About a Girl

“It’s in my room.” Standing in the doorway, I took in the scattered, messy site of my room. "Somewhere."

I was surprised notice Kurt follow me. He stood behind, once again bringing us too close in my opinion, taking in everything.

My room had the distinct smell of burnt incense mixed with the unmistakable aroma of pot. The walls were light blue with pictures and posters plastered securely to the walls. My best works were of art were part of the display; a butterfly garden painted on a summer day, hand-drawn Janis Joplin, and a whole wall filled with random designs I worked on one afternoon simple when I was feeling bored. Clothes of all different colors were thrown haphazardly across the floor and there was art supplies scattered in the far left hand corner of the room with blank and half-finished canvases.

“Very nice.” Kurt spoke, walking in farther.

“Thanks.” I replied while rummaging around through a heap of junk for my flute.

Kurt stretched out fully onto my unmade bed. “So this is where you rest that head of yours each night?”

I laughed. “Comfortable?”

He nodded, but rolled off the bed onto the floor once his eyes caught something of his interest.

“Ah, records.”

He ran his fingers lovingly along their spines, feeling the bumps. My records were the only organized thing in the entire room, sitting rather neatly lined up together. Kurt started leafing through them, leaning back against my bed a I laid out on the bed over him.

“The Beatles? Nice. Zeppelin? Even better. How are these organized?”

"By my favorite bands, and which artists I like more compared with all of them. Then within that band, I have the albums in chronological order. It makes sense in my head at least."

"So out of everything, Ten Years After is your favorite?"

"Pretty much."

He laughed at something.

“What?” I questioned.

Kurt pulled out a colorful record that was near the end in the row. “Culture Club?”

“They’re good!” I defended. “There's nothing wrong with catchy 80’s bands.”

He chuckled again. “I could never take Boy George seriously with all that makeup. Maybe the problem here is that they're almost neck and neck with this.”

Kurt slid out two more records that I recognized as Bleach and Nevermind.

I shrugged. “I’m a fan. And being close to Culture Club isn't a bad thing.”

“But it's not good either. But what is your expert review on these two?” Kurt asked, trying to sound distinguished and proper like a stuffy news reporter.

I laughed, and set my brain into motion. “Um… well, Nevermind was pretty good. I really like ‘Drain You’ off of it. But I have to say I like Bleach better.”

“Why?” Kurt asked, sounding somewhat astounded.

“It’s so…” Measuring out time, I searched for the right words. “musically inventive. You never know what the hell’s gonna happen next on there. I like the raw energy. That’s why I like your music and all the lyrics too. It just fits together.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear Bleach is appreciated.” Though he spoke lightly, there was a serious edge to his words. "No one cares about that one. All the hype about Nevermind is crazy."

“It is.” I agreed, remembering the Nirvana concert I'd been to and all the pandemonium on the television about the band.

After a moment of silence Kurt said, "But... Culture Club?"

I sighed, “I bet there’s a band you like that you’ll never admit to listening to.”

“There is. I’ll tell you, but you have to be sworn to secrecy.”

“Okay.” I agreed, amused. “Who is it?”

“ABBA.” He admitted, looking at me for my reaction.

Trying to keep a straight face didn't last for very long; I started laughing.

“It’s good disco music if you're into that sort of thing. I absolutely can't stand disco.” I scrunched my face in dislike.

“I can't either." He told me, “But for some reason I like ABBA. I'm still trying to figure it out myself.”

“I'm not sure how that all works out.”

“Me neither. But I won't question it.” Kurt grinned. “What’s your favorite album?”

“Hmm.” I thought, debating between a few that had popped into my head. “Probably John Lennon’s Imagine album.”

“That’s a good one. Classic.”

“When I was little I used to have this gigantic crush on John Lennon.” I admitted smiling, before becoming serious, “I remember the night he was killed… And I was just a little girl, but I cried my eyes out. Then I vowed to somehow bring him back with future technology.”

“I don’t think Yoko Ono would let you.”

“Hey, I like Yoko!”

“What?” He laughed really hard at that. "That is the first time I've ever heard that."

“It's not that farfetched. I admire her for how she handled things. She was a good match for John. And she said she’d never re-marry after his death… she still hasn’t.”

“Yet.” Kurt added. I hit him lightly in the shoulder, but still smiled at him.

Kurt’s eyes caught the clock. “Oh, shit. I have to go.”

“What?”

“Band practice.” Kurt explained, getting to his feet. Then he joked, “If I miss once more they’ll kick me out of the band.”

“Alright then. Don’t forget your guitar out there.”

We walked into the living room together. Kurt hastily folded the blanket he had used the night before to save me some trouble.

“Oh, what about your flute lesson?” I asked softly, after he had finished the thoughtful task.

“Next time, okay? I promise.”

He was at the door, guitar in hand, before I had a chance to form a better reply.

“Okay.” I called towards him, “Bye.”

Then, just like that, he was gone again. The afterglow of his personality still hung in the air making me want to smile.

It was funny how two words could fill me with such joy… Next time…