Time for action.
The week flew by and although I have been checking the mail and my e-mail daily, there’s no word from the scholarship committee. Not yet. It’s Friday and today’s mail had nothing with that famous Yale crest in the left-hand corner. Maybe tomorrow.
Now I’m getting dressed. Casual. My own clothes. Blue jeans, black tank top, cute boots, funky long coat. I bought the coat last year, but haven’t had many occasions to wear it. It’s that funky. It looks solid grassy green from a distance, but when you get close there are autumn-colored flecks in the material. It’s a “going out” coat and tonight … I’m going out.
But not with Adam.
I know you’re probably wondering where my boyfriend is. Well, I suppose you could say he gave me the night off. Adam wanted to go to the movies with some guys from swimming. He suggested that I take the evening and focus on sewing the dresses since the prom is only eight days away.
“Great idea,” I told him.
I lied.
There is a lot of work to be done on the dresses, that part is true, but I’m not planning to do it tonight. Nope. I’m wearing my kick-ass jacket and going to a bar. Eight p.m. The Holy Grail.
I never told Cherise about the cryptic invitation I was given at Gavin Masterson’s house. I never told a soul. This is my secret. Mine alone.
I might not have gone tonight if Adam had wanted to do something together. But the truth is, I was glad for the reprieve. Who needs a break from their boyfriend? Me, apparently.
As I sit on the bus to Pleasant Ridge, the butterflies in my stomach begin to multiply. I’m a bit nauseated.
I actually like taking public transportation in Cincinnati. We have those new buses that use old cooking grease for fuel, which makes them smell vaguely like French fries. Under normal circumstances the smell is appealing, but tonight, my stomach is churning and I long for the old smell of gasoline and burning oil.
When I get off the bus a few blocks away from the club, I need to sit down to collect myself.
It wasn’t really the bus that’s making me ill. It’s that I’m about to do something completely out of character. Obsessively anal, highly neurotic, overscheduled teenaged girls don’t lie to their new boyfriends (and father—I told him I was out with Cherise) then take a bus across town to go to a bar, the invitation for which was mysteriously handed to her by some strange boy.
I put my head between my knees and take a few deep breaths. The realization hits that I have no idea what or who I’m going to find at the Holy Grail. Part of me, the biggest part, wants to sit here until the next bus comes and catch a ride back home. This was a stupid idea. I could be walking into danger. Maybe some psychotic stalker gave me that invitation and the gory details of my demise will lead tomorrow’s news headlines.
Then again, I’ve come this far. I might as well see it through.
I decide to give my imagination a rest and, getting up from the bench, point my feet toward the Holy Grail. What good are cute boots and a stylin’ jacket if you don’t take them out every once in a while? I’m going in!
At the door, the bouncers are handing wristbands to anyone over twenty-one. Without a wristband, I order a Sprite, then make my way to the front of the room, near the dance floor. A band is playing. They’re actually pretty good. A lot of people are dancing.
The Holy Grail is packed. Most of the people inside are college-aged, probably from the University of Cincinnati or maybe Miami of Ohio. I don’t see anyone I know and again, I wonder what has possessed me to come here.
A guy named Bill, or Phil, (it’s really loud in here) asks me to dance. I turn him down. I’m positive I didn’t come here to dance with a guy wearing a plaid sweater vest.
The band finishes their set and a DJ takes over while the next band sets up. I’ve been here a half hour so far, and I still have no idea what I’m doing here. I’ll give my mysterious invitation sender another twenty minutes to make the big reveal, then I’m going home. The club seems like a fun place, the energy is electric, but I’m alone. Being at a bar alone is very similar to eating alone. I don’t like either one. You can only watch other people have fun for so long before you have to either quit or join in. In twenty minutes, I’m planning to quit.
The DJ spins another song, then the bar goes dark. A spinning strobe announces that a new band is about to begin. This is obviously the band that people have come tonight to see. There is a crush as people rush to the base of the stage. The dance floor no longer has any room for dancing, and I am pressed up to the base of the stage between Bill/Phil and a college girl wearing a bra as if it were a shirt.
There’s so much screaming and cheering that I miss the announced introduction of the band. I turn to bra girl to ask what the announcer said, but she’s now making out with Bill/Phil. I wonder if they know each other. I bet not. I’m pretty sure they met over my head and behind my back, since until a few minutes ago, I was standing between them. I briefly wonder if bra girl is feeling fireworks from the kiss.
The drummer has begun the set. Sitting alone under a spotlight, he’s wearing black. Black T-shirt, black jeans, black boots. He’s banging out a rhythm and the crowd is stirring wildly, hands pumping in the air to the beat.
A bass guitarist joins the drummer. Then another guitarist, acoustic this time. I’m starting to feel those butterflies again in my stomach. With blinding clarity, I know for sure they aren’t caused by the bus fumes. This time, they’re in anticipation.
I now know who it was that braved Gavin Masterson’s house party and gave twenty bucks to some kid to deliver an invitation to me. I should have guessed.
There’s an excitement in the crowd as the band begins to play together. Only one last musical position needs to be filled. I’m shoved up against the stage base with a perfect view of that still-empty seat. It sits in front of the keyboards.
A little drum solo. A guitar jam. A bass rhythm. And then, the spotlight focuses on the guy walking across the stage. Black cargo pants. Black T-shirt. Black tennis shoes. And a shiny silver earring.
Tyler Gregory winks at me and then begins to play.