The Brink of Destruction

I used to think parties sucked. I mean, it was like it was nothing more than an excuse for couples to sneak off into a dark corner and make out while the rest of us sat around eating stale chips and looking desperate. Wow, whoopee, lotsa fun.

This was the first time I'd ever been to a party where everyone just seemed to relax and enjoy each other. Maybe it was different in college, because everyone is older, I don't know. But it was great, and I was really glad Wynn had invited me.

Those bozos finally dragged the couch back into the yard, and everyone was beginning to head out toward the garage. I figured that was a good sign the band was about to start, so I did just as Mike had told me, and planted myself up front, close to the stage. I wondered why a lot of the girls were hanging out closer to the walls--the guys seemed stoked for dancing, and had bunched up all around where I was standing.

Oh well, what the hell...

There was some screeching feedback through the gigantic amplifiers, then the lights went down and the guys climbed up on the stage. They had a third member with them that I hadn't seen, and he settled in behind the drums, making faces at the crowd. They seemed to love him and started yelling "Tre! Tre! Tre!"

Genius that I am, I deduced that his name must indeed be Tre.

Billie Joe's expression was the same as when I had seen him before, and when he walked up to the microphone, he kind of just growled, "This one's called 'Welcome to Paradise'."

It was unbelievable. The people around me just went fuckin' ballistic, slamming into each other, against me, against the stage. At first I thought it was a fight, but then I realized this was moshing--and I was right in the middle of it! I managed to survive by staying near the edges of the pit, bouncing around and trying to stay out of the way. Then just as they were about to finish the song, this big guy came hurtling toward me, and I closed my eyes--KABOOM! Down I go, right on my keister, right under the feet of these maniacs.
I tried to get back up, but the bodies were too close, and I fell again. By now, I was getting a little scared--the edge of the stage platform was just a foot or so out of reach, and if I could just get hold of it, I could pull myself up.

Out of nowhere, a hand grabbed my flailing one and pulled. Hard. I came up and saw Billie, his guitar to one side on the floor, offering his other hand to help me out. Planting one foot on the wooden support, I hoisted myself up and--oh God, right onto the stage!

"Hey! Hey!" Billie Joe barked, and the chaos settled to a dull roar. "Goddammit, be cool when you see somebody fall, and help them up! We're all just trying to have some fun, so don't be assholes!"

Near the back, a couple of guys grunted some irritated obscenities at him, but most everyone else pumped their fists in agreement. "Yeah, man!" or "Yo, dude, he's right, be cool!"

Then, like some scruffy master of ceremonies, Billie folded his arm across his middle, bowed deeply, and with his other arm, made a grand, sweeping gesture towards me. Just perfect for the former Invisible Woman, here. I was mortified.

Hopping down off the platform, I fully expected to sink into a gnashing, furious whirlpool of sweaty bodies again, but as I levered my arms for balance, two or three steady arms were presented to help me, and a break opened up in the crowd to let me by.

As I reached the door of the garage, Wynn was waiting just beside it, with Kiko right behind her. They each took an elbow and steered me out into the fresh air.

With everyone watching the band, the porch was deserted, and we sank into the shabby cushions luxuriously.

"Well, are you still in one piece?" Wynn asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I think just a couple of little fender dents--nothing big."

"So are you enjoying it?" Kiko asked, her voice enthusiastic and her eyes shining. "Have you had time to meet some people?"

I couldn't help smiling. "Yes, this is wonderful. I was nervous about being here with people I didn't know, but then I realized that that's going to be true anywhere I go. And I couldn't have found nicer people."

Wynn tucked her thumbs under her suspender straps and stuck out her chin. "Do I know how to pick 'em, or what?"

Inside, I took a mental picture. I was really happy, and I wanted to always remember this. It was one of the best nights I could ever remember. We all sat listening to the riot coming from the garage, our heads rising and falling with the thumping of the bass. Mike was simply tearing it up in there, and it was just amazing, sitting here with people I really liked, bathed in the warm night air, freedom washing over me like a bubbling, frothing breaker.

Even the moon had risen full, like a silvery new quarter. How perfect was that?

*******************************

There was a lull in the music, and I decided to head back inside for some of the coconut Kiko had told me about. Standing there munching, reading the collage of stickers and magnets that almost completely covered the front of the fridge, I heard feet shuffling up the back stairs. In through the screen door marched Mike and Tre, with a handful of people laughing and joking with them. The drummer headed for the shrimp with radar precision, and Mike stood leaning against the counter, a Red Stripe beaded with condensation in his hand.

"How'd you like the view?" he said, his grin and cocked eyebrow making me want to smack him. I wasn't taking the bait, though.

"View was great, thanks! But that band, I dunno....so-so, I'd say." I was pleased to see the amused expression melt away. "They may be a little overrated. In their own minds, anyway."

"You think so?" he said, sarcasm oozing from every pore. Tre had stopped chewing, looking dramatically wounded.

"Yeah, they've got volume, but I'm not too impressed with the talent, you know?" I was probably laying it on too thick, but I couldn't resist.

"Now wait a minute!" Tre's hands were on his hips and he was getting agitated. "We just kicked ass out there, and you--"

Mike laid a large, sinewy hand on his shoulder. "It's okay, princess. We're just kidding around because I tricked her into standing in the pit." He looked at me, his eyebrows raised as if to ask, 'We are kidding, aren't we?'

"Yeah, Tre, I have to admit you guys were pretty good. I'm not an expert on punk, but you had everyone eating out of your hand."

He looked down at the shrimp tails protruding from between his fingers. "Just as long as it's not this hand!" he mugged. Okay, so he was pretty funny, in a goofy sort of way. And yes, he was pretty killer on the drums. But I'd sure hate to babysit him. Or feed him.

Mike's eyes shifted to look past me, and I turned to see what he was staring at. The only person I could see was Wynn, and then I remembered how she had called him "a sweetie." It seemed as if the feeling was mutual--he looked like a little puppy dog, all big blue eyes and wistful expression.

When she looked over at him and winked, blowing him a kiss, I thought the poor guy was going to hyperventilate. I waved my hand in front of his face, breaking the spell she had put on him.

"You do realize that's my roommate, right?" I asked.

"Oh really?" he mused, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "And what would you suggest someone might do to get to know her better? Theoretically, of course."

"Me? I've only known her since yesterday, so I have no idea. But I could keep an ear out for you, I suppose."

"Cool." He was trying so hard not to be obvious, but his eyes were following her again. He was clearly smitten, and I couldn't help smiling. At least he had good taste--Wynn was as nice a girl as I had ever met, and smart, too.

"FUCK!" CRASH!

Every head in the place turned to look toward the back yard, where the noise was coming from. I slid over by the window over the sink, and there was Billie Joe, red-faced and fists raised, standing over a shocked, cringing guy on the ground.

"Stay the hell away from my car, you idiot! What kind of numb nuts pisses on somebody's tires?" he shouted. The boy was shaking his head back and forth, trying to get his head around this Tasmanian devil that had just chewed him up like a chain saw. He got to his feet, watching Billie Joe the entire time, and backed away slowly.

"I'm sorry, man, I'm sorry. I didn't know it was yours. I'm sorry," he was saying, over and over.

"Why would it matter whose it was? Are you a freaking animal or something?" Billie shrieked. I could see the spit flying from his lips all the way inside.

The guy turned tail and just ran, flat out and as hard as he could go. Billie stood watching him, his fists still wadded into tight little balls, his jaw jutting forward like a pit bull's. Then he turned and saw all our faces at the windows.

"What the fuck are you looking at?" he bellowed.