Decisive Damsel

Jen awoke from an odd dream. In it, she was at a Miley Cyrus concert with Dave. Miley was unimaginably lame. It felt like this was her last concert before dying from a disgusting terminal illness. The morbid air tore Jen out of her sheets. She fell off her bed and hit her head on the wood floor. It was curious sight.

"So, have you thought about it?" Dave asked Jen in Web Design.

"Dave, do you like Miley Cyrus?" Jen responded, dazed.

"No. But . . . wait, what?"

"Oh, I dreamed we were at a Miley concert."

"Stop taking melatonin," Dave quickly quipped.

"Whatever, bitch," Jen replied -- the insult was included to steer Dave off the Delorean concert talk. Not now, Dave. Not in front of all these witnesses.

"So do you wanna go to the Delorean concert? We can go with yer friends. That's fine. Possibly I'll bring Angelo, Chris . . . ?"

"Oh, cool. When is it?"

"Tomorrow. I know it's a school night, but . . . I don't know -- see if yer friends are up for it. At Bowery, remember."

"Awes --"

"I thought you hated Delorean, bitch," I told Dave. Whoops, I interrupted Jen. Sorry. But I had a point . . .

"Dude, seriously I checked out their stuff. Even though I don't like 'Seasun' I like a lot of their shit, now. 'Moonson' has nice drums. Thanks for tellin' me about them."

"Whatever," I responded -- the jealousy seeped through my breath.

"Well, Dave, I'll ask everyone. Nick, go ahead, come. Dave this could be an awesome night," Jen said. Apathy, nervousness, delirium -- all present in Jen's discourse. You had a feeling that if conversation abruptly stopped, she'd hyperventilate. Though it was only appropriate we halt our words -- Miss Teacher had began the lesson.

"Nick, why don't you come," Dave said. The invitation was so synthetic that it lost its subjunctive meaning. We're humans because we don't speak like robots.

After a second I delivered a dragged-out "sure," effectively ending the three way.

By eight that night, the plan was fermented. Attendants: Angelo, Nick, Dave, Jen, Christian. We'd take Path to Bowery around six -- Delorean's set was only two hours, beginning at seven-thirty. Newcomers Gold Panda and Best Coast would be taking over later. Jen texted Dave anxiously, saying it's better we depart early. I didn't care -- as long as I saw my Barcelona babes create live "Seasun" magic, I'd be fit for life.

"Where's the entrance?" Christian said comically. After mindless Facebook commenting, an endless night, a pointless school day, preparation and discussion of the trip, the benevolent excursion to this moment, we were actually . . . here.

"Yeah, you're right -- there's prolly no entrance because that makes sense," Jen threw at his stupid face.

"Where the hell's your boyfriend? He prolly won't want me to hit you, but -- "

"Guys, quit it!" Dave exclaimed. There was real tension in his voice. This wasn't the same chill bro from "Sensual Infractions."

"Davey Pie, where do we enter?" Jen innocuously queried Dave.

"Whatever. You know I've been here before -- why didn't you ask me in the first place, guys? Goddamn it just go up the stairs. Tools," Dave responded.

"Yah mon," Angelo said to Dave, er -- I think he said it to Dave!

For whatever reason, Dave laughed. Then he replied, "Cool your jets, partner." All nerves and anger fled the scene. Time for some glo-fi!

"So, uh, what kind of music do these guys do," Jen inquired to us.

"Obviously time travel music, dummy," Christian joked.

"You're cool!"

"Thanks. Not that I need verification from a whore."

"Come on -- that's too far," I said. Then I added, "What happened with Amy and Alaina, Jen?"

"They don't really know us. And this is kinda late for a school night. Wait, why I here with four guys?"

"Yah mon," Angelo said.

After an awkward silence, Dave said, "Okay, so wow, um, I didn't know they used live guitars and shit, Nick." The outfit had begun prepping!

"Yes man, they do," I replied -- then I winked at Angelo.

"Oh that guy's hot," Jen said, pointing to Chris Coady.

"He's just a mixer, actually," I informed her. I searched the venue, looking for the frontman. Then it struck me -- that guy in the Powerman 5000 t-shirt looks familiar. No, it can't be! And so it was.

Nick L viewed us through scholarly specs. He was hanging with some kid -- chubby, but handsome. I whispered the situation to everyone immediately.

"Whatever, let's meet up with him," an ecstatic Jen said.

"Nah, he's a clown," Dave told her.

"Eh, Dave, I'm not leaving this show," your narrator asserted!

"If he sees us, we're gone," said Christian. Angelo nodded his head -- it was three against two.

Alas I kept track of the duo's movements. Nick's friend was easier to spot at any given time. My responsibility didn't stop me, though, from dancing my nancy off to "Seasun" and "Deli." Goddamn hero of a dance-pop act. It kept coming at us. Harder and faster. The glo-fi destroyed our legs and munched on our ears. It was nine o'clock -- they'd played at least three new tracks; each one was amazing. Then the encore of "Seasun" started. Oh, all of us clapped the moment we realized we'd get another dose of that beauty.

"Yo clowns, what's up?"

"Noooooo!" we pronounced in unison. Okay, maybe Jen held out. Couldn't tell.

"Let's run!" Dave exclaimed. But in truth, he didn't want to leave. All of us wanted to spend the rest of our lives dancing, leading, but never succeeding ourselves into a drowned daze. Nick L laughed at the prospect. His friend breathed deeply. As the encore concluded, we dashed out of Bowery.

Past Pizza Hut, and Taco Bell, and McDonald's, and Playgirl -- the stores' names lost meanings eventually -- even as reference points. I could of cried when I realized that Nick L, unbeknown to himself, had abandoned his rotund companion. Through everything, the prime villain had only increased his speed. He was three feet from the lot of us, and Jen was scared out of her wits. I couldn't quite fathom why we were sprinting. But, I looked at the trifecta of demonic grins -- on Ang, Dave, and Chris -- and I knew. This was as much sarcasm and it was revenge.

"Nick, relax!" Dave screamed after a while. He was legitimately frightened. But why? Five on on? What the fuck. Then, Jen stopped. Dave copied, microseconds later.

That didn't stop the driven weirdo. I had a feeling that if Chris and Ang stopped too, Nick would still be after me. He obviously wasn't able to contain himself. Blocks later, Ang halted. So did Christian. So did I. So did he.

"Guys, why were you running from me?" Nick appropriately asked us.

"Uh," I began, then breathed heavily -- as did they -- and continued, "I was . . . I don't know . . . but that was some workout!"

He didn't like the answer. "What the fuck?" he persisted.

"Nick, it was all a big joke. Too bad I don't get it," said Christian, honest as an ox.

"Yeah, Nick . . . whatever, let's just . . . get back. Let's find the two dissenters," Angelo offered.

"Wrong word," I informed him.

He wasn't in the mood for grammatical perfection or laughs. So we began walking south, wondering why Dave or Jen weren't in our direct perception.

"Maybe they got somethin' to eat," I apathetically stated.

"Whatever -- I'm actually kinda worried," said Chris.

"Yeah, well I know y'all don't wanna jog, but we might have to," I reluctantly gave.

We all groaned and sped up.

"I missed you too much," whispered Dave.

"We shouldn't do anything -- they'll find us," Jen warned.

"No! Ya know what? Who cares! Who cares! I love you, baby."

Thus they kissed -- though it went on for less than a minute, it was dramatically potent. Dave lifted his lips off hers and peered out of the alley.

"Why did you stop," Jen murmured, hardly conscious.

"Let's find them. I know you're supposed to be the realist but we should find them. Eh, they're obviously worried. Ang sent me a text."

She was visibly disappointed. Then she seized energy from her heart and spoke. "Dave, stop looking to see if they're here. Stop! I told you before to call them, then you kiss me -- you kiss me, Dave. I've never felt anything like that. But now I think back -- it's the setting. It's the atmosphere. It is. It's a school night. We're alone in New York. It's -- this is just ridiculous. Adrenaline: it really fuels life's high moments. Stop. Let me finish. Dave, we've been through so much. But then here's our high point. And it's bullshit. You're somebody with similar interests and who obviously lusts after me. You're a great person. I like Dave the Person. But this can't be. The way five hours ago I kissed my boyfriend for two minutes and five minutes ago I was actually . . . like, I was gonna get intimate with you. Yes, I was thinking about it. Dave, you're not a fake. No. But, Dave, you're not ever gonna be with me. Never. I don't wanna see you. I hate you. Sorry. Let's find them."

"Yeah, I texted 'n called him, Chris -- he's obviously doing something with her," I angrily responded to the funnyman.

"Let's get something to eat then. They'll -- let's just leave them alone," Angelo said. He flipped open his cell and added, "Wow, it's only nine fourty-seven."

"Okay, where we gonna eat?" I said.

"Cohen's Fashion Optical?" Nick L asked.

"Closed," I responded -- last sarcastic comment of the night, I swore.

We ended up dining at Rocket Joes Pizza -- it was more than sufficient. We consumed our Italian cuisine hastily. Ang received a text minutes after the final bite -- thank the Lord it was from Dave. He said we should meet at Jimmy Jazz and head home.

"Nick L, seriously . . . where is your friend? I don't understand why you did that," I told the creep, severely disappointed with his actions.

"I thought I told you -- he's at Elio's. Oh . . . yeah, can we go get him?"

Duh -- so I responded in the affirmative. We met up with Dave and Jen (wow, they looked dizzy) and headed for Elio's. Safe and sound was Andrew. Cool brother. And thus, the day kept rolling. We got back in Nutley at around one -- everyone was at least marginally confused. Various thoughts surfaced about the day. Nick L still didn't get why they ran away from him, and only was beginning to comprehend his running after them. Angelo L deemed the events another "adventure" for the time capsule. Christian P voiced his satisfaction with life's ongoing mystery. Andrew said, "Elio's -- quality shit." I'm not sure he enjoyed Delorean's set. Jen felt like an angel, rising to purity, while Dave felt like an emo, sinking to nihilism. Me -- as I entered my cot the predictable grin spread across my face, and I mumbled to my wall, "blogworthy." Then I crashed.