Sinking Faster

The venue, so far, reeked of stale cigarette smoke and beer, but that was only in the back near the bar. It certainly wasn’t one of the biggest venues here in Arizona, thus it was unbelievably musky and hot. It was a given, the small space was not destined to fit five-hundred-something sweaty little fan girls, and certainly not the lost drunks that sat begrudgingly on the bar stools in the back.

The only reason I was here, again, was because of Courtney’s insistence and, I admit, I was curious to see how the guys played live. Of course, this wish would not be granted quickly, as the two other bands preceding The Maine still had to play. Because this was a home show for them, the crowd was two times as wild, and security wouldn’t let us backstage because John accidentally forgot to give us the passes. Needless to say, I felt pretty uncomfortable standing there, in the back, with Courtney. She was here for John, to support him, while I was here for the boys, I guess - even though I wasn’t even that close with them to begin with. I was sure that by now, my hair looked a trampled mess, my face blotchy from claustrophobia, as well as my make up smeared. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been to numerous shows before, but this just seemed uncomfortable, which was rare for me.

I let out a sigh of relief as they finally appeared on stage, taking their places as John began to sing in the microphone, playing with his hair and smiling to the crowd, while Pat was on the drums, Jared and Kennedy strummed their guitars, and Garrett his bass. It would be an insult to say that they didn’t love what they did, as they had so much positive energy on stage. So maybe their lyrics were a bit clichéd, but they were still catchy nonetheless, not to mention the fact that they could pull it off well.

Soon it became time to leave, meaning Courtney would go find John somewhere, me trailing hopelessly behind her.

“Hey, baby,” John greeted Courtney, leaning against the white van, giving her a hug, then nodding at me. “Nicole! How’d you like the show?”

“I liked it a lot actually. You guys were great. Pretty catchy lyrics,” I answered, crossing my arms, rocking on my heels.

“Good, I’m glad,” John commented, then leaning down to Courtney, looking at her. “So, Pat’s having this party at his house. Garrett and him left already, but me, Jared and Kennedy were thinking about heading over. Do you want to come?”

Courtney bit her lip, as she always did, looking at me. I could tell she was pleading with me to go with her, John soon following suit as I debated the pros and cons of going. I felt like an idiot, trailing along with her everywhere, with them. They must think I’m some kind of groupie with the reputation Garrett’s using against me, and that is the last thing I wanted right now. But then again, who am I to say no? Maybe a party would lift my spirits.

On the way to Pat’s, my cell phone began to vibrate, signaling an incoming call from no one other than my mother. This would mean one thing; she would ask me what I was up to, which would lead to her scolding me for not reading through my books for college, or to begin the debutante lessons she had been anticipating for me to take part in. Still, my response remained set in stone.

“No, mom. I don‘t want to,” I moaned, running a hand through my hair as I walked into the humble abode of Pat’s house, bumping into people, having to repeatedly apologize afterwards, attempting to make my way to the kitchen.

“Nicole? Nicole! Where are you, honey? If you say you’re at one of those parties again, I’ll-” Before she could continue ranting, I hesitated, clearing my voice.

“Mom, no, I’m just at a friend’s house. Relax. I’ll just call you tomorrow, okay?” With that, I shut my phone, putting it in my back pocket and grabbing a red cup from the wet bar, finding a nice glass bottle accompany it.

“Okay, you guys, feel free to do whatever because my parents are out for the night. I’m about to pass out right now, so it doesn’t make much of a difference, anyways,” Pat yelled over the music, to no one in particular, watching Max and Kennedy play beer pong. “Nicole!” he shouted, putting an arm on my shoulder. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Not much,” I smiled, looking at Pat. He looked like he drank quite a lot. His skinny body didn’t seem like it could hold much, not that was a bad thing. It was kind of adorable, really.

“What? Is there something on my face?” he asked, rubbing his nose, swaying.

I laughed. “No, Pat, there’s nothing on your face. You’re just funny.”

“I’m what?” he asked, still shouting.

I laughed again, shaking my head. I had no idea where Courtney and John were, nor did I want to find out. Most of the people here I didn’t really know; they obviously probably knew the guys in one way or another. Making my way from the murmurs and relentless chatter of the guests, I stepped outside. I felt the humid Arizona air sweep past my shoulders as I stepped into the grassy backyard, clad with various plants and flowerpots, a hammock hanging between two small trees. Cups littered the ground everywhere, and in my drunken stupor, I couldn’t really determine the difference, as everything remained a blur.

I was entering this state much too frequently as the summer days began to extend into one another, and I wasn’t sure if I liked it or not. My life isn’t as bad as I make it out to be, I suppose, but I guess it could be the fact that I have no security as to who I am or what I’m doing. I’m just living from moment to moment, attempting to fade in oblivion. I made my way to the hammock, trying to get onto it as it swung steadily back and forth.

“Hey.”

I turned around to face Garrett, of whom had his hands in his pockets, his hair untidy as usual, looking straight back at me with a flushed face and bloodshot eyes.

“Hi,” I replied, finally plopping down on the hammock, steadying it with my feet.

“What’s up?” he asked, taking a few steps closer.

“Not much,” I said, swinging the hammock slowly, looking at my feet. “Just chilling, here, you know.”

Garrett laughed, “Uh, well, can I join you?”

“I don’t see why not,” I sighed, not fully aware of the fact that my mind was telling me no, that this asshole wasn’t worth it whatsoever. Even so, I felt his weight shift the balance, and soon he was sitting next to me.

“So, you like the show tonight?” he asked, turning his head toward me.

“Yeah,” I replied, playing with the belt loops of my jeans. “It was pretty good.”

“Ha! I’m surprised you liked it. I didn’t think you’d come.”

I sighed. My head felt like a dozen pounds. I felt like I was going to fall over at any given moment, and my skin felt sweaty and clammy. “Well, surprise, surprise. I came.”

“And to think my ex-girlfriend showed up, you know? What kind of nerve did she have?” he began to ramble, staring at the ground. I couldn’t think straight. Half of the words he said sounded like a jumbled mess, and I could feel myself entering a state of exhaustion.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, my head slowly making its way onto the fabric of the hammock.

“I just don’t understand. She tells me I’m no good, but then the moment I start to move on, she somehow manages to come back. Girls are fucking whores,” he claimed, still sitting and looking at the ground as I started to grow farther and farther from consciousness. “Hey. Are you even listening to a word I’m saying?” he then asked, getting off of the hammock, shrugging.