm heading to the bar before the show starts and she signals for a beer. I push my way through the suddenly much denser crowd, standing on tiptoes occasionally to check I'm still headed in the right direction. At the bar I wait patiently for a spot to open up and then slide in.
"Two beers please." I wait for the drinks and then pay. As I grasp the bottles by the necks and turn to leave I see Nick still at the end of the bar, with Becky. He has one hand around her neck and the other gripping her ass. He seems to be trying to consume her whole, his tongue flicking in and out of her gaping mouth for everyone to see. I shudder. Seeing Nick like that does nothing for me. As if for the first time I take in his pressed button-down shirt tucked tightly into his light blue jeans, fastened with a cheap tan belt with a silver clasp and the gleaming stubble of his short back and sides topped with blonde, flicked curtains. My crush is a bad knock off Jason Priestly. What the fuck have I been thinking? I'm wearing a Cramps t-shirt for fucks sake. My favourite band is Joy Division.
I smile to myself and turn to make my way back through the crowd when the house lights suddenly go out and the venue is plunged into darkness. I can't move because I can't see anything. I'm stuck midway in the crowd, directly in front of the stage. A spotlight flicks on and a middle-aged guy blows loudly into a mic.
"Good evening ladies and gentlemen, we want to introduce a local band, that you may have heard enough about all ready" he says with a conspiratorial grin to the audience.
Cue small cheer from the crowd who are clearly all better informed than me.
"...so without further a do, for the last in our series of gigs of ones to watch in future, please welcome... Pearl Jam." Cue louder applause and cheering and me still utterly oblivious. I'm getting a bit irritated cramped in front of the stage. I want to get back to Kirsty to drink and moan about shitty guys. I'm just considering jabbing the six foot man standing next to me in the ribs when a guy with long hair and a soul patch ambles onto the stage. He sits down at the drum riser and raises his sticks to the crowd. Cue a ripple of cheers. I sigh, realising I may as well give up trying to escape. Instead I give my full attention to the stage. Drummer guy is soon joined by another guy with long dark hair and a sweet face who wanders on and picks up an electric guitar from its stand at the front. Then another guy, wearing one of those stupid felt hats that are selling literally everywhere, bounces on after him. He's grinning adorably as he picks up a bass. Intrigued, I take a gulp of my beer, I may as well make myself comfortable while I wait for the sea to part.
Finally a tall, slim, very good looking guy with long dirty blond hair comes out and picks up yet another guitar. Lots of guitars in this band. I look at the blond guy and raise an eyebrow. Ok, so if they're awful at least I can look at him until the crowd thins. He's really good looking, chiselled face, clean cut, reminds me almost of Nick, if Nick was a lot cooler and a lot better looking. Maybe this is what Kirsty was talking about. He's wearing tidy jeans and a t-shirt and a vest, and his hair is in a half pony tied back with a red scrunchie, which is cute. Wait what did Kirst say about cute? Something about kittens. Is this the kind of guy I should be looking for? Could a scrunchie be evidence of an edge? This guy is definitely more similar to me style wise than Nick but I'm not imagining him naked. I give it a try. Ok, so now I'm just seeing a naked guy wearing a scrunchie and holding a guitar. Should I be feeling something because, well, I'm not. I mean I'd kiss scrunchie guy, sure, like I said he's really good looking. Is that carnal enough? I'm so confused.
I feel a hand on my shoulder. Kirsty yells in my ear.
"You found a way better spot, I'm loving the scrunchie guy already."
I hand her a beer and gulp mine.
"Is that what you meant K? More like him?" I indicate scrunchie guy. Kirsty smiles at me.
"Maybe. There is no specific, you can't predict who it will be, but believe me, you'll just know. You won't need to question it, you'll feel it. One day, Sam, someone will catch your eye and then you'll understand." Kirst kisses me on the cheek.
I smile at her and watch the band fiddle with their instruments. They laugh and talk to each other. Scrunchie guy is definitely cute, especially when he smiles. A bit dorky which is nice, I like dorky. I'm pretty sure this is what K meant. He's cute. I relax a little. Cute isn't so bad.
"Hold. The. Mother. Fucking. Phone!"
Kirst says suddenly. She's looking to the right side of the stage. Her eyes are wide and a smile is spreading on her face.
"What?"
Confused I follow her gaze and suddenly the whole world slows down. I see him.
The last guy walks on stage to the microphone in front of the band with his head down. He looks up, almost shyly, and smiles briefly at the audience. A louder cheer ripples around us. His hair is dark, wavy and hangs across his face. He slowly shrugs off his brown jacket and tosses it towards the back of the stage, underneath he's wearing a white t-shirt and faded board shorts. The skin on his arms is tanned against the bright white of the shirt. I watch as he pushes his hair over to one side, off his neck and out of his face.
God, his face. My stomach aches. Shouldn't have eaten all that cereal. As he stands directly under the spotlight I see him clearly for the first time. I swallow instinctively. Spellbound.
"So... that's the lead singer," Kirsty takes a large swig of beer and gulps, "wow."
"Uh, hey. We're Pearl Jam. Thanks for coming out. This is Release."
White t-shirt guy's voice is surprisingly deep and reverberates around the room. I feel it vibrate in the pit of my stomach and something lower. When he speaks, his mouth twists in an oddly alluring way, kind of like he's a naughty kid with a secret. The strains of a guitar begin and I'm shocked when a drone-like sound comes out of the white t-shirt guy. The power in his vocals stirs my soul like a spoon. He is mesmerising. Kirsty and I stand frozen, side by side drinking our beers in silence.
"I bet he smells amazing." I mutter out loud before I can stop myself. I don't know where that came from.
"What?" Kirsty snorts with laughter, temporarily breaking the spell.
"I uh, I just mean he looks like he smells amazing," I blush.
Out of the corner of my eye I can see Kirsty's quizzical brow. She's grinning at me.
I stand motionless for over an hour as white t-shirt guy pours every ounce of himself into his performance. He flails around the stage while I stand hypnotised. I can't look away. There's something about his wild-eyed stare, and the way he moves, and the timbre of his voice, and the caramel of his skin and his mannerisms and his awkwardness and his confidence and the line of his shoulders and the way he wears his clothes and ...
"You want another beer?" The lights have come back up and Kirsty is asking me a question. I blink rapidly to focus, dragging myself back down to earth. My mouth feels dry.
"Uh, yeah. Sure. Lead the way."