a night bad turned good in a world of misconception
Brown eyes, so captivating, and world so round through them. No more has any problem bothered me, nothing exists. This rushing feeling comes as I approach, walking the long narrow tightrope to your table, and I ask, as our eyes meet, is this real?
I stop, in front of you and that younger girl by you, who I can only assume is your sister, gives me a look. I stutter for a second and then the words that I find coming out of my mouth, instead of a beautiful impromptu sonnet, is "Where is the bathroom?"
You smirk and answer "Down that way, I think" and motion to the right. I see it right in front of me, and stalk away, head down, cringing. I go into the bathroom, not out of necessity of nature, but because of the fact that your still watching me. I hope that my skirt looks ok from the back and that it didn't hitch up when I sat down before.
Now in the smelly bathroom of Sharks Billiards, the metal echoing through the toilet seats. I sit down and as I reach for the toilet paper, I find none. I reach back to the unoccupied stall next to me, just to find none there either. So far, this night is not going as planned. I pull up my pants, unwiped, and scootch over to the last stall, making sure that there is toilet paper in this one. There is, I let out a sigh, and sit and finish.
Going out to wash my hands, I see some strung out 30 year old woman dressed in, what I can only imagine, a prostitute's uniform. I look down at my own fishnets and low-cut shirt, and realize that I probably shouldn't judge. I walk out, after slapping myself with a few water drenched palms, and search through the smoke filled room for Him.
I don't see the sister, she must have gone home with her boyfriend, but where is he? I see him, finally, nursing a beer by the table closest to the speakers. The lead singer announces that some boy with a red afro is a virgin in the ways of concert going. The fact that this is his first concert brings some potential in my mind for ways to impress that brown eyed boy.
He says for the crowd to circle mosh with the red haired afro'd kid in the middle. I stand there in the circle with tall muscular wiry men, stripping their shirts for the occasion. Usually I would stare at this point, but now there's no one else in the universe. Just that brown eyed boy. He's one for moshing, and I see him strip off his white undershirt and get behind me. We start around the red haired guy, and people put their hands on the back of the person in front of them. I put mine on whoever's in front of me. I don't even check his face for judgement, I'm just focused on the brown eye'd boy's hand on my neck. He pushes me a tad, as others are doing. And then the circle breaks.
The best thing about moshing is, no one cares who you are or what your wearing, just so long as you throw a good shove, your alright. I'm against what seems like thousands of naked sweaty chests, but just shoving my way through to that one. Where is he? I search for him in the pit, and trip and fall. He was behind me all along. He held out his hand, and our eyes met again. Our brown eyes introduced eachother, and embraced eachother like they might have in a past life. Maybe even a thousand times before this. The moment lasts for years, as I touch his hand, bolts of electricity enter me, and then I get knocked back to reality.
I shove the guy right next to me with all my might, but I look behind me and he's gone. I search the crowd, behind below, everywhere. I see him again, he's on the sidelines talking with some guy with blue eyes. His eyes dazzle as he sees me smirk, what he thinks, at him, but then I turn around and shove the sweaty back of some fellow high schooler. I look back, their talking, and Mr. Blue eyes is still looking. Usually the way his blue eyes sparkled would excite me, but I just give that brown eyed boy a stare. I get pushed over, penance for my lack of awareness.
I hang around, just keeping an eye on him, but still not letting him catch me looking. I see this rough guy with a harsh face