Synthesized Hand-Claps and All.
We stood on a hill on a Spring afternoon.
We'd spent hours loading heavy equipment from a visiting band off of a huge truck and out onto the field. Monitors. Amplifiers. All manner of electrical devices.
And now the band was playing, holding back their single hit to try to force the gathered college kids to bring them back for an encore.
And when they played the hit. And she got up to dance and sing along. And the irony was that I'd introduced her to the band. Then layer that irony with the fact that her life was an exact opposite of the lyrics she was singing along to.
A friend grabbed my shoulder.
"Don't take it personally."
"It's hard not to. It was just a few months ago."
"You know she's never gone more than 10 days without a boyfriend. Ten days since she was 14."
"I know."
"And you didn't think you two would stay together. Did you?"
"I did."
"Well then you're an idiot."
And I watched her dance. And had to agree.
My friend paused, then said. "It's a reflection on her, not on you."
I knew that then. And I know it now. And yet... she was dancing with some guy who wasn't me.
And my friend said "Plus, she dances like a spazz."
True enough. "I just wish she hadn't done that. So soon."
"Ten days, dude. Since she was 14. It has nothing to do with you."
I must have known that deep down. But I wanted to believe something different. Or maybe I just wanted to be the guy on the hill dancing and not the guy who'd seen how burned out and bored the band was backstage and would have to load tons of equipment back onto the truck so they could travel the next night to Maine. Or Virginia. Or some other place where the girls sway like spazzes and sing along to love songs they could never live up to. (Link for Gmail subscribers.)
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
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3 comments:
Take a tip from a cop who does: your friend who grabbed you by the shoulder to say those good words isn't the kind of friend who comes along every day. That's a friendship worth keeping if you can, says the old man.
At first I couldn't even tell this was two girls. Then I realized that the one on the right must be another girl, not just an extremely sensitive guy. But I'm assuming the blonde is the one you're writing about? Because, sheesh, that is one bad dancer. She has to look at her feet every time she does the twirl!
Holly, actually the girl I was writing about was a blonde, but not that blonde. (And the girl I was writing about danced even worse... and would've looked a lot worse in leather pants, too!)
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