The Brink of Destruction

"Surf me!" Tre yelled over the bone-rattling volume of the PA system. He lifted his foot in the air expectantly, and when I stared back in confusion, he laced his fingers together and lowered his hands, demonstrating. I followed his lead, hoisting him onto the shoulders of the tightly packed bodies bouncing and jostling on the floor.

He bobbed and rolled as the hands rose to carry him across the sea of heads toward the stage, and I could hear his maniacal laughter even over the thrash of the guitars. A Red Stripe was still anchored firmly in his hand, and as the crowd lowered him onto the wing of the stage, his head tilted back and lashed from side to side, mouth wide open in a hedonistic bellow, and he upended the bottle over his face. White foam streaked down his neck and chest, and as he shook it off like a dog after a bath, beer splattered the whole front section of the audience, raising shouts not of protest, but approval.

"Fear me, fuckerrrrss!" he screamed, and Schuylar, the lead singer, stared at him as if he were a mad dog. As the bassist backed slowly away, eyeing this lunatic who had invaded their space, Tre took three running steps and leaped out over the crowd again. A roar arose from a hundred raw throats, and once again he was passed hand over hand to the back of the room.

"C'mon, let's go make sure he's still alive," Billie yelled, and he grabbed my hand, holding tight as we threaded our way between the sweaty dancers. A narrow opening led back to the bar and pool table, and we found Tre collapsed on the sofa, his leg over the back cushion, staring vacantly at the football game on the big screen TV overhead.

"What the hell are you doing back here?" Billie laughed, kicking Tre's foot. "You're the one who wanted to drag everybody out here to see this band--get your ass out there and mosh!"

Tre's head slowly rolled toward Billie, eyes focusing one at a time. "I'm tired," he slushed, sounding as if he had a mouthful of pudding.

"Bullshit! You're just drunk, and that's no excuse! We came all the way out here because of you, so you get out there and party!"

The drummer lurched off the couch, swaying dangerously. "Damn right!" he said, and then more loudly, "DAMN RIGHT!! I'M TRE FUCKING COOL!! AAARRGGHHH!!" Lowering his head like a bull, he charged back into the main room, arms windmilling to keep his balance.

Billie and I fell onto the sofa, laughing hysterically. "He's like some wind-up monkey that runs on uranium and Red Bull!" he giggled.

"And programmed by Pee-Wee Herman!" I added, holding my stomach. "Oh, God, where's the restroom, before I wet my pants?"

Still chuckling, he pointed toward a makeshift plywood partition with band flyers stapled all over it, and behind it was the ladies' room. I sighed with relief as I sat down, and noticed a familiar pair of Chucks in the next stall.

"Criss, is that you?" I said hesitantly.

"Yeah, it's me," she answered. "Had to take an emergency break. Man, of all times to start my period!"

"Oh wow, that sucks!" I said. "You okay?"

"Yep, I always travel prepared. But I hate having to fuck with it when I'm dancing, you know?"
She flushed and I heard the door squeak open, then water running as she washed up.

"See you out there?" she asked as she hit the paper towel bar. Suddenly I was frozen, staring at the tangle of sharpie-drawn grafitti on the back of the door, but not seeing any of it.

"Yeah, be there in a second." The bathroom door banged open and then shut, and the room was quiet, save for the muted music drifting through the walls. I was thinking, furiously, barely conscious of where I was. My hands were like ice, stomach churning, as I mentally counted backwards. It was December 26...so, twenty-six, plus--let's see, was it November fifth? Sixth? Thirty minus, say six--twenty-four. Plus twenty-six, equals fifty.

Fifty.

Fifty days.

That couldn't be right, I thought, my mind racing back over the last few weeks. But it was. Nothing over Thanksgiving break, nothing before Christmas, nothing now.

Nothing.

Oh.

God.

How could I not have noticed? Had I had my head that far up my ass? It was stress, it had to be. With everything that had been going on, and then not feeling well, my system was just screwed up. After all, I'd been fighting some kind of stomach thing for weeks, throwing up and feeling sick...

As if I'd fallen down an elevator shaft, everything in me sank to the pit of my belly in a cold, nauseating lump, and in that instant, I knew beyond any doubt.

There was a break in the music. Several girls wandered in and out of the bathroom, almost all of them in pairs or groups. Why do girls always need company when they pee? I wondered. Still, I sat, paralyzed and numb, until the quiet settled in again.

I stood leaning against the sink, staring at my reflection as if it would show me some answer. Something had short-circuited in my brain, leaving me unable to think, to speak. Desperate things were running through my mind--I'll just stay here, I thought, until everyone goes home. Then I'll hitchhike somewhere--where? Home? After the nightmare yesterday?

Hardly.

Wynn. I'll talk to Wynn, and she'll know what to do. She always makes me feel better. She's smart, and I can trust her.

Then I thought of Mike. There's no way that Wynn could keep something like this from him, and even if she didn't tell him, he'd know something was wrong. They had that kind of sixth sense that develops when two people are just made for each other, right from birth. And once he figured it out--and I knew he would--he'd have no choice but to tell Billie. They were best friends, it was like an unwritten law.

And it was the thought of Billie that broke me. Everything we'd been through together, every kiss, each moment with him flooded my memory, and I gripped the sink for support, but my knees buckled and I crumpled to the floor, sobbing soundlessly in despair. Until now, I couldn't imagine anything that could have pulled us apart, made me keep anything from him.
But he couldn't know. No matter what, he couldn't find out. Because I knew exactly what he'd do, and to be responsible for that, to be the one who took his dream, his future away...I couldn't live knowing I'd done that to him.

There was no choice. I was going to have to go through this alone. No family, no friends--just me. Too many people stood to be hurt, and I'd had enough of guilt to last a lifetime.

"Gen?" I looked up, startled, but there was no one there. "Gen, are you in there?" Billie's voice called through the door.

I wiped frantically at my face, and cleared my throat. "Um, yeah, give me just a second, okay?"

"I was worried--you've been gone a long time!" He sounded relieved. "You sure you're okay?"

"I--I'm fine," I called back. A quick look in the mirror did nothing to confirm it, though. "I'm fixing a wardrobe malfunction, but I'm almost done. I just need another minute."

"Okaaay," he said, "but if you need help--"

"No! I mean, no, thanks, I've got it. I'll be there in just a sec."

"Okay, but hurry--the band's coming back!"

I soaked a handful of paper towels in cold water, hoping to ease the blotchy redness in my face. Running damp fingers through my hair, I looked at the panic-striken eyes staring back at me. Thank God they kept the lights low.

Billie was leaning against the partition as I came out, and slipped his arm around my shoulders as he kissed my cheek. Then he pulled back, eyes narrowing as his head tilted to one side.

"Your eyes look red. Are you sure you're okay? You didn't get sick, did you?"

I shook my head, looking down at the floor.

"Hey," he whispered, tilting my chin up to look into my eyes, "what's wrong, baby? You don't look like you feel so good."

I wrapped my arms around his neck, trying to keep him from staring at my face for too long. "I'm fine, Billie. Just tired, that's all."

He buried his face in my shoulder, and held me tight against him. "Let me see if I can round these guys up, then. I think they've probably partied enough for tonight." Standing on tiptoes, he managed to spot Mike's head bobbing above the others, and soon we were all back in the car, headed for home.

"Man, Boxbomb was awesome!" Criss said. "That guitar solo blistered my ears!"

"I know!" Mike agreed. "For an opening act, they kicked major ass. I talked to their bassist, and they said they've signed and got a CD coming out soon."

"What label?" Billie asked, his ears perking up.

"Tragic Hero. They're the same ones that Scapegoat record for."

"I'm always the scapegoat," Tre mumbled, drool running down his chin onto his shirt.

"Shut up and go back to sleep," Criss laughed, patting his shoulder. "He's such a victim!"

"Man, I wonder if they'd mind talking with us. We need to get a demo together, but not with our crappy equipment. I tried sending a disc to Merge, and they never even took my calls afterward."

"Have you thought about The Sound Shop in Creedmoor?" Criss asked. "It's in the middle of Bumfuck, Egypt, but Dave Matthews and Rage Against the Machine have recorded there. They're pretty reasonable, from what I hear."

Billie's eyes were glittering, his fingers tapping a staccato Morse code on the steering wheel. His mind was revved up and running full speed now, fueled by hunger for a chance, any chance, to prove what they could do.

"You know anybody there?" he asked, trying hard to sound casual.

"I've got a friend that works in the mixing room, will that do?"

Billie and Mike exchanged a nervous glance. "Uh, yeah, I think that might work!" Billie managed to stammer, the grin spreading across his face. Mike's head nodded, mouth twisted to one side in approving smirk.

"Dirnt, I think we need to make some phone calls, what do you think?"

"Let's do it! I mean, this is what we've been trying to do for five years, and we'll never have a better chance than we do now! Besides, if we don't use the money Bat left you on this, you'll just piss it away on beer and weed," he laughed.

Billie's fist thumped solidly on Mike's bicep, earning a halfhearted grunt. I watched the two, feeling the crackling excitement between them at the possibilities laid out before them, and found I couldn't speak. It felt as though I was drifting away, little by little, and that somewhere there was a door between me and Billie that was closing, ever so slowly.