Throwing Caution to the Colorful | Alex Turner

never insult the strokes

may, 2005 (london)

"How could you even say that?" Alex's words were slightly muffled by the pastry still in his mouth.

I crossed my arms. "Look, it's not my  fault that you have horrible taste in dog breeds."

"All I'm saying is smaller dogs are inherently superior -"

"That's exactly the problem!" I gestured wildly with my hands. "It's so illogical! How could having MORE of a dog somehow be WORSE?"

He took a sip of tea, holding a finger in front of my face.

I crossed my arms. "Don't you shush me."

"There's actually many benefits of a smaller dog, such as -"

I raised my eyebrows. "Such as what?"

"Let me talk." He tried to look intimidating, but the quirk of a smile on his face gave him away. "Example one: travel. You're not going anywhere with a fuckin' greyhound."

"Fair point."

"Additionally, less fur to clean up, less lawn needed for them to shit in, the benefits just keep on multiplying-"

"-until a hawk swoops by as you're taking them on a walk, picks the little asshole right of the ground, and eats it for dinner."

He ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. "Now you're just being cruel."

"Hey, I'm just stating facts."

It was actually pretty nice, sitting there with Alex in a corner booth. The neon lights in the window reflected off his hair and shirt, giving off the impression that he was glowing.

The air was warm, the food was delicious, and I felt the frustration of the evening melting away with Alex seated across from me, with a wide smile.

His voice suddenly snapped me back to reality.

"Sorry, what?"

"Oh, I was just about to compliment you on your choice of dining location - good food, cheap prices, bearable music - this is one of my favorite songs." He gestured to the air around us, where a rock song was quietly playing. "You like it?"

"My music taste leans more Wu-Tang Clan and Dr. Dre," I shrugged.

"No way!" Alex's face lit up. "I listened to 2001 all the time in college."

"Me too!" I grinned. "My judgement might just be clouded by all the shitty cover bands I hear around here." I rolled my eyes. "Like, okay, you're fresh out of college and you just want to be one of the Strokes, we get  it already."

Alex suddenly looked sheepish.

"Oh fuck." I felt my face turn warm. "This song's by them, isn't it."

He nodded.

Fuck. "Sorry, that was harsh,  I just -"

"Hey, no need to apologize." The hint of a smile was back on his face. "Glad someone's being honest about music, for once."

"Shit, I still feel bad, though."

"Then make it up to me." Alex gestured towards the rickety old upright piano sitting lonely on the far wall. 

I had pointed it out as we walked in, letting it slip that I'd taken piano lessons since I was a kid. 

"Play me something."

It's not like I could refuse. "What genre?"

"Anything you want."

I sat down on the creaky wooden bench, suddenly very aware of Alex sitting right next to me.

I took a breath. I had to focus.

Eyes closed, I placed my fingers on the cold keys, still unsure of what I wanted to play.

What was right to play?

Mendelssohn.

That was it.

 I started off with the low chords, wincing as I realized that a few of the keys on the old piano didn't even produce any sound, but I pressed on, stumbling over a few notes of the high, soaring melody, but my fingers eventually found their way out of the introduction.  

In my mind, I was suddenly sixteen again, mind full of confusion and fear, finding solace only through the lens of my camera and the yellowed pages of my piano teacher's books.

I paused, gathering enough courage to open my eyes, but I kept them fixed on the keys, still not brave enough to look over at Alex.

The rest of the piece was a whirlwind, hands jumping all over the keyboard, the exhilarating rush of runs up and down the keys, fingers flying, and I felt a smile start to grow on my face.

I ended, strong, confident, triumphant, and when I finally looked into Alex's eyes, I saw the same expression that he had held after I had shown him my film.

Something flipped over, deep in my stomach.

He finally spoke. "Shit, is there anything you can't do?"

"Well, I'm having a hard time exceeding an audience count of one -"

"Two if you count the cashier with headphones in."

"Okay, two, but other than that, yeah, I can pretty much do anything." My smile had taken hold of my entire face by then.

Alex opened his mouth to say something else, but my phone suddenly rang.

The caller ID read "Lisa Work".

Fuck.

I had forgotten. I had accepted the night shift at the corner store for the night - my manager was going to be pissed.

Accepting the call, I blurted out that I'd be there in ten. I rushed back to the booth to gather up my things.

"What's going on?" Alex sounded concerned. "You okay?"

"Yes, I just - " I struggled to put my jacket back on, "had to take a night shift at my job and-" I placed my dish back on the counter, "I sort of totally forgot."

"Oh." He stood aimlessly by the table. "Yikes."

I paused, unsure of how to deal with this abrupt ending. I knew there was a part of me that had been dreaming up some sweet resolution to the night, maybe him walking me to my place or me walking him to his. Maybe sharing headphones, listening to -

Alex broke the silence. "Well. It was nice meeting you."

"And the same to you," I reached out from under my bundle of belongings and attempted to awkwardly shake his hand. "I apologize for insulting your music taste."

He cracked a smile. "Apology accepted."

I waved goodbye to the cashier (who didn't notice) and stepped out into the chilled night air, looking back one last time at Alex, who gave a little wave back at me.

It wasn't until I finally collapsed into bed, five hours later, that I realized I had completely forgotten to ask him for his number.