Amidst the explosive grunge scene in 1993 Seattle, Riley Brooks finds herself broken after an abusive relationship with her first love comes to an end. Struggling to put the pieces back together, she has a chance encounter with the friendly, but eni...
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February 1993
I just wanted to get some sleep, I thought to myself for the millionth time as my cousin Robyn and I waited in line outside Mickie's Tavern. We were in Seattle, having just traveled from Tacoma. I felt so out of place, and it didn't help my discomfort that I was inappropriately dressed for the weather.
With a frustrated sigh, I mentally kicked myself for not wearing the wool sweater Nonna Eve offered me. The fine mist falling through the air soaked through the cotton of my clothes. My socks squished uncomfortably against my damp feet and my fingers were stiff and pruny. I wasn't prepared to be trapped in the dismal, ever rainy parts of Washington.
Sporadic holiday visits a few times a year were bad enough, but now I was stuck here under suicide watch, living with my Nonna Eve, Aunt Camilla, and Robyn. At least, until I could hang out with my father and that was only if he felt like pretending to be one.
I wrapped my arms around myself, yearning to get closer to Robyn for warmth, but she had that stink face on that made me think twice. I missed her. I missed when we were kids. I missed when she still liked me. Before I was this "me."
Finally, we were first in line, and I wasn't sure if I was relieved or not. As I approached the front door, the aggressive metal music hit me like a wave, making me want to sprint in the opposite direction.
We showed our IDs, both of us 21-years-old and our birthdays a mere week apart—yeah, our moms coordinated that. Gross. The bouncer welcomed us by stamping our hands; the stamp emitting a neon green glow as we crossed the dark threshold.
Robyn immediately grabbed my wrist, leading me through the crowd of swaying bodies. The air was thick with the noxious odor of cigarettes, a hundred of them mingling together in a cloud of smoke. It felt like every pair of eyes in the room were fixated on me.
Thankfully, I had taken a generous swig of Svedka from Nonna Eve's secret stash before we left. It took edge off my anxiety, but I realized now that it wasn't enough. My chest was still too tight.
After what seemed like an eternity, we made it to the bar where the music was quieter, and Robyn dragged me onto a stool. I immediately noticed a sticky sensation on the back of my jeans, but I couldn't bring myself to feel more than slightly annoyed with an immediate follow-up of "fuck it". I guess she literally wanted me to glue myself to the stool.
