Katharine

We were a small town band, but we lived near the big city. She traveled with her entourage. She had her two very pretty boys, two fine perfect packages, tall, and lean, white creamy skin, with their shoulder length healthy long dyed black hair, and eyeliner. Decked out in heavy artillery attire, with whom she had been friends with for years, both who were not only extremely talented and dedicated hard working guitarists and musicians when it came to their instruments, but also madly in love with her and eager and ready when it came to playing in her heavy metal rock band. She, too, was serious when it came to her writing, and her lyrics, her singing and performing. And when she was up there on that stage, where she writhed around on the stage floor in her torn fishnets, tall combat boots, and tight black shorts, which sometimes she would peel off along with her t-shirt, jacket, and jeans, one by one, piece by piece as she tore into them, yelling and preening, passionate about her words, stomping to the rhythm, sweat dripping from her face, dripping into and down her long blond hair, dripping down her chest, breast and derriere, her tight little package, all of 5'2" with maddening strength, fire and sweat, dripping down her legs which were strutting to the beat, sometimes stomping angry and pissed. She was in charge up there, owning the stage, the audience, the music, the moment.

I was quiet when it would come to her. She was a ball of creativity, she knew what she wanted and knew how to get it. She would show up at my front door, dressed in her gothic garb, decked out in her black eyeliner and chains, long blond hair, healthy and flowing like a mermaid. Sweet skin and hair but her exterior gave her away. Her black leather and big stainless steel, sterling sliver rings on every finger, nails chewed down to the bit. Her boys would be with her, calm, but ready to rock sitting in the front seat of the truck as she would jump out of the back, come inside my house, ready, rearing to go, rearing to get me, urging me to hurry up and go. She knew I was serious about my guitar, and she could smell the hardworking mule devotion in me a mile away. It attracted her to me, and like her little slave and all the other little boys before me, I was all to eager to follow.

I moved into that working class neighborhood after my parents moved home to Asia. My teenage angst years spent rebelling against my parents perhaps had worked for me, and when my best male friend (who happened to be gay) moved to the big city I opted to move into his dad's house in the working class suburb, and my parents agreed to leave me behind,  studying at the University in the city. 

I was obsessed with playing the guitar, and even though I fashioned myself in frocks, feathers, leather, lace and dresses like a rock star washed up from the 60's or the 70's, I found myself more at home working at the auto shop on the weekends to earn my keep, and playing my guitar the rest of the time. I guess I didn't really miss the big city. I kept my enrollment up at the University, taking one class at a time, but really just wanted to live somewhere quiet. My parent's leaving was a freedom call for me to pursue what I wanted to. Music. I wanted to sit at home for a year or two and learn to play these prolific guitar riffs before heading out to some other town somewhere else, somewhere music and rock 'n' roll breed and live together. New Orleans, Chicago, Los Angeles to join some rock 'n' roll band and ride off into the sunset. I had barely been back to Finley for two weeks when Katharine was knocking on my door.

Katharine and I had met at a party over the summer. It was a rock n roll party. I was there with my good friend Sloth. Sloth was well known in Finley. Not just as a heavy metal guitar demi-god, but as an all around party guy. He had long flowing hair, talked loudly and knew how to shred a guitar like no other. He played in almost every band in Finley, and if he wasn't playing in the band he was partying with them and carrying on. Sloth and I met in high school music class. Both of us classically trained guitarists, we immediately started hanging out. Sloth accepted me into his world and invited me to go with him everywhere he went. In no time, I was like Sloth's right hand man, except that I was a girl, and was going to parties and meeting anyone and everyone there was to know in that small town of Finley. I didn't have to talk much around Sloth. It was a given that he was the life of the show.