Author's Note: This began as a collaborative work, but the co-author has since discontinued work on this piece. The characters will be markedly different than they were previously as this project is now mine alone.
The collaborative work had been four chapters in length, but I have deleted all but the first chapter (as that was my work alone). The work henceforth will be mine. Feedback will be appreciated.
Thank you.
The author claims no ownership to the characters, settings, or events from the television series Glee.
Approximate words this chapter: 10,600
I said you can't hide on the inside
All the pain you've ever felt
Ransom my heart, baby don't look back
'cause we got nobody else
Dave approached the bar at Barrelheads, prepared to scan the room for John, but his attention was drawn to the voice coming from the stage area where there was a fair, thick-built, blonde man, singing into the microphone. The man's voice was downright arresting.
The tables toward the front of the room at the foot of the stage were crowded, filled with fashionable and flamboyant young persons, colorfully attired, applauding, flailing their arms, and visibly reacting in other ways to the man on the stage. Progressing from the stage to the bar, the tables were more sparsely filled but still largely occupied, their occupants dressed in more conventional manner and their visible reaction to the man on the stage more reserved but still obviously approving.
"Can I get cha something?" the bartender nearly yelled in Dave's direction, breaking his attention from the music.
"Uh, yeah," Dave replied, caught off-guard. "You have Rolling Rock?"
The bartender nodded and returned in a moment, handing Dave a bottle, taking the twenty-dollar bill Dave left on the bar, and returning change. Dave's attention was pulled again into the voice of the man on the stage.
You know that sometimes, it feels like
It's all moving way too fast
Use every alibi and words you deny
That love ain't meant to last
"You guys drink Rolling Rock all the way out here?"
Dave's attention was snagged by a bespectacled tall, thin, long-haired man who was clad entirely in black, wearing a fedora tipped low over his forehead.
"Uh, yeah," Dave was caught again off-guard. "I'm not originally from around here."
"Sorry if I startled you," the man's unshaven face broke a slight smile, approachable.
"Nah, it's cool," Dave answered, nodding toward the stage. "I was just kinda stunned by this guy's voice."
The man smiled wider. "He's good, isn't he?"
"I don't know crap about music formally, but, yeah, he's amazing."
The tall man snickered. "Tell him that when he's done. He'll be headed this way, and he'll appreciate hearing it."
"Really? You know him?" Dave's curiosity mildly piqued.
The man smiled again. "Yeah. He's by boyfriend."
Dave smiled wider but silently nodded slowly in reaction, simultaneously taken aback by the man's bluntness and also disarmed by it."
"My name's Dan," the man held out his right hand, and Dave accepted the handshake, his smile relaxing, becoming less nervous and more natural.
"Dave. Nice to meet you."
As the two dropped their handshake, Dave returned to face the stage area again as Dan flagged the bartender and ordered two drinks.
We're running with the shadows of the night
So baby take my hand, you'll be alright
Surrender all your dreams to me tonight
They'll come true in the end
And now the hands of time are standin' still
Midnight angel, won't you say you will?
As the song ended, the room filled with applause, particularly the section of more animated and colorful people sitting near the foot of the stage erupted, shaking hands with the singer as he moved slowly through a near-mob of smiling faces, finally making his way to the bar area.
"Sounded great, as always," Dan said to the smiling blonde man while passing to him a freshly-delivered drink as he approached the bar.
"You were awesome," Dave said, almost timid, smiling slightly at the man as he took his drink from Dan.
"Thank you!" the man spoke, bright, at Dave.
"Dave, meet my partner David," Dan introduced the two as they shook hands. "David, this is Dave. He walked in while you were mid-song, and we've been talking a little."
"Nice to meet you, Dave," the blonde man said, smiling.
"Same," Dave replied, somewhat awkward but friendly. "First time I've been to one of these things here. Do you guys come here often?"
Dan laughed and shook his head, addressing Dave. "No, we're from out of town. We're on our way to Seattle to meet some friends who I met online a couple of years back. They vacation every year in Seattle, and David and I thought we'd plan a trip to meet them finally. We're just in Portland for the night."
"Ah," Dave nodded. "Where are you guys from?"
"Pittsburgh," Dan answered. "The friends we're meeting up with in Seattle are from Texas."
"Well, I'm originally from Ohio, but I go to school out here in PSU," Dave spoke to the pair, "I haven't been out east in years literally."
"But it explains your choice in beer," David noted, smiling and nodding at the bottle in Dave's hand.
"Hey, that was excellent!" a pretty young blonde woman interjected, friendly, as she joined the small group, shaking hands with David. Her voice had the sophistication of a subtle French accent; behind her was a handsome, smiling, dark-haired man with a few day's growth of beard; he was voicing equal enthusiasm at David's singing, though more quietly than the blonde woman he was with.
David nodded and voiced thanks to the pair.
"Dave, meet Cassandra and Frederick," Dan introduced, "a couple of other Portland transients that David and I met at the bar before his name was called up for him to sing."
Dave smiled and shook their hands, first the young woman, then the young man who accompanied her. "Nice to meet you. So, you're not from here either?"
"We're from Canada," Frederick offered, smiling and friendly.
"We're on our way to Irvine, California to take part in a yearly charity event," Cassandra completed. "We wound up in Portland for the night and ended up at this place."
"Really nice city you people have," David spoke to Dave.
"Yeah, I enjoy it here," Dave replied to the entire group, collectively. "Way better than where I came from."
Though the music had resumed on the stage, several songs had passed while the five people were grouped around a small area at the bar. Given the immediate distraction, Dave had forgotten about his reason for being at Barrelheads this evening.
Five or six songs might have passed as the group of them talked, sometimes boisterously, among themselves before their attention was collectively drawn to the stage again. A small, petite woman with jet-black hair in a classic bob-hairstyle dressed in black jeans with a black leather vest over a bright pink shirt was literally ripping through a power-ballad on the stage. Her voice was strong, and the emotion in her performance was stunning.
I hear the ticking of the clock
I'm lying here the room's pitch dark
I wonder where you are tonight
No answer on the telephone
And the night goes by so very slow
Oh I hope that it won't end though
Alone
John had arrived at Barrelheads at least an hour earlier, maybe closer to ninety minutes earlier. He'd arrived by himself. Karaoke was a kind-of all-purpose balm for him: something he could enjoy with a group of friends but also something that worked just as well when he went by himself, a sort-of introspective catharsis. It helped that he was good, good enough to be recognized and consistently appreciated by the regular crowd at Barrelheads.
Earlier in the evening, he'd been sitting my himself at the bar when some friends had arrived separately and coerced him into joining them at their table, near the stage but at the far right of the room. He sat with the group though obviously isolated, largely quiet, interacting only when called-upon. In their revelry, his friends didn't register John's general silence as it was not uncommon for the sometimes-moody John to project quiet and serious. His mood was dark despite the gregariousness of his friends, and the present song, being sung to death by the tiny girl with a huge voice on the stage was pummeling his mind.
You don't know how long I have wanted
To touch your lips and hold you tight, oh
You don't know how long I have waited
And I was gonna tell you tonight
But the secret is still my own
And my love for you is still unknown
Alone
Fuck, John thought to himself, and how fucking typical and absurdly appropriate. The song's words cataloged the litany of his current state of silent agitation. Spying Dave at the Hound & Butterfly a week ago, seeing him in the library earlier in the week and running like a damned insane person when he did, and this song conjuring the sick dichotomy in his feelings: the idealization he'd attached to Dave and the rage and jealously he felt toward him. John boiled.
Till now I always got by on my own
I never really cared until I met you
And now it chills me to the bone
How do I get you alone?
How do I get you alone?
Even before the song had properly ended, the occupants of Barrelheads were on their feet and nearly roaring approval at the girl's performance. Dave and his group of new acquaintences applauded from their station at the bar.
"That was pretty amazing," Dan chimed as he clapped his hands loudly, an almost astonished expression.
"Yeah, it was," David agreed as the others nodded and clapped as well.
"Let's hear it for Nancy-Ann," the karaoke host spoke from the stage as she was handed a slip of paper to call the next singer to the stage. "Next we have John Eighty-seven."
Dave's attention was caught and drawn suddenly at the announcement. He saw a familiar figure stand from a table to the right of the stage as several of the flamboyant and excitable patrons at the front stood and clapped.
It was John, but he had attitude as he approached the microphone, almost a game-face. He waved and shook hands with some of the people at the front while wearing an aloof expression. This was unlike the person Dave knew: John was confident, almost confrontational in his swagger.
"Hey, this is a cool song," Dan smiled as the music began; Dave however was too absorbed in the immediate to notice the reaction of those around him.
I need someone, a person to talk to
Someone who'd care to love
Could it be you?
Could it be you?
The situation gets rough, and I start to panic
It's not enough, it's just a habit
And, kid, you're sick
Well, darling, this is it
John's voice was strong, almost inappropriately trained and formal for a long such as this one, but his conviction, however affected (or natural) it might have been, made the incongruity immaterial.
Well, you can all just kiss off in the air
Behind my back, I can see them stare
They'll hurt me bad, but I don't mind
They'll hurt me bad, they do it all the time, yeah, yeah!
Yeah, they do it all the time, yeah, yeah!
They do it all the time, do it all the time!
They do it all the time, do it all the time...
Is Dave here?
Dave shook his head, a double-take, unsure of what he'd just heard: did John just call him out, mid-song?
I hope you know that this will go down on your permanent... record.
Oh, yeah? Well, don't get so distressed
Did I happen to mention that I'm impressed?
The following left no doubt in Dave's mind that John was singing to someone specific, whether John was aware that the projected recipient of that statement was in the same room or not.
Hey, Dave!
His name called again, there was no question this time.
I take one, one, one 'cause you left me
And two, two, two for my family
And three, three, three for my heartache
And four, four, four for my headaches
And five, five, five for my lonely
And six, six, six for my sorrow
And seven, seven, n-n-n-n-no tomorrow
And eight, eight, I forget what eight was for
But nine, nine, nine for the lost gods
Ten, ten, ten, ten for everything, everything, everything, everything!
At this, Dave stood apart from the others at the bar, now transfixed, shaking he head slightly. He'd found the person he'd come to Barrelheads seeking, and this display served to compound what he'd inferred from the disastrous conversation with the pretty-boys at HM Massacres a week ago.
Well, you can all just kiss off in the air
Behind my back, I can see them stare
They'll hurt me bad, but I don't mind
They'll hurt me bad, they do it all the time, yeah, yeah!
It was at this point that John, looking outward from the stage, addressing the crowd though no one specific, recognized the unmistakable silhouette of a solitary figure standing at the back of the room, several feet away from the bar. Oh, fuck. Dave is here. Jolted by this but unable and unwilling to abandon his current station and the sentiment of the words he sang, John pressed onward, rage and downright snottiness becoming progressively apparent in his intensity as he continued.
Yeah, they do it all the time, yeah, yeah!
They do it all the time, do it all the time!
They do it all the time, do it all the time!
They do it all the time!
The music had not yet ceased when the people at the front stood and began applauding. Simultaneously, Dave made a few wide strides in the direction of the stage. John's facade of composure fell to slight panic, and he darted toward a side, leaving the microphone stand to wobble precariously, nearly dropping to the floor, as the karaoke host jumped to the stage to stabilize it.
Once off the stage, the light was significantly dimmed; it felt like darkness to John's maladjusted eyes, but he could see the lighted sign over the emergency exit. He pushed his way through a dense crowd and areas of tables, ignoring the sign which stated that the door was only to be used in case of an emergency, and pushed into the darkness of the alley outside the building, feeling a minor consolation that the action didn't set off any alarms.
John stopped silent, barely breathing though wanting to pant, pressing himself against the brick wall just outside the emergency exit, listening to hear if he was being followed. The exit door made no sound. Still pressed against the wall, he inched his way toward the back of the building where he was fairly certain that there was no likely exit route for Dave.
He waited at the rear of the building for a moment, seeing the doors which led into the Barrelheads' kitchen, opened for ventilation, a few yards from the enclosed dumpster area. John could faintly hear the sound of another song beginning over the noise of the kitchen. He stealthily stepped around the corner and toward the front facade of the building, not sure how much time had passed. Certainly if Dave had tried to follow him, John would have heard or seen something by now.
John stopped. He could see out into the street in front of the building, but was himself shielded from being seen by the corner of the structure. He needed to get out of the place area as quickly as he could, though he wasn't exactly sure why. Internally, he felt his actions in the club were justified, but, then, putting his irrational feelings on public display in front of someone who was never intended to see them was, in truth, embarrassing, despite how emboldened it made him feel in the moment. And, damn it, he just had to call Dave out by name, didn't he?
John fumbled for his cell phone, unlocking the screen and searching among his contacts for someone who could possibly pick him up and ride him back to his loft. Or anywhere, really, that was a place other than where he presently was.
"I'll take that," John heard as an arm reached around the corner and snatched his cell phone from his hands.
"Hey," John spat, squeaked almost, panicked as he saw Dave walking away with his cell phone, his face illuminated by the glow of the screen. "Give that back!"
"Screen's unlocked," Dave spoke as he broke into a quick pace, almost jogging to his car. "That was very thoughtful of you."
"What are you doing?" John squealed again as he sprang to follow Dave, vainly, as Dave reached his car, jumped into the driver's seat, and locked the doors.
"That is my phone," John hissed, slapping the window, "Give it back."
"Nope," Dave spoke, concise, as he produced his own phone and lit the screen, scrolling and poking at it with the thumb of his right hand while he held John's phone in his left, his concentration and eyes darting from one phone to the other.
"This is an invasion of privacy," John whined, sounding particularly feeble. "I'll sue."
After a moment passed, Dave slid his phone into his shirt pocket as the screen on John's dimmed. He craned his head upward, facing John and pushed the button, lowering his window about an inch. "I'm a college student. All my money goes to student loans. Good luck with that suing-me thing. You want your phone back? Get your ass in the car." Dave pressed the button on his door and the doors unlocked with a mechanical chunk.
John blinked. "Fine," he said walking to the passenger side, collapsing into the seat, and slamming himself in the car. "I'm not giving you road head."
Dave snorted a tight-lipped laugh, kept hold of John's phone in his left hand, using a knuckle to roll up his window. "You don't have to worry about that. I'm not about to do you any favors."
John's expression fell from nervous to near-disgust. "What the hell? Think a little much of yourself?"
Dave turned his head to address John directly, a nearly smug expression with penetrating eyes and a raised eyebrow. "Tell me you haven't thought about it."
John was stunned, mouth gaping, suddenly no longer confrontational, showing the fear of his feelings being revealed.
Dave moved quickly, before John could react, clamping the sides of John's head in his hands and pulling him forward, Dave pressing his lips hard against John's. The kiss lingered for some seconds as John grunted sounds of protest which quieted to a murmur as he succumbed to it over the better part of a minute. There was no tenderness in this kiss: it was punishing.
Dave's hands freed John as quickly as they had seized him, their lips parting in the same action. John looked away, quickly, toward the floor of the car, shaken and reduced by Dave's kiss. He spoke meekly. "I...I d...don't know. Maybe you're holding my phone hostage, and I don't have my numbers saved other places."
"You think this is about your phone?" Dave replied, pointed. "What the fuck did I just see and hear in there?" Dave jerked his head toward Barrelheads as John ran his palms nervously over his thighs. "You sang a song about somebody who fucked you over, and called me out by name, not once, but twice, just in case I missed it the first time, I guess. Unless, of course, you were singing about some other Dave, in which case I can't imagine why you looked so fucking guilty when you saw me watching from the bar. And, yeah, I saw you run away from me at the Q Center Library the other day."
The doors locked with the click of a button when John tried to pull his open.
"You're not getting out of this that easily," Dave spoke, somber, clinical.
"Seriously?"
"Seriously."
"I'll yell."
"Then do it."
"Okay," John nearly yelled though he was still facing forward, eyes staring into the floor beneath the dashboard. "Okay. I'm fucking irrationally jealous, and you happened to witness my way of dealing with it first-hand. You weren't supposed to see that but you fucking did." John felt suddenly stronger for a moment, turning toward Dave. "And what the hell are you doing here tonight anyway?"
"I went looking for you," Dave sounded almost accusing. "I talked to Mack, I talked to the people at the Q Center, I tried calling a couple of churches, I talked to some kinda-creepy guy named Rich who writes trivia questions at that Dr. Who bar. This was the last stop. If I didn't find you here tonight, that would have been the end of it."
"Why were you looking for me?" John nearly whispered, stunned.
"Why don't you tell me what you've got to be irrational and jealous about and how that has anything to do with me," Dave spoke, clear and pointed. "I have a feeling it all starts with that anyway."
John shook his head and returned his gaze into the space before, letting out a flustered-sounding huff before speaking. When he did speak, his words were quiet but clear and quickly delivered, prissy-sounding, accusing. "The last time I called you, you said you had plans. I saw you later that night at the Hound & Butterfly shooting pool with some guys and having a good time. One of them looked like he was making a fuss over you, and you looked like you were enjoying it. I'm human. I got jealous."
"I don't answer to you, and I don't owe you any explanation." Dave's words were direct and measured as he shook his head slightly.
"I...I know," John began quietly before Dave cut him off quickly.
"Let me talk. Even though I owe you nothing, I'll tell you what happened. I came out to my friends a few weeks ago."
"I thought you were out to your friends."
"Will you let me talk?" Dave snapped, pointed, losing patience. "I was out to my roommate, my best friend. I wanted to be out in the open with my other friends. Anyway, I hadn't hung out with them since I told them so I was hanging out with them the night the night you called me."
"Those guys at Hound & Butterfly are your regular friends?"
"Damn it, quit interrupting me!" Dave glared.
"Sorry," John exhaled meekly.
"Anyway, I was with my friends at the Tap Room, first time I was hanging with them since I came out to them, and it felt weird. I had to leave, okay. And I wanted to get outta the weird state of mind it put me in. I had made some friends recently and texted one of them. That's how I ended up at the Hound & Butterfly." Dave paused for a moment before adding, "I might have texted you except, uh, that's right, I didn't have your number."
John lowered his head and exhaled slightly at the obvious statement. "Look, I didn't want to hurt you, alright?"
"What? You think you hurt me? Fuck. Self-important? Much. Your whack-job behavior toward me directly is just the surface apparently. A week ago I was at HM Massacres when I overheard some guys talking about you. Apparently, you'd been kinda boisterous there. Then, somehow I came up in their conversation."
John turned and looked at Dave, stunned.
"Yeah, not by name, but apparently a couple of weeks before, you'd been bragging about some awesome guy you were dating, unless, of course, you were seeing some other guy that roughly fits the description of a 'dreamy-eyed bear' at the same time you'd gone out with me."
John looked away into the dark space beneath the dashboard before him, silent.
"So, these guys at this bar, well, guys like me are apparently some kinda joke to them. I can't measure up to their elite standard, and the impression I got was that you were in on the joke."
"God, Dave, no," John slowly protested. "I don't hang out with guys like that. I know some of them, but..."
"Do you know that one of the fucking things that I thought I left behind in Ohio was the fact that all of the gay guys I knew there thought they were so much better than me because I don't fit the mold? Sure, there were some older guys that liked me, but all of the guys that were my age considered me to be some kinda freak. One of them thought he could help me turn into an acceptable gay man by giving me hairstyling hints and telling me what kinda music I should be listening to. Most of them wouldn't give me the time of day. One of them advised me, with a smile on his face and a pat on my shoulder, to go back in the closet. A week ago, I get the same thing from a group of trendies here in Portland, and your name comes up in part of the same conversation. You know, I hadn't thought about you in two fucking weeks. I'd totally written you off and forgot about you; but, then, within the span of two days, I get a phone call from you, and I heard that shit at Massacres, and I got pissed off. So I figured I'd look for you and find out what the fuck your problem with me is. And after all that, you're here just sitting around looking to vent your unwarranted jealousy in front of a crowd, so bent on being on your damn stage. Frankly, though, I'm not sure what I just witnessed in there."
"You weren't supposed to see that," John offered again, meek.
"Well, I did.You know, calling me out by name like that in the middle of an angry song with your admirers fawning over you kinda goes some distance to support the idea that you, like those trendy fucks at Massacres, were taking me as the poster-child for how-not-to-queer."
"Maybe that's my own way of dealing with things," John countered, suddenly defensive. "I know I conducted myself badly and messed things up where you're concerned. And, yeah, I've thought about having off-the-hook monkey sex with you, but I know that's not gonna happen, especially now after I've fucked all of this up. So, maybe I know that I can go and sing in front of a bunch of people who like me, even if it's just for that moment. Maybe that's how I rationalize feeling like I fucked up. Maybe that's how I can get something good out of my failure. Maybe it's artistic vindication for me."
"Screwy as that logic is, that's interesting. Really messed-up. By day you want a fairy-tale romance and by night you're reveling in some alternate persona as a trash-queen. Real fallen-angel, homecoming-queen's-got-a-gun, Lifetime Movie Network dichotomy you've got going on, with artistic terrorism thrown into the mix as well. Well, here's the newsflash: we're all sluts in our own minds, and there's no shame in that. You're not shocking anyone, least of all me."
"I can't argue with any of that. I don't have a credible case." John spoke quietly again, sounding almost exhausted, definitely discovered. "I'd never think I'm better than you or look down on you like those other guys, but I know how it must look."
"But you can sing some self-pity anthem directed at me as long as you're surrounded by your friends and fans."
"Like I said, you weren't supposed to see that," John repeated again earlier, sounding more certain this time. "I feel almost violated that you did see it."
"Why?"
"Because it was my world you happened upon," John defended.
"Oh, so outsiders aren't welcome in your little exclusive, insulated circle," Dave nodded, a smirk audible in his tone. "Maybe you do think you're better than me after all."
John shook his head as he followed the curl of Dave's fingers all the way up to arm, shoulder and then their eyes met. "Can I go now, please? Can I go back to my fucking life? Let me forget you. Let me just be alone. It's what I deserve for what I did."
"God, you're melodramatic," Dave snapped, his laughter apparent but crushed by his own words. "You're free to go. I unlocked the doors a while ago when you were carrying on about fantasies of monkey-sex and rationalizing your misplaced feelings of abandonment on a stage."
John shook his head. "You shouldn't have had to chase me down and steal my phone just to get my number."
"That was unplanned," Dave answered, assured. "The opportunity presented itself, and it just felt right at the time."
"That's kinda fucked-up."
Dave laughed. "Look who's talking. You act like you're the be-all-end-all of basket cases and yet you still get in my car. We're beyond the point where my ass should give a crap what your ass does. At the bottom of everything, the only tangible thing I was missing out of all of this was your phone number, and now I've got it. Now we're even. Maybe I'll call you, and maybe I won't."
"You dragged all of that out of me just to get my fucking phone number?"
"Not really. The phone number thing was an unitended consequence. I didn't want your phone number because I plan on using it necessarily. I wanted it because me having it gives me some sense of justice. It's the least you owed me."
"That's kind-of a bastard thing to do."
"Once again, look who's talking."
"Well, fine. Yes, that's good. I know I'm a jerk, I'll take it. Just give me my phone back so I can go."
"Sure," Dave reached his hand toward John, offering the phone.
John's face puzzled as he took the phone from Dave's hand. "That's it?"
"Yeah, Something like that," Dave answered. "We're closer to even now."
John shook his head as he slid the phone into his pocket, opened the car door, stepped out onto the sidewalk and slammed the door shut. "I mistook you for a good guy."
Dave laughed again, almost a giggle. "Well, then, maybe we are even."
It was before midnight when Dave returned to his apartment, pulling his car into a space on the street and shutting the engine off. He sat for a moment inside his car, realizing how early it was for him to be home on a Saturday night, but not feeling especially interested in being anywhere else. He produced his cell phone and unlocked the screen, accessed his list of contacts and found John's number, promptly accessing and deleting it from his list: the last action in a closed chapter.
He stepped into his apartment to find it quiet and empty: Scoop was likely out with their other friends. Dave walked to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and grabbed a can of beer. He popped it open and moved into the living room, flopping downward into a sitting-position on the couch. The room was dim, the only light pooling from a table lamp. Dave was calm, and he felt a sense of closure, accomplishment. He thought about turning on the television, but he was enjoying the quiet moment too much to disturb it.
The silence of the moment lasted mere minutes as Scoop noisily returned home, using the deck entrance, himself opening the refrigerator and popping open a can of beer before walking into the living room to find Dave seated on the couch, smiling subtly.
"Hey-hey, Dave, How goes?" Scoop's voice was playful though quiet. "You're home early. No TV on? Quiet time?"
"What are you talkin' about, you're in early too for a Saturday night," Dave snickered. "I just got in a few minutes ago. Going okay with me. You?"
Scoop spun himself gracelessly and landed in the chair perpendicular to the couch, lifting his can of beer and producing a slurping noise as he drank before speaking. "Yeah, just hanging with the guys. We're trying out some bass players tomorrow so none of us wanted to be out late." Scoop gurgled another swig from the can. "You said you just got in. Where were you tonight?"
"I was at this bar that does karaoke every Saturday night. I tracked down the whack-job guy."
"No shit?" Scoop became animated. "What happened?"
Dave shrugged, a trace of a smug grin on his face. "I watched him sing some really angry song about me. When he realized I was in the club, he went running, and I chased him down. I took his cell phone off of him, stole his number, and gave him his phone back."
Scoop shook his head, baffled. "What? You're not actually gonna call that guy, are you?"
"No. I deleted his number from my phone as soon as I got back here."
"Then what was the point of the whole thing?"
"Artistic vindication."
"Whoa. Heavy." Scoop paused for a moment, staring into the space before him. "So, like, he sang some angry song about you?"
"Well, he called my name out twice while he was singing some punky song about being abandoned or something."
"I'm guessing that you didn't just take his phone and steal his phone number," Scoop hypothesized, "I'm going to assume that you had some kinda talk with him."
"Yeah, we talked. He said that the song was his way of rationalizing his jealousy and anger after seeing me out with some other friends one night. Everything else was apparently some misunderstanding, at least as he tells it."
"Did you yell at him?" Scoop asked, almost excited."
"Nah," Dave snickered. "I was pretty composed the whole time. The only times I almost lost my temper were when he kept interrupting me. Dude talks too much. Anyway, it ended with him calling me a bastard and me thinking that was kinda funny."
Scoop shook his head and gazed thoughtully for a moment before addressing Dave. "It's good to know that psychotic behavior isn't exclusive to the world of heterosexual relationships."
"Yeah," Dave laughed aloud. "All of those gay-fetishizing, romance-novel readers would have a really rude wake-up call if they knew the truth."
"Hey," John spoke across his loft to Katie as he peeked into the oven, "you doing anything Tuesday?"
Katie swallowed a sip of chardonnay as she sat at the breakfast bar, patiently awaiting the arrival of John's latest dinner experiment. "No plans. Why? What's up?"
John stood and turned, walking toward Katie and addressing her directly. "They're showing Gimme Shelter at the Hollywood. I've never seen it, and I should, with its reputation as a legendary documentary and me being a fledgling documentary filmmaker."
Katie shook her head while downing another sip of wine. "Saw it. Great movie, and I dig the Stones, but I never need to see it again. Too fucked-up, and too real-and-up-close to disaster for my taste."
"I'll just fly solo then. Wouldn't be the first time. Besides, it's not like I'm going for entertainment or anything. My interest in that kinda stuff is strictly research and historical value."
"Oh, it's got historical value," Katie confirmed. "Did you go to Barrelheads last night?"
"Yeah," John almost snorted, reaching into the oven and pulling out the tray of mini-pizzas topped with pulled pork, barbecue sauce, and cheddar cheese. "That was some real-and-up-close disaster."
"Why? What happened?"
"Ah, that guy I went out with a few weeks back was there," John spoke, head tucked downward as he carried a serving plate of mini-pizzas to the breakfast bar.
"Yeah? And?" Katie's tone had perked, excited.
"Um, he caught me singing a really angry song."
"So?" Katie eyed the serving plate curiously, inhaling the steamy aura rising from the food. "So you sang an angry song. I'm sure you sung the hell out of it. That's a good thing, right?"
"Well, I kinda called him out during it."
"What?" Katie's attention pulled from the food before her at John's words. "What were you angry with him for?"
John shook his head and inhaled as he collected plates and silverware, bringing them to the breakfast counter. "Really, I shouldn't have been angry with him. I saw him out with some people one night, having a good time, and I got irrationally jealous, like, why couldn't that have been me? Anyway, that was my way of dealing with it. Getting up and singing a song about it."
"Don't you think that was kinda wrong of you?" Katie nearly demanded, eyes wide and accusing.
"I never meant for him to see that happen," John countered, defensive. "Had I known he was there, I wouldn't have called him out by name."
Katie snapped her tongue and shook her head slowly, rolling her eyes and gathering her thoughts before speaking again. "Okay, let me make sure I have this right. You went out with this guy a couple of times a few weeks ago. Hadn't thought about him in a while. You see him out with some people having a good time and you got jealous. Why? Because he didn't call you?"
John hung his head and bounced it from side-to-side. "It was kind-of a misunderstanding. I felt like he ditched me to hang with these other guys, but that's not exactly true. He said that he might have called me had I given him my number."
"You never gave him your number?" Katie appeared on the edge of rage at this revelation.
"I thought I told you that."
Katie shook her head in frustration. "That was weeks ago. A lot can change."
"Nah, I called him one night. Asked him out. He declined. That's the night I saw him out with some other guys. It really got to me. I went over to Massacres, got a little drunk and ran my mouth. He got wind of it. Set out looking for me. I saw him at the Q Center library and took off running when I did. Despite that, apparently he saw me there too."
"So, you had no actual reason to be pissed off at this guy, but you called him out while singing 'You Oughta Know' at karaoke?"
"That wasn't the song I sang, but, yeah, pretty-much, that's what happened." John sounded glum. "Then he ran after me, took my phone off of me, and stole my number, even though I'm pretty sure that it was a symbolic act. I doubt he'll ever actually call me."
"So, did you, like, say you're sorry or anything like that?"
"Um, no, I think I called him a bastard at one point."
Katie stood, inhaling loudly with a hissing noise, appearing to be boiling inside. "You're an asshole, John."
John stood silent for a moment, facing Katie as his eyes bugged in surprise before developing a slight scowl. "What?"
"You heard me."
"I'm your friend here. You're supposed to support me."
"My friends are better than that," Katie spoke, stern, walking to the other side of the bar to face John directly, her face inches from his. "Part of my job as your friend is to call you out on your bullshit if and when it should happen. You fucked up by acting crazy and not giving this guy your number. You maybe owe him an apology."
"I'm not gonna apologize to him!" John's face betrayed near-shock at the suggestion as his voice heightened in both pitch and volume.
Katie reached for the counter, picking up John's phone and placing it in his hand. "You think he deserved to be treated like your option while you expected to be his priority? You're gonna call him right now. Apologize or explain yourself or maybe even ask him out again."
John shook his head nervously, speaking in a frantic whisper. "I...I can't call him, not now, let alone ask him out at this point."
Katie raised her hands and shoved at him, pushing him against the door of his loft, his phone dropping from his hand and landing softly on the shaggy door-mat.
"Ow, hey, what are you doing?"
"Get out of here," Katie shoved harder, pushing his shoulders, and opened the door to the hallway. A final shove, and John was outside the loft with Katie slamming the door and locking him out.
"What'd you lock me out of my own apartment for?" John whined as he slapped the door with his palms and attempted to turn the doorknob. "Let me back in! I'm hungry, and I made dinner, damn it."
"This is tough-love," Katie shouted from the other side of the locked door. "Fix whatever it is that happened with that guy. I don't care if you actually apologize, I don't care if you end up being friends or even friendly. Just admit to being a jerk and make peace with him. Your behavior is horrible. You want to be my friend? You need to be a better person than that."
John slumped against the wall to one side of the door and slid slowly to the floor. "I think I dropped my phone."
The door opened almost immediately, and John's phone dropped from above into his lap. Before John registered the action, the door was closed and locked once again.
"Call him," Katie demanded from inside the apartment.
"What am I supposed to say?" John wailed, childishly toward the closed door.
"I don't know. Ask him out to that movie maybe? Even if he declines, it would constitute a peace-offering from you at least."
"I can't believe you locked me out of my own apartment after I made dinner for us."
"Believe it," Katie underscored. "Call him. The sooner you do that, the sooner I let you back in, the sooner you can eat."
"Aww," John whined pathetically, his voice trailing off to a whimper as he took his phone into his hands and unlocked the screen, found Dave's number among the contacts and dialed.
Hello there. You've reached the voicemail of Dave Karofsky, you lucky dog. I can't take your call right now, but if you leave a message, I'll call you back as soon as I can.
"It went straight to his voicemail," John called back to the closed door.
"Give it five minutes and try again. The pizza will keep."
"But he might be in class or something," John whined, melodramatic.
"It's Sunday afternoon, you dork. No one's in class right now. Try again."
John exhaled and slumped further downward in his sitting position in the hallway, nearly folding himself until his back ached. He touched the redial, and the phone on the other end began to ring.
"Hello?" Dave's familiar voice sounded innocuous enough.
"Uh, hi," John answered nervously.
"Hello?" Dave spoke again, betraying slight impatience.
"Um, it's John. You know, from karaoke last night?"
"Ah, yeah, what can I do for you, John?"
"Um, this is weird, but, um, I was wondering, there's this film they're showing at the Hollywood this week. I've never seen it, but, as a filmmaker, it's on my bucketlist because it's got this reputation as an important documentary. Um, and it's about the Rolling Stones and I know you like rock music and maybe it's of interest to you."
A span of silence followed. it seemed endless before John filled the void.
"I'm planning to go Tuesday night, and if you wanted to join me, that'd be cool."
"What time is it?"
Dave's reply nearly made John exhale loudly with relief, though he tried to breathe as casually-sounding as possible. "It's at eight-thirty."
"Um, maybe," Dave paused; his voice was pleasant, not sounding particularly averse to the suggestion. "I'm not sure if I have anything going on that night or not."
"It's cool," John felt relieved just to hear that Dave was conversing with him in a civil tone. "Just thought I'd throw it out there."
"Tell you what, if I can make it, I'll just show up and meet you there." Dave offered.
"I'll be there either way," John replied, more relaxed by the moment.
"Tuesday night, eight-thirty, right?"
"Yeah, that's right." John was even more pleasantly surprised that Dave repeated the day and time.
"Well, then, you might see me there."
"Okay. Cool." John, once again, feeling threatened by the silence. "If, uh, you can't make it, no big deal or anything."
"Like I said, I'm not sure," Dave repeated. "If I'm in the mood to do something like that and I'm not doing something else, you might see me."
"Okay. Thanks." John's voice was breathy, almost sounding exhausted, but relieved.
"Anything else, John?"
"Uh, no, that'd be it."
"Okay, then. Maybe see you Tuesday night."
"That'd be...cool. Thanks." John's response was abrupt, betraying his nervousness, but the task had proven far easier than he'd thought it would be.
"Bye."
"G'bye, Dave."
As John ended the call, his face pulled into a nearly childish grin. "Hey, I talked to him," he called to Katie behind the door as he heard the lock being worked and the door being pushed open. He stood to his feet and faced Katie as she pulled the door open wide, stern expression.
"I heard," she spoke, nodding. "Sounded like it went okay."
"Yeah, it was easier than I thought it was going to be," John spoke, nodding and flushed as he re-entered his loft.
"The pizza's great, by the way," Katie informed, one of the small rounds in her hand with a couple of bites missing. "What'd he say?"
"He said he might make it if he doesn't have anything else going on that night," John spoke as he sat, almost anxiously, at the breakfast bar, hoisted one of the mini-pizzas, and took a huge bite. After he chewed for a moment and Katie took the seat opposite him at the breakfast bar, he continued. "I really don't expect him to show, but it was at least a civil conversation. I mean, he could have just hung up on me or something."
"Well, does it make you feel better to know that he can talk to you in a congenial manner?" Katie posed with visible surface attitude.
"Yeah," John nearly breathed the answer, "yeah it does."
John and Dave exited the Hollywood theater, somber and largely speechless until they were outside the building, and still the words were spare.
"You live in the lofts downtown, right?" Dave asked as he walked slowly in the direction of his car.
"Yeah," John replied, "the Lotus."
"It's kinda on my way. You want a lift?"
"Sure," John responded, "I wouldn't turn that down."
The two walked without speaking as they approached Dave's car. Dave unlocked the doors with his remote, and the two seated themselves.
"That movie was some severe insanity," Dave broke the silence several minutes after pulling the car onto the road and driving toward downtown.
"Well, I thought you might be into it," John offered. "I mean, I know you're into rock music."
"It was definitely pretty amazing," Dave was quick to counter. "It's not like I didn't enjoy it. Truth told, though, I really wouldn't be that into the music thing if my best friend didn't manage a rock band and several of my friends weren't in that crowd. I probably wouldn't be too deeply involved other than the music I listen to, but it's something to do with my friends other than sit home and be bored. That movie, though, you can't make shit like that up."
"No," John shook his head. "One review I read said that it would make a perfect double-bill with the original Night of the Living Dead."
Dave nodded. "I could see that. Zombie mentality in both movies."
"I think it was more a statement to the effect of both films representing the death of 1960s idealism: one in fictional terms, one in real-life terms," John elaborated. "But, yeah, zombie-mentality is definitely another common link."
Dave continued to pilot the car as the two sat in silence for a few moments until John chuckled quietly.
"What?" Dave asked in response, sounding curious, even slightly amused.
John shook his head, the trace of a smile on his face. "I've been in this seat twice in four days."
Dave laughed. "Yeah, better circumstances this time."
Although the remainder of the drive was largely silent, any tension between them brought on by their past experiences was largely dispelled by the shared experience of watching the film and the brief-though-lighter exchange which followed.
As Dave's car approached the Lotus, John spoke again. "Um, if you're not in any hurry, you can stop in for a while if you like. I would like to talk to you for a while if that's cool."
"Yeah, I can do that," Dave answered, agreeable. "Don't have early classes tomorrow. Nowhere to be tonight, and it's only ten-thirty. The night is young by my regular habits."
John smiled, pleasant but small, and nodded, pointing ahead and saying, "You can park anywhere you along the street in the upcoming block: it's less than a block away from my building."
Dave parked his car along the road, and he followed John down the street to an old-but-well-kept apartment building. They took the elevator to the third floor, and John unlocked the door to the loft, ushering David inside.
The space was bright, efficient and sparsely furnished with filled bookshelves lining the walls on two sides. John dropped his backpack and bookbag to one side of the couch while Dave's eyes zeroed-in on another piece of furniture.
"Oh, wow, you have a beanbag chair," Dave commented, a lopsided smirk on his face. "I always wanted one of those."
"Yeah, you're welcome to sit in it if you like," John answered, smirking. "Can I get you something to drink? I think there's some beer in the fridge. I know I have root beer and some juice of some kind, probably orange or grapefruit juice. Of course, water."
"Um, no beer," Dave spoke as he sunk into the beanbag chair and scanned his surroundings, noticing an easel set up on the other side of the room. "Don't want to be dozing on the drive home. A root beer or just water would be cool."
John emerged from the kitchen with a tall beer-mug filled with root beer for Dave and a tall glass of water for himself.
"Thank you," Dave spoke as John handed him the mug. "What are you drinking?"
"Just water," John answered as he placed his glass of water on the coffee table and unzipped his bookbag, removing his laptop and setting it on the coffee table.
"Your roommate around?"
"Nah," John shook his head as he leaned downward, booting his laptop, "Gene's out on a job right now, usually rolls in right before midnight."
"Is there something on the easel?" Dave asked, jerking his head in the direction of the object.
"Yeah," John answered, dull, stepping toward the easel and turning it so Dave could see the canvas. "Something I was working on for church, and then they changed their minds so now I don't know what I'm doing with it. It was intended as the first of a series of paintings I was doing on the Gospel parables. I'm really glad I didn't get halfway through the series before they changed their minds. I've already started to rework it into a symbolist kinda thing, but I have no solid idea right now."
On the canvas were roughly-rendered figures, one on the left side and two on the right side, with a more elaborate, even imposing figure dead-center. Though the painting was just in its beginning stage, the abstract figures were rendered with elegance and grace, and the background was an intriguing swirl of colors.
"It's kinda cool," Dave spoke, bright and open-sounding.
"Ah," John dismissed as he returned to the center of the room and seated himself on the couch facing the coffee table, a perpendicular angle to the direction in which Dave was facing, "It isn't really anything yet."
"Just the same, it'd be cool to see where you go with it," Dave offered.
"Thanks for meeting me at the movie, Dave," John spoke again, sounding serious. "Despite what you said the other night, I really didn't expect to see you there tonight."
"I'm always up for new things," Dave answered. "Truth told, I'm not really keen on hanging at the apartment lately, and I've kinda run out of other places to be for the moment, so I guess I'm glad that you asked me."
"Why?" John asked, showing some concern, "I mean, I thought your roommate was your best friend."
Dave shook his head as he answered. "He is. He definitely is. It's just that, I've had a lot on my mind lately, and sometimes the familiar surroundings just remind me of that stuff."
John nodded, silently accepting the answer.
"Um, so, you're kinda calm tonight, John," Dave verbally noted, adding a small smile. "I almost want to ask if you're feeling okay because you're way more mellow than I've seen you before."
John added a smile to his nod. "I pull myself in sometimes to keep from being frantic. I know I can be hard to take when I'm that way." John inhaled deep, bracing slightly for his next statement. "I was a total nutcase to you. I feel bad for that. Part of that was my inability to keep my head in check."
"We all get whacked-out once in a while," Dave sympathized. "I haven't been that in years, but I wasn't exactly a model for stability in high school."
"Oh, I was hyper and loony in high school, and sometimes I think I've just gotten worse since," John furthered. "Y'know, I saw a personal ad that you placed on one of the sites."
Dave's attention stirred, almost a defensive reaction, then he calmed and spoke. "Yeah, that was part of me wanting to get out of my immediate surroundings."
"At first when I saw it, I felt really bad, like I'd really messed things up with you; but when I read it it made sense. The part about making friends but being open to greater possibilities."
"Well, that's mostly what I want because I'm not sure what I want otherwise," Dave spoke quietly but with certainty. "I mean, yeah, someday, I want the LTR, the life-partner, sure. Right now, I just want to figure out what I'm looking for in that guy."
John nodded and smiled, almost out of admiration. "That's an approach I never tried. I was always torn between figuring out whether I wanted to get laid or I wanted boyfriend. It never even occurred to me that just making some friends and being open to things that could develop might be a more sensible approach."
Dave nodded, raising his brow and nearly rolling his eyes. "Yeah, Scoop's always telling me how sensible I am."
"And sometimes I just don't see myself as relationship material."
"Why not?" Dave asked, his expression creasing slightly.
"Past mistakes," John began. "Patterns of bad behavior. The last guy I fell for, he swore to me that he was straight, but then there were all these signals and I made it impossible for him to refuse me. I used him like he used me. I'm toxic and selfish and I don't deserve a good guy."
Dave's expression soured, and he spoke, perhaps more directly, but retaining his sympathetic tone. "You think you've cornered the market on bad behavior? Dude, I threatened to kill a guy back in high school when he found out I was gay. Even disregarding that, I was a fucking asshole like you've never known. The band Scoop manages, the one that was set to tour Europe over the summer? They might be falling apart because of an imprudent, debatably selfish thing I did. And why? Just so I could feel better about the way my friends felt about me." Dave let out a quiet, mirthless cackle as John's jaw dropped slightly. "Oh yeah, my parents are getting divorced. That's on me too, despite what my dad says."
John shook his head. "What happened? The thing about the band and your parents?"
Dave shook his head. "That's kinda why I haven't felt like hanging with my regular friends lately or being around the apartment. It reminds me of this stuff. Before I left for Portland at the beginning of my freshman year, life with my parents was terrible. It was everything I could do to get out of that situation. My dad was okay with me, but my mother considered me a freak because I turned out gay. It's like it magnified every little thing that ever bothered either of my parents about the other. All this time I was living here in Portland, I thought things were okay between them. Out-of-sight, out-of-mind doesn't always hold true, I guess. My dad said they'd reached a point where they just couldn't make it work any longer. He called me last month to tell me they were divorcing. And, yeah, when I came out to my friends, most of them were okay with it, some of them were great with it, but a couple of them freaked-out over it. One of the ones who lost it was the band's bass player. He either quit or got kicked out of the band because the rest of them stood by me. I mean, it's nice to know my friends support me that way, but it doesn't make me feel good knowing that I fucked up their plans for the summer."
John's forehead creased as he shook his head. "Wow. I had no idea."
"How could you?" Dave's expression sobered as his eyes addressed John directly. "You're not the things you've done. And, yeah, no matter how many times I tell myself that and how many times my dad or Scoop try to convince me of that, it's still there. You don't think we all have it hard sometimes? I know you think you're a special case, but, man, you're not. I get it, you screwed up, but you're still here. Move forward, damn it. That's kinda why I felt like I wanted some new friends. I could have used someone to talk to at the time, the way we're talking now. I might have called you if I had your number."
"That again," John remarked, "Now I really feel bad about not giving you my number. Well, you have it now."
"Actually, I don't."
"What?"
"The other night," Dave explained, "I put your number in my phone, but I deleted it when I got home. Truthfully, I didn't plan on using it, not after the other night, and I honestly didn't think you'd call me again."
John smiled and snickered, shaking his head and reaching into his shirt-pocket, producing his phone, unlocking the screen, and tossing it in Dave's direction. "Think fast," John announced, drawing Dave's attention. Dave caught the phone in his hands, appearing stunned. "Take my number again. Don't delete it this time. Use it if you want to, and I promise to try to make you not regret calling me for any reason."
Dave smirked as he pulled out his phone, affecting a suspicious expression. "Are you sure you're feeling okay, John?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," John snickered a reply. "It wouldn't hurt me to have some people in my life that I can relate to as friends on a regular basis."
Dave finished recording John's phone number among his contacts and reached over, placing John's phone onto the coffee table as John pecked at the keypad on his laptop.
"I gotta say," Dave began, "I think it took guts for you to call me again and ask me out, even if it was just meeting you at a movie."
"Well, I appreciate that. Thank you."
"It was cool, and you're good to talk with. You were good talk with a couple of times before." Dave stood slowly from his seated position. "I should probably be rolling. Late night for you?"
"Ah, I'll probably be up for a few hours," John remarked. "I have some writing I want to do tonight."
"Yeah, you mentioned writing one other time, but you wouldn't say more about it than you've done some writing."
John rolled his eyes as he stood. "I write fan-fiction, okay? Nothing to brag about."
The term was a new one to Dave: fan-fiction, but he didn't question it further. From his standing vantage point, he could see the background image on John's desktop screen. It was a red cartoon bear, resembling a comical rendering of a team mascot, wearing a jersey which was marked with the words Redcub 87.
"I'll walk you back to your car," John offered as he showed Dave to the door.
As Dave entered his apartment, he could see light coming from the hallway and hear Scoop's voice: he was fairly certain, given the cadence and volume of Scoop's speech that he was engaged in a phone conversation. On the coffee table at the center of the room, he saw a stack of paper, upon closer inspection, flyers, advertisements, proclaiming in bold artwork and lettering the return of Omnivore. Dave could hear Scoop wrapping up the phone call as he emerged from his bedroom to the hallway, eventually meeting Dave in the living room.
"Hey, Dave," Scoop's words were loud and his manner buoyant, nearly jubilant, something Dave had not seen in weeks.
"Hey, Scoop," Dave intoned, slightly confused but optimistic. "What's the story with these flyers?"
"Ha-ha!" Scoop grinned almost maniacally. "The band's got a bass player. Omnivore returns to the White Box this Saturday night. The European tour is on!"
"That's awesome!" Dave's face returned a smile. "Congratulations. When'd all this happen?"
"Well, we tried out some bassists on Sunday, but this one had expressed an interest in playing for Omnivore a few weeks back. We just wanted to make sure it was definite before we made any announcements, formal or otherwise."
"Dude, I'm your best friend," Dave affected offense.
"Don't be bummed that I didn't tell you," Scoop placated. "We kept the whole thing under wraps. Until now that is."
"So, tell me about the new bassist."
"She's incredible."
"It's a girl?" Dave asked with slight surprise. "That's cool."
"Yeah, looks hot and tough-as-nails, and she can play fucking circles around Chuck. She's a few years older than the other guys in the band, but she comes with a history. She was in the Boom-girls and has been kinda semi retired since then though she played in one of the reunion lineups of Toxic Idea."
Dave's face twisted slightly. "I've seen the name Toxic Idea around. The Boom-girls are a new one on me."
"Toxic Idea were a legendary Portland punk band from years ago," Scoop explained. "Their guitarist died back in 2006, but they still play around intermittently. The Boom-girls were before your time, but they were this huge underground band who was based in Seattle in the late 2000s. They broke up, though, nothing so dramatic as a member dying off. Anyway, Deena, that's her name, the bassist, is a definite with Omnivore as of this afternoon."
"Dude, that is great," Dave smiled. "Well, I guess I know what I'm doing Saturday night. I'm kinda stoked to see the band again."
Scoop's smile became more serious. "You're gonna be there? Even though the last time you hung out with all of them was kinda weird?"
"Yeah, there'll be enough distractions," Dave answered. "Besides, they're all still my friends."
"That's cool," Scoop replied. "Hey, where were you tonight?"
Dave grinned crooked and shook his head. "John the whack-job called me on Sunday, the day after I stole his phone number, and asked me if I'd go to see a movie with him, just kinda as friends I guess."
Scoop grimaced. "Man, that's weird."
"Yeah, it seemed kinda weird, but it was actually kinda cool," Dave shrugged. "I had a decent time talking with him, and he kinda apologized for his crazy behavior."
"Wow, that is cool," Scoop nodded. "Wonders never cease."
"Yeah. People are so confusing."
Referenced songs:
"Shadows of the Night" by Pat Benatar
"Alone" by Heart
"Kiss Off" by Violent Femmes