Words I Might Have Ate

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“Can I borrow a light?”

The cigarette dangles from my lips as I turn and I take in the familiar face standing beside me. A wide smile lights up my face as I straighten up from my slouched over position on the wall and nod. She is partially hidden in the smoky haze that always seems to linger in the alley beside Gilman’s, no matter what time of day. And the light from the propped open side-door casts her in an eerie glow, accentuating her high cheekbones and icy blue eyes.

“Sure,” I reply, digging through the pockets of my shorts for the cheap red lighter I had nicked from work a few days ago.

She takes it from me and expertly cups her hands around the end of her own cigarette before clicking the lighter and inhaling deeply. The lighter bathes her face in a vivid orange from the flame before she exhales, the stale summer wind blowing the smoke away from her face. “So why are you out here all alone? Don’t you normally have your crowd follow you around everywhere?”

I shrug as I flick some of the ashes away. “They’re inside getting ready to go onstage. I just really needed a cigarette and some alone time.”

“Am I bothering you then?” She asks coolly, her eyebrows arching up gracefully.

“No,” I shake my head immediately, looking at her from the corner of my eye. “I don’t mind your company at all.”

She looks up at me and her expression is difficult for me to decipher—it seems like a mixture between flattery and intrigue. But she doesn’t decide to pursue my words and a rather weighty silence descends upon us, punctured randomly by the soft hissing from our cigarettes as we smoke down to the filters.

Finally I flick the butt across the alley and savor my last lungful before I exhale and rest my head back against the wall. Behind me, the wall is shaking from the bass and the crowd seems to be chanting something back at the band onstage.

“You seem nervous.”

I had almost forgotten that I wasn’t alone out here anymore. She had finished her own cigarette and was sitting beside me on the concrete, her bare arms wrapped lightly around her knees as she looks at me from the corner of her eye.

“I’m not nervous. Anxious is more like it,” I admit freely, laughing softly as I look down at my worn out Converse. “I just have this feeling that something big is going to happen tonight—I have no idea what it is or whether it’s good or bad. But it’s deep in my gut,” I pound once on my stomach for emphasis. “And I can’t shake it. I thought some alone time and a few cigarettes might clear my head, but I guess not.”

“So the lead singer of the punk band is really a pretty boy in disguise?” She teases, her eyes glittering wickedly.

“Abigail, right?” Her name bubbles to my lips suddenly and I smile at the nod she gives me. “I already knew I was pretty, there’s no need for you to remind me.” It’s difficult for me to ignore the way my heart beats out of time at the sight of her smile—she has dimples and crooked teeth, something that could have been off-putting, but it only serves to make her more endearing.

She tosses her head proudly, scoffing lightly at my words. “Billie, right?” She shoots back patronizingly. “Some guys can really pull off the egotistical jackass vibe, but you darling, cannot. So stop embarrassing yourself.”

Before I can come up with a suitable comeback, the door to the club opens and Tré’s head pokes out of the building. He cranes his head around until he spots us by the dumpsters, a mischievous grin already on his face.

“I hate to break up your love-nest,” He begins, winking cheekily at me. “But it’s time for us to set up. We go on in five minutes, so let’s go.” My drummer gives me a totally unnecessary thumbs up before disappearing from view.

To my horror, Abigail is sniggering attractively. I spring up to my feet and dust off my pants before looking at the girl below me. She’s still staring up at me, an amused smile on her face. “Well,” She cocks her head to the side. “Aren’t you going to be a gentleman and help a lady off the ground?”

“Well I would,” I agree with a nod, looking thoroughly contemplative. “My mom did raise me to have decent manners. But I don’t see a lady anywhere, do you?”

I ignore her indignant gasp of surprise as I stroll away arrogantly, my signature smirk already in place as I duck into the club and begin to make my way towards the stage. I spot Mike’s familiar brown hair standing off-stage, his bass already around his neck. Tré is adjusting his snare drum, a concentrated look on his face.

Blue is waiting for me, propped up on an amp. I sling the worn leather strap around my body before I secure the clasp on the guitar and adjust the strap to my liking. The drone of the crowd milling about in front of the stage as we finish getting ready is infectious and I roll my head a few times, getting a feel for the energy level. The band before us had been good and the crowd was already pretty decently well worked up.

As I step up to the microphone stand, the house lights dim and the crowd’s attention is on me. From somewhere to my left, an excited teenager shrieks and I squint in his general direction, my middle finger extended proudly.

“I haven’t even said anything yet. Quit creaming your pants,” There are a few laughs from the floor but the crowd shifts in anticipation and I scan their eager faces happily. “We’re Green Day and we’re going to open our set tonight with one of my favorites—sing along if you’re a true fan.”

I step back from the microphone and begin the riff, nodding my head along with the beat as Tré comes in on the drums just behind me. The bass starts up just as I make my way back up to the mic and begin to sing.

“Now I rest my head from such an endless dreary time. A time of hopes and happiness that had you on my mind. Those days are gone and now it seems as if I’ll get some rest. But now and then I’ll see you again and it puts my heart to the test. So when are all my troubles going to end?”

-X-

Abigail had slid in through the front door of Gilman’s during our second song of the night. It was magnetic—one moment I was scanning the crowd, drinking in the sight of my lyrics being sang back to me and then the next, I was making eye contact with her, transitioning into automatic stage mode and ignoring the looks Mike was shooting at me.

She slowly made her way into the pulsating crowd, ducking from the odd elbow or body and all the while, we never broke our gaze. Before I knew it, she had managed to slink her way to the front of the crowd and was now standing right in front of me, staring up at me with that cool expression that drove me wild.

I found myself acting out during our entire set. I was just a bit too loud, just a bit too obnoxious, just a bit too over the top. But nothing that I did or said that night changed the bored arrogance that Abigail seems to ooze.

By the time we descended from the stage, sweaty but pleased with our performance, she had disappeared. I caught sight of the back of her blonde hair as she made her way towards the exit, swinging her hips just a bit more than necessary, successfully drawing the attention of every male within a five-yard radius. But I knew that that agonizingly slow canter was for my eyes only and that fact alone made my pulse race and my mouth became dry.

I flip open Blue’s case with my toe and crouch down, not even bothering to undo the strap around her neck as I carefully tuck my guitar into the velvet-lined case. All I can think of is Abigail and I wonder if her lips really are as soft as they looked back in the alley way.

“Hey man,” Mike towers above me suddenly, his case already in his hands. “We’re going to go drop our things off at the car, but then we’re meeting at the bar. Apparently someone wants to meet with us—the bartender told me it was another suit.” He pulls a face at the end of his sentence as I straighten up and sling my case over my shoulder.

“Another one?” I ask rhetorically as we begin to make our way towards the exit just as the band after us starts to set up on the vacant stage. “Do you know who it is?”

“Interscope, I think,” Mike shrugs his shoulders as we step out into the cool night air.

The breeze feels nice against my sweaty flushed brow and I’m half tempted to pour my water bottle over my head and shake my head like a dog before I walk another step. But something tells me that Mike wouldn’t be too impressed if I drenched him in my post-show sweaty excess water.

Tré is already waiting by the Volvo, drumming on the dented bumper energetically and singing a Ramones song in his unmistakable voice.

“Hey,” Mike shouts, kicking Tré’s ankle lightly. “Don’t drum on my car! She’s delicate.”

I snort attractively as he unlocks the doors and we begin to move our equipment into the trunk. “Mike, this thing is a tank—it could get into a head-on collision, the other car would be destroyed and this would drive away perfectly fine.”

“He didn’t mean it, girl,” Mike murmurs, running a gentle hand across his car’s chipped paint job lovingly. “Just ignore him. It’s just words.”

“How do you know it’s a girl?” Tré inquires suddenly, pausing mid-drum transfer, his entire face wrinkled in confusion. “Because I always thought of the Pinto as a boy, on account of the fact that it’d be awkward to have a girl car, considering the amount of backseat action I get with all of the girls—“

“Don’t even finish that thought,” Mike shoots Tré a warning look just as the gravel crunches behind us.

I spin around, the hair on the back of my neck standing up as I feel someone’s gaze on me. There’s a man approaching us, an excited smile on his face as he comes within speaking distance. My mind is in overdrive as I struggle to place his face. I had seen him somewhere before—shaggy blonde hair, gold-framed glasses and big brown eyes. It’s on the tip of my tongue as he greets us collectively by name.

“Green Day, right?” He asks, coming to a stop next to Tré’s bass drum.

Mike glances at me from across the car as Tré nods, picking up his last drum and wedging it into the last available space in the trunk of the car. “That’s right. Who’re you?”

The man holds out his hand and Tré takes it without hesitation, pumping it up and down a few times before breaking apart. “I’m Rob Cavallo and I’m with Reprise Records—“

Immediately the frown on my face deepens. He was just another stuffy record executive who wanted to sign us to his label so we could make him cash. I’m willing to bet everything I own that he hasn’t even listened to Green Day outside of what he heard tonight at Gilman’s. He hadn’t even heard us at our best.

My attention is diverted to just behind Rob’s head. Abigail is leaning against the wall of Gilman’s, a lit cigarette in her hand and one eyebrow cocked up high as she meets my gaze evenly. She holds up a small red rectangle and I squint at it for a moment before I realize that it’s the lighter she borrowed from me earlier. She nods her head quickly to the alley way again and I glance back at my band mates, who are deep in conversation with Rob, before looking back at the girl.

She’s waiting for my answer with dancing eyes and just as I start to nod my head, there is a light touch on my elbow. I turn to see both Rob and Tré looking at me expectantly and Mike is trying hard to hide his amusement at my obvious cluelessness.

“What?” I ask confusedly, looking over at Rob once again.

He’s holding something in his hand and I look at it closely to see that it’s our Kerplunk! record. And then it clicks with me. Rob is the guy who bought our record at Mario’s a few weeks ago. He had asked a few questions about how our music was selling and he had seemed genuinely interested but the rest is hazy. I just remember going outside afterwards with Tré and smoking a fat blunt before our second set of the night.

“Rob wants to discuss music with us and he’s invited us to dinner, his treat. Are you in?” Mike asks, his eyes bearing down into me, begging me to say yes because quite frankly, our apartment’s kitchen was bare and our refrigerator had nothing but clumpy yogurt and moldy bread in it at this point. It was my turn to go grocery shopping this week, but I had spent a good portion of my paycheck on a new amplifier and some strings for Blue.

My gaze flickers over once towards the entrance of Gilman’s, searching for Abigail’s face. But she’s gone, fading away into the rest of the smokers seamlessly. I turn back to the three of them and nod, feeling a strange tug deep in my gut at her disappearance. “I’m in. Let’s go.”