The Brink of Destruction

I tried to study, filling in the blanks and dutifully conjugating my passe compose, but my mind kept drifting away. I'd find myself staring out the window, chin in my hand, tapping my pencil on the desk. And what was worse, I kept telling myself that it was Dustin that I was distracted over, but that wasn't entirely true.

It was like being drawn to something dark and sinister, the way those dumb teenagers ALWAYS go into the woods or the basement in the slasher movies. You sit there and scream at them, because you KNOW what's going to happen, but they go anyway. Why?

Why, indeed.

He was dangerous. He was rough, and coarse, and unpredictable. He could be explosively angry. He was definitely not my type.

At all.

Which is why, for an hour and a half after he left, I couldn't think about anything else. What I tried to focus on was how he had scared me, the fury in his voice, his face red and snarling. The vicious words he had used. The way he had challenged me, the way no self-respecting guy would approach a girl.

What came back to me, though, was the image of him sitting alone on the hood of the car, looking up at me for one brief moment. And the memory of that incredibly strong hand, pulling me to safety from the madness of the mosh pit. And the amazing voice that had been the energy driving their music, urging the crowd into a frenzy.

I couldn't figure him out, couldn't put my finger on who he really was, and that bothered me. Usually, I'm pretty good with people--understanding what makes them tick, how they'll react to things, what they really need and want. But he was a jumble of conflicts, a knot I was trying to figure out without much success.

The one thing I knew for sure was that he was the last person I needed to get mixed up with. I finally turned on the stereo, opened up a SoBe Power, and buckled down, all thoughts of the little punk tossed aside. He was just another snotty smartass who thought he was better than everyone because he broke the rules. No one important.

You believe me, don't you?

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

By the weekend, Wynn and I were both ready to blow off some steam, and as soon as our last class was over, we made a few phone calls to see what was going on. According to her, the most promising seemed to be the annual Alspaugh Sleaze Party, over on East Campus, and since Kiko was planning on going, we wouldn't be total strangers.

"Sleaze Party?" I asked, not sure if I'd heard her right. "And this is a good thing?"

She giggled. "It's not as bad as it sounds. You just dress kinda trashy, but it's still just a regular party--nothing kinky, I promise!"

"I dunno....with your friends, it's always a little kinky!" I teased. She grabbed her pillow and whopped me in the back.

"Tell me you don't love it, slave!" she crowed, in her best mistress voice. She was hopeless, but she was also irresistible.

And so to Alspaugh we went.

Right off the bus, we could hear the call to party--"Lola," by the Kinks, at a foundation-trembling volume. It wouldn't be hard to find the place, that was for sure. We wandered across the grass, and as we reached the dorm, I noticed a strange purple glow coming from some of the first-floor windows.

"Black lights?" I asked. "Those haven't been around for a while, have they?"

"Oh, my dear, everything comes back into fashion if you only wait long enough!" Kiko announced from the doorway. "I wondered when you two were coming. I've been trapped in the most incredibly boring conversation with one of the Engineering students, and I finally told him I had to come watch for you to help you find us. You've got to protect me!"

She led us into the commons room, which looked almost like an oversized Victorian parlor. Well, with a few changes...

A smoke machine in the far corner belched out white mist, that settled a couple of feet thick on the floor. On the wall, a psychedelic kaleidoscope pulsed and swirled every color in the spectrum, and speakers as big as refrigerators pumped music that made the soles of our feet vibrate. And in the middle of the floor, packed like sardines, were the tackiest people I had ever seen, dancing like they couldn't be bothered to care.

Leisure suits, complete with gold chains. Daisy Dukes and halter tops. Skin-tight black leather pants with wife-beaters. Babydoll pajamas topping five inch spike heels.

Oh. My. God.

"Are these people for real?" I shouted, my eyes a little too wide. "I feel overdressed for the first time in my life!"

Wynn just threw her hands in the air, shimmied, and let out a rebel yell. Then she was swallowed up by the squirming mass on the dance floor, and when I turned around, Kiko had disappeared, too.

With a resigned sigh, I realized it was mingle or die. Tough choice.

Talk about your garden variety wallflowers--I was putting down taproots by the wainscoting. I was nursing a Mike's Hard Lemonade like it had to last forever, and feeling a little queasy from the bass vibrating my sternum. But there I was, valiant soldier that I am, holding up that wall for all I was worth.

I'm such a barrel of laughs...

Engrossed as I was in watching a couple who had come wrapped in a single king-size toga, I hadn't seen Tre standing beside me. In fact, I only realized he was there when I turned around to get some pretzels and bumped into him.

"Hey, you!" he grinned, looking something like a clown I had once had a weird dream about.
"Why aren't you sleazing?"

"How do I answer that?" I laughed.

"It's not easy, being sleazy," he said, donning black sunglasses and wiggling his eyebrows.

"But it looks like you've got it mastered!" I was glad to see him, no matter how silly he was. In this place, who would notice?

"You need to dance." It was a statement, not a question. He took my hand and lurched out into the surging crowd, parting it with one extended hand.

"Coming through, pardon us, coming through!" he twittered in falsetto. When he found the spot he wanted, he turned to me and took both my hands, twirling me around and around until I thought I would faint. He grabbed me by the waist, hoisted me into the air, and then lowered me slowly down his side, wrapping his arm under me to finish with a grand dip and a flourish of his arm.

To my horror, everyone had backed away to open a space for us, and now they were hooting and applauding. Tre, of course, was delighted, and took a deep bow. Then he gestured toward me, as if to present me to the crowd, and as I felt the furious blush creep across my cheeks, I pushed through the tight press of shoulders and ran toward the bathroom.

What was with these guys, that they needed to embarrass me so badly? Was I that much of a sideshow to them? I brushed my hair, maybe a little more vigorously than I had to, and stared at myself in the mirror. My hair was sweaty, curled into ringlets at the nape of my neck, and I looked like I'd been wrestling instead of dancing--my shirt was twisted around, one sleeve was pushed up, and my collar stood straight out on one side.

Beautiful.

I repaired everything as best I could, and slipped out of the bathroom. Instead of going back to the party, though, I wandered up the stairs to see what the rest of the dorm looked like--and to get a break from the noise.

I could hear people in some of the rooms, and it sounded as though there was a game of Dungeons and Dragons going on in the last one. Yeah, these were definitely the counterculture people, but somehow they seemed more interesting than the ones over on West. I mean, you didn't smell incense in the halls of the other dorms, and certainly not the fainter, slightly herbal scent that lay underneath.

Okay, Dorothy, we are definitely not in Kansas anymore.

Down at the end of the hall, under a gable, there was a large pair of windows that looked almost like French doors, and beyond them was a little railed balcony that was probably supposed to be only for decoration. It looked like just the sanctuary I needed at the moment, so I swung open the windows and stepped outside.

The view from up there was breathtaking. East Campus was laid out over a gently rolling landscape, and in the distance, I could see the towering chapel that dominated West Campus, bathed in silver moonlight. It was peaceful, except for the thudding of the Ramones under my feet.

When I heard the soft cough behind me, I nearly did a head dive off the balcony. Behind me, perched on the peak of the roof like one of those damned gargoyles, was a familiar silhouette, elbows on his knees, dragging deeply on a cigarette. The glowing red tip was nearly down to the filter, and he flicked the butt nonchalantly over the edge.

"You could start a fire that way," I said flatly.

He ignored the remark and rose to his feet, brushing off the seat of his baggy black pants. Gingerly, he stepped his way down the slope to the balcony, and swung over the railing with practiced ease.

"You look like you've done this before," I remarked. "Do you spend a lot of time lurking on rooftops?"

"I told you I had friends in high places, didn't I?" The Beastie Boys hat he was wearing had tipped back to reveal the little gold ring in his nose. He was holding a Corona, with the obligatory slice of lime, casually by the neck. "You girls would shit if you knew how easy it is for the fox to get into the hen house!" A lecherous grin spread across his face, and his huge green eyes widened even more.

"Should I be worried about that?"

He thought for a second. "Nah, I'm not really into college chicks. Too high-maintenance."

"Hmm. That's kind of a broad stereotype, don't you think?" I wasn't so much offended as amused.

"Maybe so, but the ones I've seen have been pretty impressed with themselves, and more trouble than they're worth. Except your roommate. Mike says she's pretty cool."

"She really is. If you got to know her it might change your opinion. Or not. Maybe you've got your mind made up."

"You know, I haven't figured you out yet," he said, leaning on the side of the building. "You seem like a typical cream cheese sandwich, born and raised on Wonder Bread and Abercrombie. But sometimes I think I see a little spirit in you, like maybe there's a punk inside you, trying to claw its way out of all that suburban bullshit."

I shook my head and laughed. "Boy, have you got it all wrong for such a know it all. First, there's nothing suburban about me. I'm straight out of the mountains, as backwoods as you'd ever want to get without a gun. Second, no daddy's money. Lots and lots of financial aid, plus starting next week, I'll be working 20 hours a week, not to mention the loans I'll be slaving to pay back after graduation. And as far as the high-maintenance goes--"

"Don't tell me. You like long walks on the beach, puppies, romantic movies, and slow dancing in the rain," he interrupted.

"Surfing, horses, horror movies and I think I might just have a newfound appreciation for moshing. So there." There was more than a whiff of smug in the air.

He stood staring at me, his head cocked to one side, digesting what I'd said. Then he reached behind his neck, took off the guitar pick necklace he always seemed to wear, and put it around my neck, fastening it securely.

"Okay, then. You can be an honorary reject. Just don't lose that. It's...kinda special."

"I'm honored. Does that mean I'm not a brat bitch anymore?" I asked sweetly.

He looked sheepish. "You heard that, huh?"

"Yeah, I heard that."

"Well, I take it back. You might be okay after all," he nodded. "You going back in to Animal House?"

"I don't have anything better to do. Besides, I think Wynn kind of feels responsible for me having a good time."

"Why don't you go down and let her know you'll be home later, and I'll meet you in the parking lot out back?" He was being very casual and offhanded, but there was a look of mischief in his eyes that worried me.

"What did you have in mind?" Maybe it wasn't fair to be so suspicious of him, but all things considered, it seemed like the smart thing to do.

A slow, devilish smile curled his mouth until he looked like the Grinch hatching his plan to rip off the Whos.

"Now, if I told you that, it wouldn't be as much fun, would it?"