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=   F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K.   =
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         what would have inevitably happened had i gone out tonight
         ----------------------------------------------------------


      "it's our last show."

      my cousin was inviting me to come see his band play for the last time.
 though not exactly my style, i still enjoyed seeing them perform, and what
 better time to see them than their last show before breaking up?

      "when should i be over?"

      "within the next half-hour.  the guys should be here any minute."

      i had plans today.  my ex-girlfriend and i were supposed to go to a
 local town filled with homosexuals and headshops and indie record stores.
 she never called.  i was angry.  i was tired.  i worked 68 hours this week.
 i didn't have the energy to do anything at 5:30p.m. - especially not go see
 a show 45 minutes away, which would guarantee my arrival back home at 11:00
 at the earliest.  yet, i thought of my ex, who was probably out doing
 something, obviously not thinking about me, and having fun.  i was angrier,
 and even more tired.

      "alright," i said.  "see you in 10."

      -----

      i pulled up to his familiar house and shut off the car, grabbing my
 ever-present raspberry snapple and ever-necessary pack of cigarettes, walked
 up to the door, did the greetings, and went to his room.

      "they're not here yet," he said.  "i learned something on guitar.
 check it out."

      he started playing, far better than i ever could even though we started
 learning the guitar at the same time.  it was a song i had never heard and
 would probably never like, though i still praised him for playing it well,
 because he did.  "sounds nice," i commented.  "what's it called?"

      he told me the name of the song, the band, which members were in which
 bands before this one, etc.  i wasn't listening.  i was thinking about my
 ex, thinking that she might be calling my house right now, ready to
 apologize, giving acceptable reasons for our complete lack of contact for
 the past week.

      "can i use your phone?"

      "uh.. sure," he said, annoyed that i had interrupted him but still
 understanding why.

      while i was dialing the phone, his band walked in.  my sister informed
 me that nobody had called for me.  i was angrier, and i was ready to go to
 this show that i had no energy to go to.  maybe the ex would call when i was
 45 minutes away, while i was totally inaccessible, and realize that my life
 didn't revolve around her.  ah, yes.  a brilliant plan.

      "when are we leaving?" i asked.

      "now," they said in unison.

      "okay."

      -----

      the drive there was uneventful, the vocalist for the band steering and
 blasting the music that i had never heard and would probably never like.  i
 sipped my snapple and caressed my cigarettes, anxious to arrive so i could
 light up.

      i made a mental note to add an entry to my journal, which would later
 read as follows;

 sunday, 02/22/98 - 1:07a.m.

 i have listened to this same song over and over and over since i got home.
 work was especially slow today and yesterday too.  i am ignoring somebody
 that is talking to me but not to be mean they are just talking a lot and i
 don't want to.  i miss a lot of people, i have been thinking too much and i
 am going to sleep tonight with wet hair i have only done this two other
 times in my life. maybe a change is coming, bye

 -----

      finally a cigarette.  the show was at some kid's house.  his parents
 had night jobs so he apparently had bands play in his basement while they  
 were gone and he'd clean up before they'd come home.  i wondered why the  
 suburbs had this effect on people, but not for long, because i was tired.

      the basement was big, bigger than mine; high ceiling, low people, they
 all looked silly, didn't really talk to me.  i noticed a phone in the corner
 while i helped carry the band's gear in, but instead of giving in to
 temptation, i went to sit against a side wall to wait for the show to start.

      everybody was fawning over some stupid fucking dog.  i scratched my ass
 and fumbled for my cigarettes, lit one and reached for my snapple.

      "please don't smoke in here," somebody said.  i didn't look at them but
 i heard them.

      i nodded and put it out in the dirt of a plant's pot sitting on a
 small wooden stand beside me.

      "yo, dude, what are you doing?  don't put that in the plant!"

      i knew i wouldn't like anybody there, i knew nobody would like me, i
 knew and i went anyway, out of spite.  with a groan, i got up and walked
 outside, stood in the middle of the street and had a cigarette in peace.

      ---

      they started playing.  i was in the same spot, on the floor against the
 wall.  my ass hurt because the floor was hard, but i was too tired to care.
 i was the only person sitting.  i had stood for a few minutes but it was
 too difficult.

      i glanced over at the phone.  nobody was using it.

      then it came.  it always happened like this.  the tips of my fingers
 started tingling and my breath started getting shorter.  my head was
 ringing, my legs started trembling.  my body temperature dropped quickly.
 the band's music started sounding more and more distant.  then i blacked
 out.

      ---

      "yo, dude, what the hell are you doing?"

      the voice was distant, but i still recognized it as the same one that
 had chastised me for smoking earlier.  a female voice, a bit raspy, highly
 annoying.  had i the energy i would have throttled her right then and there.
 i was slowly, slowly regaining consciousness.  i realized the band was still
 playing.  it was the same song.  for some reason, the fact that my cousin
 had no idea what had just happened to me made me even more uncomfortable.
 he was trying his best not to hit the wrong strings and i was doing my best
 not to get sick all over myself.

      "what did you come here for if you were just going to sleep?" the same
 voice asked.  i opened my eyes and looked at her.

      she had a "hitler hairdo."  thanks to radiohead, i had recognized it.
 all eyeshadow and short hair and dockers.  pouty lips, clenched jaw,
 genuinely frustrated with me.  her hands were pressed on her hips in what
 she had hoped was an imposing posture, i'm sure.

      "i wasn't sleeping," i said.

      "what?!" she screamed.  she couldn't hear me.  the music was too loud
 and my voice was too weak.  i motioned for the door, started crawling
 towards it for some fresh air.  nobody saw except for her, and she followed,
 no doubt in an attempt to mercilessly yell at me some more.  i remember
 vaguely wondering if she was a screamer in bed.  such absurd thoughts tend
 to happen often after a panic attack, what with your brain in disarray.

      outside, i gasped, almost threw up.  "why were you sleeping?" she
 repeated, slamming the door behind her.

      "i wasn't sleeping," i said, catching my breath.

      "well then what were you doing?  why would you come to a show if you're
 just going to sleep?  you think that band up there feels like playing to an
 unconscious audience?"

      obviously this girl had nothing in her life to be passionate about.
 she also hadn't realized that i had arrived with the band, but i didn't
 bother mentioning it for no other reason than i was concentrating on staying
 alert.  the roaring in my head was fading.

      "i wasn't sleeping," i repeated.  "i passed out."

      i realized my folly the moment the words left my lips.  i had forgotten
 in my disorientation that i was at a house full of straight-edgers.  she was
 about to remind me of it by proving once again that she had nothing to be
 passionate over.

      "so you're drunk then?  you think the guy who lives here wants drunk
 people in his parents house?"

      his parents probably don't want you or your friends at their house
 either, i said to myself inwardly.  "i'm not drunk," i pointed out.

      without warning, reason, or sense, she bent down and shoved her tongue
 in my mouth, our teeth grinding.  there was such a sense of urgency in her,
 and such a lack of strength in me, that i let it happen.  when she was
 finished i knocked her in the head with the palm of my hand.  "you're a
 horrible kisser," i said.  "why did you put me through that?"  i was in a
 bad mood and, as with most people, i felt the need to spread it.

      and then, finally, i wretched.

      disgusted, she turned away.  i rolled over and sat up.

      "i'm not drunk," i repeated.  "please, can you go inside and get my
 snapple?"  my throat was burning.

      no response.  she was being dramatic.  "please," i said.  she walked
 back inside the house.  i didn't care whether she got my drink or not.  i
 was too busy savoring the fact that i was alone, but it didn't last long.
 she was determined to allow me no satisfaction.  she slammed the bottle down
 next to me.

      "thank you," i said in earnest.  "seeya."

      "no, what happened?" she asked.  "why did you get drunk tonight?"

      i was drinking the snapple and didn't answer her.  she turned away
 again, fumbling with her hair or something.  i decided it was my turn to ask
 questions.

      "why are you out here?  did you come to the show just to stand out on
 the back porch?  you think that band up there..."

      she started crying then, and i realized who she was.  she had had a
 haircut.  an ex-girlfriend of my cousin's.  good.

      good.

      "he's been fucking some girl for like 3 months.  sometimes they go down
 to her parent's beach house in Maryland and screw for days on end.  he's
 happy now."

      she turned, ran into the house.  through the window i noticed her
 reaching for the phone, dialing, walking into the bathroom so she could
 hear.

      i smiled, leaned back against the porch railing, lit a cigarette.  i
 rested my left arm at my side and it fell into the pool of vomit, but i
 didn't care.

 -----

      "did you like the show?" my cousin asked on the way home.

      "yes."

 -----

      i walked into my side door, went through the kitchen, took a shower in
 the bathroom.  ran into my sister in the living room.  "anybody call?" i
 asked her.

      "yep," she said.

      she's always so difficult.

      "_who?_"

      "some girl."

      "who?"

      "i don't know.  she was crying."

      my voice caught in my throat.  so it _was_ a brilliant plan, mostly
 because it had worked.  she had appreciated my lack of presence.  she had
 thought of me.  she gave a shit.  i was important.  thank you, world.

      "where was she?"

      "at some party you were at.  she said she helped you in the back,
 something about a snapple.  she said you shouldn't drink."

      "oh," i said.  my throat loosened, my stomach dropped, and i walked
 upstairs, put on a CD.  i didn't even wonder how she got my number.
 probably my cousin.  before i even got a chance to kick my shoes off, the
 phone rang.  i jumped, picked it up.  it was my cousin.  my fists clenched.
 
      "did you really like the show or were you just saying that?"

      i started writing in my journal.

      "i really liked it, but i'm not feeling well, and i'm going to sleep."

      i hung up the phone without waiting for a response, turned off the
 ringer, hoping he'd understand like he always did.  finished the journal
 entry.  i pledged not to take such things for granted from then on as i
 climbed into bed.  drifting off to sleep, i heard the phone ring in the
 kitchen.  my sister opened my door after a few seconds of silence.

      "the phone's for..."

      "tell her to fuck herself," i mumbled.

      "but it's not..."

      "i'm trying to SLEEP."

      "alright," she said, and closed the door.

      she closed the door.

      what a waste.

      i fell asleep in the same position two hours later, repulsed.

 -----

      - styx
      - dropdead@mindspring.com
      - http://www.dto.net/~styx/

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