An Amalgamation

Double J

The bar was noisy, crowded and annoying the hell out of Jeremy.  He could hardly hear the band on stage over the din of the ignorant people who just weren’t appreciating what they had in front of them.  No, they were waiting for that trendy headlining pseudo-punk band and could care less about the opening act – the true talent and the sole reason he’d dragged Julie out to this dive…

The same Julie who is quickly moving up on his very short list of people he genuinely likes to spend time with.  The same Julie who reminds him that not all people are stupid and selfish.  The same Julie who sits on the barstool next to him, swishing her ponytail against the nape of her neck.  And does she even realize how often she does that?   

Four weeks ago, they had met each other outside of a house, trying to escape the lame party inside.  Small talk and cigarettes became Catherine Wheel and deep discussion on the hood of her car.  A couple hundred texts, three phone calls, two meals, one movie have led up to this night and a now looming fork in the road.  That’s the way he sees it, at least.

They’ve been standing at the fork for nearly a week now, studying their options, testing the waters, flirting and backing off.  Two roads diverged in a smoky yellow bar – one leading to friendship, the other to something less platonic – and they probably can’t travel both.  Jeremy isn’t sure what he wants, and he isn’t sure what Julie wants, but if one of them doesn’t make up their mind soon, there isn’t going to be a choice left to make.  Indecision always drifts towards friendship, he thinks as he pulls a swallow of beer.

He watches her out of the corner of his eye, knows that these people are annoying her, too, by the way she’s subtly straining forward, hoping that extra inch will bring the music into sharper relief.  If he closes his eyes, maybe he can change the trajectory of her slow lean as it plays back under his eyelids.  Maybe he can make it seem like she is leaning toward him, into him, in that weird way time seems to slow down when leaning in for a first kiss with a new girl.  Would she taste of American Spirits and Harp, or would she taste of something more like… something less overt and just… her?

To hell with this.

Jeremy grabs her hand and pulls her off her stool, leading her through the crowd and up to the stage.  The front tables are taken by the morons who had camped out since early afternoon for a good position to see the wannabes coming on next.  Julie, of course, turns and asks if they’re in the way, because she’s way too fucking considerate.  Predictably, the responses she receives all run something along the lines of you’re cool until the Wilted Cabbages come on, but then you’ll have to move.  And what kind of stupid-ass name is that, anyway?  It’s probably worse than their music, if that’s even possible.

Jeremy focuses his attention back on the stage, already having wasted too much time on the plebes behind him.  He can almost see the bassline wind its way sinuously through the air, can feel it as it travels up his spine and melts into his ears.  He is finally in the zone.

The world narrows.  Nothing exists beyond the radius of the reverberations of this music, a no man’s land past those outer reaches where the sound weakens and fades.  Glorious chord progressions cause a slight unease as they move in and out of syncopation with the metrical drumwork.  Stunning lyrics with palpable joy and pain weave around layers of shimmering guitar.  And, underneath it all, that organic, complex bassline that grounds the entirety of it all and keeps it from spiraling off into the heavens and beyond human comprehension.

Jeremy feels himself trembling ever so slightly, the flip of his stomach and his soul pulling against the anchor of his body.  He, himself, can not be a physical part of this ocean of sound, but he can sink in, sink under and be enveloped by the waves of its pure aural bliss.  He can pull this music into his lungs and gladly, euphorically drown in it.

Before he knows it, it’s six songs later and the closing chords are fading slowly into the now attentive and applauding crowd.  Jeremy stands for a moment, his hands clenching as if he’s trying to trap the last diaphanous notes in them and keep them forever.  To imprint them indelibly upon his memory, these last fleeting, glimmering echoes of all the answers to the universe.

As he comes down from the musical high, he’s surprised to find that he’s still holding Julie’s hand.  She gives him a small squeeze and an understanding look, gently brings him back to reality.  Oh God, she knows.  She knows and she understands…

Jeremy turns when he hears a guy behind them say, “eh, they weren’t bad”, and immediately, the wonder he’d just experienced is gone.  He has to get out of here, now, before he loses it and is thrown out by one of the black shirted bouncers lurking in the corners.  He shakes his head pityingly at the guy, says, “I wish you understood,” then leads Julie out of the bar.

“Denny’s or the Double J?” he asks tersely as they walk toward his car, becoming more and more aware they’re still holding hands.  He’s hoping she says Denny’s, because it’s late enough that all the dinner people have left, but early enough that the drunks haven’t swarmed in, yet.  It’s the easier choice for his already frazzled emotional state.

“Whatever will make you less grumpy,” she replies.

“I can’t deal with stupid people right now. And since most people seem to be stupid tonight, we go where there are less people,” he replies, angrily.

“Okay, Denny’s it is, then,” is all she says, but he can feel her waiting for the outburst they both know is coming.  Might as well get it over with…

“Sheep piss me off. That’s all they are. Fucking sheep who can’t think for themselves. Stupid sheep who have to be led in a herd by the almighty shepherd of mass media,” he growls and tosses his free hand up in exasperation.

“Not everyone is as lucky as I am to have my own music guru to show them the light,” she teases and bumps her arm into his.  It doesn’t sound sarcastic or ass-kissy; it’s just a way for her to placate him without running down other people.  Ever the diplomat, standing in shadows, working others to common ground and buffering them from the sting of sharp words or stupid actions.

He knows that doesn’t make her un-opinionated or weak.  Most times she can do more things, more quickly, with her subtlety and empathy than he can with his aggression and a thousand sledgehammers.  She’s the snake that smiles at you as she winds her way around your body.  The cunning snake that never has to constrict to make her point.

What it does do is make her kind and clever and enjoyable to be around, even when it works against him.  And, although he will never say it out loud because of the insult the word has evolved into, it makes her… nice.  And he needs someone like that, someone to smooth out his rough edges.  Maybe she isn’t the most gorgeous girl he knows and maybe he doesn’t feel sparks shooting when he sees her, but maybe he only needs the compatible companionship, the easiness she facilitates and the warm feeling she brings.

She doesn’t make him angry, she has good taste, she isn’t stupid.  Hell, if he’s being honest, she’s probably smarter than he is… maybe she’s the right one for him?

They’re now at the car, and he, without thinking, opens the passenger door for her.  It’s only when she tries to remove her hand from his that he realizes what’s happening.  He holds on more tightly, tugs her gently away from the car and closer to him.  “Julie,” he says softly, hoping she understands what he is about to do.

Jeremy leans toward her and time slows down, just as it always does when leaning in for a first kiss with a new girl.  He closes his eyes and lets inertia guide him the last few inches to her waiting lips, letting the image of her leaning in play inside his eyelids, as he did earlier in the bar.  She is so close, he can almost feel the warmth of her breath, knows there is only a second before their lips meet… and then he feels her hand pushing against his chest.  Stopping him.

He opens his eyes to find himself nowhere near her face.  She wears an oh so rare summer smile and, somewhere deep inside, he breathes a sigh of relief.  A sigh quickly followed by a spike of anger and rejection.  Who the hell did she think she was? A vapid beauty queen who could pick and choose, carelessly tossing aside someone like himself so easily? She was so plain, it was painful, and she should be thanking her lucky stars…

He tries to pull his hand from hers, but she won’t let go.

“Jeremy,” she says in a quiet, but firm, tone that brings his eyes to find hers.

They look at each other, she still smiling, he frowning his displeasure.  She says nothing more, just waits a long moment as his anger burns out.  He takes in her warm smile, feels her hand solidly in his.  And, slowly, she transforms from the plain, haughty woman who had rejected him and back into the cute, kind and cool woman he had come here with tonight.  She’s right, of course.  She always is, when it comes right down to it.

He gives Julie’s hand a small squeeze to let her know that he’s okay and only then does she release her hold.  The path has been chosen – friendship, of course – and the rightness of it washes over him and settles into his bones.  The line from Casablanca he’d quoted to her on that first night of cigarettes and Catherine Wheel springs into his head…

“Julie, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship,” he says, and it’s now less of a joke and more of the truth.

She rolls her eyes, but her smile grows bigger.  “I’ve changed my mind, Rick, I want to go to Double J,” she tosses off as she slides into the car.  He hesitates for a moment, knowing how packed the diner will be at this time of night, but then again, he’ll have her to help him deal with it.

“The food’s better there, anyway,” he replies with a large smile and shuts the door behind her.