Maudlin Melody

“Why’d we never do this before, Harry!?” I punch his shoulder playfully. I’m only teasing seeing as I’m the one who’d have objected, had he ever asked. The gig is over. Naught A King were the last band to play, and my brother happens to be their bass guitarist. He laughs as he continues to pack up with his friends. It took all my courage to come up onto the stage, and now I’m here I’m self conscious as anything. Friends of the band members' and my brother's hopped up as soon as they’d finished their last song, high-five-ing, hugging, screaming- I, despite being Harry’s brother, am not familiar with the rest of the members. And I’m too introverted to have done any of that anyway.

“Hey, guys!” my brother shouts. I flinch and pale, realising they’re all turning to us. “This is my never seen before brother, Mikey!” There is a chorus of cheers from both the band members and friends as they hear this. I drop my head, a blush creeping up on my cheeks as I catch the front man’s eyes again. I can‘t believe he just basically told them I was a loser; a loner. “And it’s-”

“Shut up, shut up, Harry!” I murmur.

“-his sixteenth today!’ Harry yells, lifting his hands and sweeping them towards me in a grand gesture. I sigh heavily and lift my head slightly, offering an awkward smile. I shouldn’t have bothered. There’s another cheer but most of the attention is off me again. I’m glad about this, but as much as I love my brother sometimes, I hate my brother sometimes.

“What, what?!” The drummer stands from a stool he was sat on and drops his sticks. He smirks as he advances towards us, pulling the nape of his shirt from his skin. “Don’t tell me this is your present to him? Your crappy playing?” Harry laughs at this, slinging his arm over my shoulder with difficulty and pulling me too close to his also sweaty self.

“No, this was totally for him to witness your crazy drum skills, man. Hey, Mikey, meet Josh.” I look down at Josh -seeing as he’s a good foot or three shorter than me and hesitantly take his hand.

“Nice to meet you,” I say to him with a shy quirk of my lips. “You were awesome.” And I’m not lying. Josh laughs as if I’ve said something funny -but then he looks like that type of guy who’ll still have a smile glued to his face at a funeral.

“Nice to see you really enjoying the music!” he replies, shaking my hand up and down firmly before letting go. “Sorry about the sweat, dude,” he grins, “But maybe you like it?” I grimace a little -jokily- but I hadn’t really noticed. “What, is this the first of our gigs that you've been to?”

“First gig he's ever been to actually,” Harry speaks up for me, patting me on the back good naturedly. He seems to be enjoying this. I bite my lip, embarrassed as Josh looks up at me surprised. Technically, I’ve been to Elvis tributes, but I wasn’t planning on mentioning that to a die-hard metal fan.

“Wow. And you're sixteen?”

“Yeah,” I say.

“'My first I was like... Eleven?” Josh speculates. He brushes his long black hair away from his sweaty face. “First rock/metal gig I was thirteen though, sprained my wrist in the mosh pit. Ah... Good times.” I'm not really sure what to say to this, but Josh and Harry start talking about the mosh pit at the gig today for a moment, so I relax. I'm beginning to feel awkward again- though, when do I never?- when Josh turns to me again.

“Hey, so, Mikey? Did you actually enjoy it or did you just have a sex-face on because you were imagining something naughty? Or maybe just madly in love with Addison like half of the kids here.”

He says kids as if he's an adult, but he looks a little younger than me, not to mention being noticeably shorter. I assume he’s eighteen like Harry though.

“I really loved it,” I smile with a bit of a blush. “And I didn’t have a sex-face on!”

“Yes, you did,” Harry and Josh say together solemnly.

“I didn‘t! You've no right to know what my sex face is,” I complain to Harry, before turning to Josh, “And you were hidden by a drum, you couldn't see me.”

Josh laughs, “Ah, but the drums are my friends, you see! I see you but you cannot see me.” I scoff but Harry nudges me.

“You didn't deny the Addison thing,” he reminds me with a wink.

“Who is Addison?” I want to know.

“What? Harry, I'm so disappointed, you didn't tell him much about us, obviously.”

“Yes I did! He’s just so much of a twat he didn’t listen.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask. Josh grabs hold of my shoulders and tries to sling an arm over -but, due to height differences, it’s quite difficult and he gives up without much complaint.

“Mike- can I call you Mike-?” he doesn’t wait for my answer but points unsubtly at the main singer. A long guy, dressed almost completely in leather, with a smooth androgynous face, dirty green eyes and a sort of Mohawk haircut (shorter on the sides with the middle longer and gelled up for the occasion- apparently a “Fauxhawk” or something) is standing talking to a group of people who seem pretty ecstatic. He‘s got the kind of smile that you look at and just know it took at least ten seconds to grow, teasing whoever was on the receiving end.

“That is Addison. Bane of our sex lives I tell you, Mike, dear. You should watch yourself,” Josh warns with a grin. “He’ll eat you up.” I laugh it off lightly despite going slightly hot under the collar when the singer looks up briefly from his conversation with clearly hardcore fans. His eyes catch mine just like they did when he’s performing. And he’s got it. I honestly have no idea what it is, but he’s got it.

I turn away, back to Josh and Harry, who is smiling, laughing with his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Right. Okay,” Harry wiggles his eyebrows. “Hey, Mikey, d’you wanna wait downstairs for me? I’ll be down in a sec but still need to clear up and all that.” I nod my acceptance.

“I’ll meet you down by the entrance outside? I’m hot,” I tell him. Josh laughs at this but I only throw him an embarrassed glance and a half-hearted wave directed at Harry before rushing quickly to the bar and buying myself a coke. I make my way down the stairs past drunken teenagers and through groups of friends before I’m finally out of the stuffy venue and into what I hoped would be fresh air.

It’s not. There are so many smokers I’d probably be better off inside, but I don’t want to look stupid and walk back in, so I squeeze through the masses (who don’t seem to respond to “Excuse me” so I’ve resorted to just shoving people out of my way, spilling coke down my clothes all the while) and find a tree to lean against. Here I’m mostly covered by shadows and furthest away from smokers and anyone who looks suspiciously like a crack addict.

As scary as this place is, reflecting on my night, I can’t help but love it.

My name is Mikey Day. I’m as shy as the day comes, tall and skinny with rounded, thick framed glasses (but unlike some, mine are prescription- not a fashion statement) and black hair that feathers over my ears. It looks horrible but I refuse to cut it, and it apparently refuses to grow. Sad as it may be, I’m just waiting until it’s long enough to do something vaguely Elvis inspired without it looking stupid.

You know the way some teenage guys might arrive on their sixteenth birthdays with a crash, a whoop and a bang? Not to mention a huge party probably held in a house that countless people beg to be invited to. There’ll be promises of more drinks and drugs than they’ve already consumed on their minds. Maybe a bit (or a lot more than a bit) of sex with a(n incredible) number of willing girls and a trail of late, adventurous nights out in town with friends that they’d kill -or maybe just punch- for...

Well I’m not that teenage boy. I arrived at my birthday this morning with an innocent strolling-in-a-field-somewhere whistle, and the tiniest of pops maybe. There was no party -and there isn’t going to be- unless you call Harry poking me and teasing me as I listen to Elvis through my MP3 and attempt to drown him out a party. Which I wouldn’t. The idea of drinking alcohol doesn’t particularly get me excited, and drugs seem like a waste of time. Sex scares me, not to mention the fact that I’m pretty sure I’m into guys anyway -something only Harry knows and if he told Josh (because why else would the drummer accuse me of having feelings for Addison?) then I would kill him. And the only adventurous nights out in town before usually consisted of dad running out of milk and making me walk the fifteen minutes into town to get some, and pick up a paper while I was at it. Sometimes I’d be daring and go through the shortcut- an alley that a prostitute wouldn’t look out of place in- or buy myself some gum with some change dad didn’t know he had. So that probably won’t change. I don’t have a lot of friends, and the few I do have are just about as up for popping into town at night as a sane human being would like their eyes punctured with needles.

Fact of the matter is, happy as I was listening to Elvis (my hero) that morning, Harry decided it was time I saw his band live.

I’d heard Naught A King were pretty good, but it was always by pretentious girls in my year who think they are “fucking hardcore Emos” or “It“ (they are not; Addison apparently is). And they aspire to be Groupies for local bands that hated them the more they whored around, as they tried to get more friendly with me, my brother in mind, or guys who swear they are so fucking hardcore. I think I heard a rumour that they smash things over their heads -for fun. But I’m 96% certain it’s a lie.

Going back to this morning, I was pretty apathetic about the whole idea and just turned Elvis up a little, nodding to Harry that I would go. Still fairly uninterested when I saw how excited he was and how he bounded down the stairs to tell our dad (and an eighteen year old Harry is disturbing to watch if you see him skipping out of your room like he did mine). Of course, I eventually got to the stage where dread was eating at me, beginning with my heavy heart, when my dad actually agreed to letting me go to the gig. I’d been pretty dependant on the fact that he would refuse -seeing as he considers the type of people that go to the gigs Harry puts on with Naught A King disturbing. But apparently, the fact that I have no social life at all is scarier to him than the thought of me hanging out with them for the night.

Not that I really hung out with them -or am right now. I continue to drink my coke as I watch the mass of people just standing outside. The event is over, but the place is still just as alive. Possibly more. The groups don’t all know each other but half the time they’re mingling anyway, asking for lighters or filters mainly, if I can hear correctly. I’m pretty sure everyone of them is smoking. And it’s clear the vast majority have been drinking too. I don’t even want to know which ones are high at the moment. But for some reason, I have a little bit of an urge to join them. Maybe it’s the adrenaline, the excitement pumping alongside the blood in my veins… But suddenly everything seems appealing rather than pointless like I’ve always thought it was.

The door to the venue bursts open. My eyes drift over two girls who seem slightly unsteady on their feet, and a guy who I -if I actually looked at him properly- would probably find pretty attractive, settling on Naught A King’s singer, Addison.

Even in the dark I can tell that he is hot.

Okay, back up. Just to make it known, I hate when people describe other people as “hot” or “gorgeous” and, worst of all, the absolutely disgusting word “babe”, but I’m afraid Addison is gorgeous, hot and I would be his “babe” at any time of the day (or night). He’s just so… smooth-looking. Yeah. He looks smooth, and soft, yet hard at the same time. And, damn, this is beginning to sound like some kind of erotic description of something inappropriate, but it’s true. He’s laughing at something the guy has said and continues to follow the two girls, both he and the possibly-attractive guy keeping the intoxicated ladies up on their feet. They head over to another group and Addison is met by a roar of cheers, hugs and flirty kisses offered in abundance. Of course, in no time, he’s asking for a lighter and everyone seems to reach into their pockets. And then he’s smoking, and it looks so good on him, casual, sexy, nonchalant. It’s effortless.

I snap myself out of it when he looks like he might be turning my way and stare down at my feet as I drink more of my coke. Standing here on my own feels great. I don’t look like an idiot at all, or anti-social. The fact that everyone is together makes the fact that I’m alone stick out like one of these people at a Justin Bieber concert.

“Mikey!”

I look up and have to squint through the darkness to be able to tell it’s Josh heading toward me. He’s changed -now wearing a plain black top and grey hoodie where he’d been in a plain white one before (the difference is clear) and black skinny jeans. He’s wearing a charcoal grey beanie that looks quite good on him, and is also already taking a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket. I smile in a way that I hope is confident and self-assured, but I can’t be sure (ironic) as Josh frowns a little (though weirdly enough he still has a large smile on his face).

“Hey, are you okay? Did your friends leave?”

“I don’t have any friends,” I reply immediately, without realising what I’ve said. “--N-no! I mean, I didn’t come with any… Here. Harry brought me… Here.” I am babbling, and Josh is laughing at me as he flicks a straight from his packet and slips it in between his lips as the packet is returned to his hoodie pocket and he checks for a lighter in the back pocket of his jeans. After finding one, he takes it out and lights up. Just a moment of his lips meeting his cigarette and a plume of smoke is rising from his nose. Josh lets a relaxed breath out.

“Ahh.. There it is,” he winks. I say nothing, blushing and rubbing my thumb across the surface of the glass cup of half empty coke. “I didn’t know that.” I guess that he’s referring to the friend thing again. “There was some guy holding onto you a lot through the gig. Thought you might know him or the group he was with.”

I shake my head, “No, but it felt good so I left it,” I tell him.

“Felt good, eh?” Josh goads.

“It did,” I grin, taking a sip of the coke to hide it. “This whole thing feels good. It’s just…” I pause, looking for the right words to explain exactly how I’m feeling towards the whole thing and why. “The energy I guess. It’s amazing. And you guys performing, you enjoy it so much, which makes it hard for me not to.” I narrow my eyes a little, thinking. “It just felt good to be part of. As Harry made pretty known, I don’t get out to these kinds of things, so tonight is an eye opener. It’s not usually my kind of thing…”

“What? Metal? I heard you’re into Elvis,” Josh says in a teasing tone. I glance up at him but my gaze slips down after a second. I smile softly.

“It’s not the Metal thing… It’s… pretty much everything. Just… The setting, music, the people, the moshing… I actually enjoyed it.”

“You did pretty well despite that though, didn’t you?”

“Nope,” I grin with a sigh. “My left shoulder and ribs are bruised,” I laugh, and I can feel it as I do so. It hurts, but it isn’t really a painful sort of pain.

“Let me see, I’m trained in Mosh-Pit First Aid,” he declares grandly, keeping his straight in his mouth as he lifts the hem of my top upwards slightly.

“Oi, hey-” I protest, but it dies in my throat, and I’m shivering as the cold wafts up, kissing my pale skin. He doesn’t listen though, and presses an equally cold, calloused hand gently against my left set of ribs. I wince and inhale sharply, rising slightly on my tiptoes, but then I’m used to the pressure and relax slightly to his touch. It’s ghosting higher, lower, feeling for the purple-blue splotches of evidence that are beginning to colour on my skin. I can’t watch him as he does this, so I close my eyes until I feel his hands pause over a particularly painful part.

“Ouch,” Josh mumbles, trying to keep his cigarette in his mouth. He takes his hands away and leaves my shirt to drop.

“Nah, it’s okay.”

“Eh, to be honest, it’s nothing,” he laughs, “But for your first time, you know. I feel bad for you! Damn first time experiences.”

I smile and there is silence. Josh turns to back up next to me, elbowing me a little. “Hey, budge up.” I comply, despite the fact that I don’t really need to and there’s enough space. He leans partly against the tree and partly against my arm.

“Ah, I’m so selfish, want some?” I turn down to see Josh raising his cigarette to me. For a moment I consider it. I could smoke. It looks so easy… So cool. Like Addison. And it’d be an open gate, a ticket to the social party the people around here seem so into. Something to do rather than standing like a sad idiot with my glass of coke. But I’m too afraid -of a cigarette- and shake my head.

“Sorry, I don’t smoke,” I tell him. And that’s the end of that.

“Good. You shouldn’t. Terrible habit.” He sounds slightly serious but there was still a hint of a joke in his voice, and when I look down at him he has still got a soft smile on his lips and looks miles away. He pulls it back to himself and takes a drag. I can’t help regretting saying no for a moment.

“Harry’ll be here in a bit. Just doing his fair share of flirting.”

“Flirting?” I laugh -but I‘m doing my best to keep it down, to muffle it. “I cannot imagine that.” Josh looks up from staring at his Vans.

“No way, he’s amazing at flirting. Got me in the sack once.” My eyes fly open and my jaw drops so wide I actually have to snap it back up again because it’s aching. I try to speak but I’m so shocked that I just honestly can’t. Harry?! With a guy?! Why wouldn’t he have told me he is bisexual? I came out to him, hadn't I? Didn’t he think he could trust me? Or maybe... Maybe it was a one-time thing...?

Josh bursts out laughing.

I punch him as hard as I can manage but I’m laughing a little as well, so it doesn’t really hurt him. It hurts my shoulder though, and my ribs. “I can’t believe I fell for that,” I complain aloud, though it’s barely audible despite that, trying to hold my glass of coke steady as Josh falls into me, weak on his knees and clutching his stomach. I grin, suddenly attaining a brilliant idea… I sling a supportive arm on Josh, and as he leans into it, trying to get back up on my feet, I let my other hand fall a little and I spill the rest of my coke over the front of his jeans.

Josh yelps, his straight falling from his mouth onto the floor and I’m anxious all of a sudden, because he’s shouting about how these were his newest jeans, and how could I do this to him? And it’s attracting the attention of others around us, but after a moment Josh grips my arm and states, “You’re going to have to go down there…”

“What are you talking about?”

“Lick it off?”

I chuckle and shake him off, trying to ignore the eyes I can still feel watching me. “You wish.”

“A little, now get down and wipe me dry, Mikey, boy!”

I swipe off Josh’s beanie and start ruffling his hair like a madman. “No can do, Sir, no can do.”

I am beginning to really enjoy Josh’s company. And I'm not easily comfortable with just anyone.

“Oi, Mikey! Josh!” I look up to see Harry heading towards Josh and I, his arm slung around a giggling girl’s shoulder, with a rowdy group following close behind. I let my hands fall away from Josh’s head and allow him to grab his beanie back. I feel awkward all over again, feeling people watching me.

“There’s a party tonight at Cara’s house,” he grins, tilting his head toward the girl. There are whoops and people are already yelling to others for lifts and trying to sort out who’s bringing alcohol or something. I feel nothing but dread building though. Is he suggesting I come? Attend my first house party? Surrounded by drunks? Smokers? People I don’t know? I open my mouth for a moment and close it again. I can’t speak.

“Dedicated to you dicks’ success,” Cara tells Josh. He smacks his hands together and rubs them as if he’s about to have a feast.

“Shit yes, it’s good to be a dick! I’ve been needing a party for ages,” he near gasps. Harry laughs, nodding his agreement and turns to me. “You in?”

In all honesty I don’t think I have much choice. Harry clearly wants to go, but I’m pretty certain it’s a bad idea. A terrible idea. One that can only end in disaster. I can’t fucking go to a house party. I’ve heard so much about them, seen it in films. Constant interaction, somewhere for a social butterfly to thrive. But I am not a social butterfly. More of a caterpillar, not there yet. I prefer a cocoon. Then again, doesn’t a caterpillar get into a cocoon to make the transition? From something ugly, boring, dull, to something beautiful? Interesting? Worth a second look? And these are things I want. Confidence to be like these people around me. I glance at them for just a second. They’re so happy and content in this setting. I’ve always wanted to know what it felt like to be… this. Whatever this is. But the fear is still there. I look into Harry’s eyes trying to communicate the fear I’m feeling, my confusions, questions…

“Of course he’s coming!” Josh speak up for me, placing a hand on my shoulder.

“You sure?” Harry prods. He looks slightly concerned, worried. I can tell he’s wondering if he’s already pushed me too far by just bringing me to the gig, but I don’t want him to have to drive me home and miss out or wait while dad comes to pick me up-if he will. I sigh inwardly and smile.

“I guess I’m coming,” I say. There’s another whoop of excitement from Josh, Harry and even Cara despite the fact that she doesn’t know me. Harry moves away from Cara for a second and grabs me, hugging me tight and lifting me up.

“My little bro’s all grown up!” he cries. My smile widens a little and a tingle of anticipation runs through me. I’m going to a house party. I, Mikey Day, Elvis lover and wannabe, is going to attend a house party. I’m filled with so many overwhelming emotions at the same time that I’m not quite sure what to do with them, unsure what to do with the doubt my brain is throwing at me, so I ignore all of them and go with the flow. This is what it’s supposed to like to be a teenager. I’m going to like it. I will.

Maudlin Melody