“I can’t believe you dragged me to this shithole.” [Name] muttered, her arms crossed in front of her soft, baby pink cashmere sweater. She stared at the run-down club overflowing with drunks, junkies, and tattooed men who tossed her looks she wasn’t sure she liked. The club was in one of the bad parts of town – not the ghetto, but close. She shuddered and turned to Hendrik, who was still looking for parking and was not quite used to driving [Name]’s silver Volvo. “I thought we were just going to spend the night at your place like we used to.”
“We were, but there’s something here I wanted to show you.” The Dutchman barreled into an empty spot and turned off the engine. Her friend of many years, Hendrik Morgens was an outrageously tall and handsome without even trying. Neither Hendrik nor [Name] had ever tried to move their relationship past being platonic friends, and that was the way they kept it, even though she did consider him to be the only person she felt like herself around. [Name] kept her eyes on the building, nervously playing with her seatbelt. The club’s name was advertised on a very tacky sign that blinked the name in fluorescent lights. [Name] supposed it was originally called ELEMENT, but the first ‘E’ and the ‘T’’s bulbs had went out, and now the sign read LEMEN. She began to think about what a lemen could possibly be when her friend’s voice brought her back.
“Just trust me on this, okay?”
“Jesus, Hendrik, is your idea of a fun night out getting stabbed by a crackhead in the asshole of this city?”
“One day, I wish my vocabulary could be just as colorful as yours.” Hendrik got out of the car and went to open the door for [Name]. People gave her curious looks – she, in her sweater, grey skinny jeans, and brand-new Vans looked very out of place in a spot like this. Some smirked at her and watched with amusement as the tall man next to her had to practically drag her inside LEMEN/ELEMENT.
Inside the club was not as terrible as the outside. The bar seemed to be pretty well-stocked, and the “dance-floor” was spacious. It reeked of sweat trying to be masked with Axe cologne and whiskey, but the same could be said for any other nightclub. A stage was set on the wall opposite the entrance, and some men in tight pants were up setting the speakers (mules, [Name] thought). Hendrik wrapped an arm around her shoulders protectively (and she was grateful for this). A makeshift banner was hung behind them, announcing that ALLEYWAYS were playing that night.
“Is that what this is about? You wanted to see a band?” [Name] asked Hendrik and his face remained the same. Sometimes his stoicism was terribly annoying.
“Hmm, something of the sort. You’ll see very soon.” Henrik alluded with an infuriating ghost of a smile on his lips.
“Next time, I’m going to hang up the phone when you invite me out,” [Name] warned, but knew in her heart that was a blatant lie. She could never say no to him, and it wasn’t like her social life was exactly thriving either.
Hendrik said nothing as the crowd fell into a hush. The band’s lead singer – an albino – walked up to the mic and said with a confident smirk that the first song they’d be playing tonight was one called “Pile-driver” or maybe “Screwdriver”. [Name] wasn’t too sure.
The drummer, a hot, bubbly blonde with large boobs and pink lips, began softly, until the bassist picked up the tune and soon the guitarist jumped in. The drums got louder and louder, and it was obvious the blonde was no amateur. The bassist kept his eyes on his instrument and a thin film of sweat appeared on his brow. He seemed a little nervous, like he hadn’t done this too many times before. He was cute, but very young in comparison to the others. The singer chimed in with a smooth, husky voice that got a few catcalls from the more confident ladies in the audience. The song reached the bridge and the guitarist pulled off a complicated riff.
They were astonishing.
[Name] stepped forward to get a closer look until she almost reached the stage for their last song (“Heart Piñata” or something like that). Just as the blonde guitarist was wrapping up his solo, he looked up and [Name] got a glimpse of his face – and she felt her heart skip a beat. Her palms began to sweat and her hands grew clammy.
It can’t be. She couldn’t help it; she let out a small gasp. At that moment, the solo ended and the guitarist’s eyes met [Name]. Her appearance gave him pause and his jade green eyes widened. Did she know he was playing here today? Did she want to see him? Somehow it seemed too likely to be a coincidence.
Once Gilbert thanked the crowd, Arthur walked offstage without another word. He stepped in front of [Name] sensing her discomfort and wondered if his own showed. He let himself look her over again. She had certainly changed in the past few years. Her wild [h/c] locks were tamed somehow, and cascaded down her shoulders. Her outfits were more sensible than they used to be and the sparkle in her eyes that always appeared whenever she was with him had faded. It was almost embarrassing how much [Name] had changed and he had not.
“It’s nice to see you again,” Arthur started, even though he wasn’t sure if that was entirely true yet, and he just wanted it to be.
[Name] was silent before finally nodding as she tried to force the tears that were welling in her eyes not to spill onto her cheeks. “It’s… nice to see you again, too” was all she managed to say before her throat constricted.
There was little that either of them could say and less that they could do to make the situation less painful or uncomfortable for either of them.
