Four: Play to the Exit Lights

 

      "Hello, Sidney." I said walking into the hallway.  Sidney was standing in the same hallway looking away from me, out into the gym, watching the band that was playing.  She jumped when I said her name, then she turned to me and said:

      "You scared me." 

I had known Sidney since I was thirteen, longer than most of my friends.  She was shorter than I was, but taller than most girls; had brown hair and blue eyes.  When you looked into her eyes you could tell she was a serious person, not that she couldn't be silly, but for the most part was serious.  

For such a serious person she also had a very loving personality.  Always saying she loves this person, and loving that person; hugging all the time; just perpetually affectionate. 

She was also one those girls that had it in their mind they were the ugliest, fattest person to ever walk the Earth, which just wasn't true.  She couldn't have been more wrong. 

As I walked closer she outstretched her arms and said:

"Hug." 

It wasn't a question, it was a command. 

Whenever Sidney said, "Hug," she wasn't asking:

"Will you, please, hug me?” 

She was really saying:

"Give me a f*****g hug right now, or else I'll be mad at you." 

So I hugged her.

      "That was amazing." 

She was referring to the set my band had just played, not the hug.  Sidney was the only person I had seen since I got off-stage. 

As the last note of our set rang out I got up and started moving my drum set off so the next drummer would be able to get his drums on quickly.  Our set was followed by applause, some cheers, and some guy screaming, "Emo sucks!" Asshole. 

      I had always thought of “emo” as a dumb name for a category of music.  Because if you're a musician how can you not put emotion into the songs you write? How can not put any emotion into something you love and are trying to make perfect? 

      After I walked off the stage I went back to the room where the other musicians were, and grabbed the water I brought with me.  I had forgotten to bring it on stage. 

      "Did you really like it?"  I asked letting go of her.  That had been the first show my band played that Sidney had been to.

      "I loved it.  When are you guys playing next?"

      "Um....I'm not sure," I said.  "I think we might be playing a party for New Year's Eve, but I'm still not sure yet.  But don't worry I'll tell you."

      "You better," she said and turned around to look at the stage.  I took a step forward to stand next to her.

"Wasn't Chris supposed to be here tonight?" she asked.   

Chris is one of of my best friends.  We'd gone to elementary school together, but didn't become really good friends until middle school.  I would not be where I am today if I hadn't become friends with Chris. 

I wouldn't have started listening to good music. 

I definitely wouldn't be talking to Sidney, because he introduced us. 

In fact I probably wouldn't have most of the friends I have today if it wasn't for Chris.  I might be the loneliest person you've ever met.

      "No, he couldn't make it," I said.  The lucky b*****d.

      "Oh really, why?" 

I knew why.  He described in great length to me today at school that day.  But I really didn't know if he wanted me telling everyone.

      "Um....I'm not sure.  He just said he couldn't come," I said.  

      "Really?  That's really unlike him to just miss something like this," she said.  There was a short pause. 

F**k it.

      "He's losing his virginity." 

I looked over at Sidney; she was just frozen in the spot she stood. 

      "With who?"  I laughed so hard I began to tear.

      “His girlfriend,” I could barely speak.

      “Since when does Chris have a girlfriend?” 

      “I don’t know.  A month or two, maybe.” 

I really didn’t know how long they had been going out at that point.  The way Chris was with his girlfriends was weird.  He would never tell you he had a girlfriend.  He wouldn’t just come out and say:

      “Hey, I’m going out with this girl now.” 

Never did that ever.  What Chris would do is go out with a girl, and then he would bring her up in conversation randomly one day.  And because he would always ask out girls I never met, I was forced to ask:

      “Who’s she?” 

Then with this little grin on his face he would say that she was his girlfriend.  It was full proof.  And because he always did that I never really knew how long he went out with a girl for. 

It always ended before a two month anniversary came, though. 

Chris has taken longer pisses than his last three relationships, combined. 

With his new girlfriend, Lily, I knew it would be different, though.  He was definitely in love with this girl.  I knew it; he knew; she knew it; everyone knew it.

      “She must be such a s**t,” Sidney claimed. 

      “No, she isn’t.”

      “They haven’t been going out long enough to have sex.”

      “And why is that?” I asked. 

      Sidney told me that, “Two months, if they’ve been going out that long, is not enough to realize you love someone.” Sidney was an old-fashioned girl.  She believed that you had to be in love with someone before you could have sex with them.  That’s why at eighteen she was still a virgin, unlike all of her friends.

      “Even if Chris doesn’t love her,” which he definitely does, “What’s so wrong with that?”

      “It’s wrong to not love someone and have sex with them,” she said, I sensed she was getting a little angry while talking about this subject.

      “There’s no need to be in love with someone to have sex with them.  I could down right loathe a girl and still have sex with her,” I said.

      “You say you could. The real question is would you have sex with a girl if you didn’t love her?  Especially if you were in Chris’ situation: having sex for the first time.” 

I thought for a second. 

When Sidney asked that question I immediately flashed back to the day before at the library with Emma.  I didn’t think about Emma, however, and her having sex with Gregg; I thought about the book that I had read from and what it said.  Mostly I thought about the part of the prologue that said:

      “For instance with your partner, not only could it make your relationship stronger, but it also can destroy the relationship,” having thought about that specific part I said:

      “Love is not a necessity for sex.  Sometimes it might better if you didn’t know the person at all.  What if you were really bad in bed?  

      “If you’re dating the person you have to see them everyday, and know that they think you’re really bad in bed.  If you don’t know the person you just become some regretful experience.”

I don’t think Sidney expected this to come out of me, because she looked so surprised at what I was saying. 

“And I’d rather have some girl two towns over talking about how bad I was in bed; rather than have my girlfriend telling her friends that I was terrible, and then have to wonder why they’re all laughing at me, or calling me ‘Quick-draw McGraw’, or something like that.”

      “So, would you have a one night stand as your first time?” Sidney asked me. 

Again I thought for a second.

“If the chance ever presented itself, yes, I would.” 

Sidney’s mouth dropped.  And she quickly turned her head back to the stage. 

That was her way of letting people know she was mad at them. 

“What?” I asked.  She scoffed and said:

      “I hate men.”

      “Why because we’ll have one night stands?” I said amazed at her statement.

      “You think that it’s alright to just f**k a girl and leave.  To lead her on.  It’s not right.  I mean there was nothing no not, no phone call.” 

She was definitely talking about something else here.

      The ending of the sentence and the change in her expression were simultaneous.  She looked so sad.

I realized that I had struck a nerve. 

She had been away at college in the city since August.  Something had happened during those months she was away.

      “Did something happen while you were away?” I asked. 

Her eyes began to fill with tears.  Tears slowly streamed down her cheek. 

      “What happened?” I asked, wiping one of the tears off of her cheek. After that she broke down and started to cry.  After a few moments, I could hear her becoming calmer.  

      “Sidney, what happened?” I asked in a comforting way.

      “I met a guy on the first day.  We dated for three months.  I thought I loved him.”  She was too embarrassed to look at me the whole time she was telling her story. 

“One night we went back to my dorm room and we-,” she choked up and started to cry again.  It was clear she didn’t want to say what had happened in her dorm room. 

      “You don’t have to say it,” I said. 

      “In the morning when I woke up he was gone; he never called me again.” 

I couldn’t believe that this happened to Sidney.  Everything I thought she was against had completely been disproved after she told me what had happened. 

Sidney continued with her story of her first time:

      “A couple of weeks ago, I saw him.  He was sitting alone at a café, I went over, and tried talked to him. 

“You know what he did?  He f*****g ignored me.  He didn’t even care that I was there.  Then a few seconds later his new girlfriend came over back to the table.  What a f*****g prick,” she sniffled as she ended the story.

There was an awkward silence.

      “Did you tell the new girl he had a tiny dick?”

      Awkward silence is a set-up for comedy at it’s best.  Just about anything will get a laugh.  Even if it isn’t funny.

      “I should’ve,” she snorted. “Because he did.” 

We both started to laugh.  She lifted her head off of my shoulder and wiped her eyes. 

“How bad was it?” I asked.

      “Really bad.”  She put her thumb and index finger a few inches apart to emphasize the guy’s inadequacy.  We both began to laugh once more.

      We watched the band that was up on stage finish their song.  I applauded even though I didn’t think they were very good.  It was common courtesy; I wouldn’t want someone not clapping for my band when we were up there trying our hardest to play. 

Then I heard footsteps behind me.

      “Asian work slave, get your a*s over here.”  It was Keith, the singer of my band. 

“Asian work slave” was the affectionate nickname he had given, because if there was ever something I didn’t want to do at practice, the other guys would just tell me to do it.  And I’d do it. 

Keith had buzzed, jet-black hair and was always scruffy.  He was the shortest in the band, but also the broadest.

      “C’mon you have to come outside,” he said, with this urgent look on his face. 

      “Why?” I asked.

      “Just come.  You’ll see when we get out there.” 

I looked over at Sidney; even though we had laughed about it and she wasn’t crying anymore, I knew she was still in a fragile state.  She jerked her head toward Keith, giving me the signal that she was all right and it was okay if I left.

      “I’ll see you later Sid.” I gave her a hug.

      “Okay, bye,” she said. 

Keith was so excited he was starting to jump up and down. 

      “What’s wrong with you?”  I asked when I started walking toward him, Sidney laughed. 

He ceased jumping and just about ran towards the outside-door.

      “You’re not going to f*****g believe it,” he said laughing.

 Keith’s laugh was strangely manic and high pitched; it was a funny thing to hear. 

It’s freezing.         

      Once outside, I could see three people standing underneath a dim light that was attached to the brick building:

Simon and Cory, the other two guys in the band were standing against the building with some guy I had seen in the crowd.  Just a face, now he was more than just that. 

The anonymous guy walked towards us, and Keith motioned for me to go and stand with the other two.

      “What are we here for?  And who’s that guy?” I asked Simon, when I got over to them.

      “I don’t know.  Keith just told me and Cory to come outside and stand here.  Then that guy came over and just said nothing; it was really weird.” 

      “I thought he was going to rape us or something,” said Cory.

Keith and Anonymous came over.  There was a big grin on Keith’s face. 

“So guy’s this is Pete, and he thinks we’re really good.”

      “Oh thanks a lot,” said Simon.  Pete nodded.

      “Yea, and he is the owner of Lauraxian Records,” said Keith.  Simon, Cory, and I just looked at each other. 

Does this mean what I think it means? 

There was a long pause from Keith:

“And he wants to sign us to the label.” 

      There was too much excitement to contain, but I did it.

I looked at Cory and Simon again.  Simon had a huge grin on his face.  Cory looked as if he thought this wasn’t really happening. 

I looked back to Keith, on the tip of toes he looked as if he was to jump.  Then Pete spoke:

      “I think you guys have a really good sound.  I mean the kind of music you play when it was described to me I didn’t think it would work.  But you guys pull it off, and well.  I want to put out your band’s album through my label.  Then by summer we’ll work something out and have you on a tour.” 

It was so surreal. 

It’s one of those moments where you say to yourself: “This is not my life.”  

“Now since you guys are still in high school, it’s going to be hard to get you credibility with bands that are much older than you.  But after your stage presence tonight, that will dissolve very quickly.” 

We all nodded. 

      Playing drums was just a hobby while I went through school.  When I went to college and started working that it would just become something I used to do.  Now that we were being signed I was actually starting to consider this as a career. 

      I looked over at Simon and Cory; they were the most musically gifted ones in the band.  Those two I knew one day would have a career in music. 

For me being in a band was just for fun, for them it was training for their eventual success. 

Getting signed to Pete’s label was just the next step into the music world for them.  A world they would one day dominate.

      I could see that Keith and Pete were talking right in front of me, but I had no idea what they were saying to each other. 

When Pete told us he was signing us, it was like the volume was turned down on everyone else.  Now the only thing I could hear was my own breathing and my heartbeat.  Then as gradual as it came down, it came up again.

      “Great.  For right now let’s just forget about the details and work it out after the New Year,” he said.  After shaking each of our hands, he walked to the parking lot.

There was a pause.  Like someone with a remote on the world needed a minute to soak everything in. 

We were all thinking the same thing, but no one wanted to say anything about it.  If one of us talked about getting signed, what just happened would disappear from Pete’s memory and we wouldn’t be signed any longer.  Then Simon said:

      “Wow.”  We all broke out into laughter. 

We were giddy as schoolgirls.  We laughed like rabid hyenas.

     “This is so f*****g amazing,” Keith said.  The big grin never left his face. “I told you guys that one day, one day we would be famous.  I told you.  And all of you were like, ‘Keith just shut the f**k up and sing the song’, but I was right.  I was right.  I told you.”  A cold wind blew and we all shivered.

     “Alright, can we go inside?  It’s a little cold out here,” Cory asked, rubbing his hands together very quickly.  Friction wasn’t doing much for him.

     When we got back inside the band had just finished a song.  The singer of the band said:

     “That was called ‘The Unplanned Way to Die’ and it’s on our new EP: ‘This Isn’t Very Good, But Please Take It Anyway.’” 

They weren’t very good, but you have to appreciate a sense of humor.  

I expected Sidney to be standing there, right where I left her. 

But she wasn’t gone now. 

No worries, I’ll see her later.    

     In the green room I accidentally walked in on the singer of another band making out with some girl.   Heavily.  The folding table they were on didn’t look like could take all the dry humping.  It’s four skinny, metal legs trembling underneath the singer’s commitment to get in this poor girl’s pants.

Since neither of them had seen me yet I tried to leave as quietly and as quickly as I possibly could. 

The door shut behind me without a sound. 

BOOOOOM! The table had finally buckled underneath their weight.  I wondered whether they had stopped going at it; or if in the throws of passion and adrenaline they just went with it.  There were no sounds of pain.  So, I could assume they still had their tongues in each other’s mouth.     

I needed to just be by myself for little.  Soak everything in. 

There were a few doors in the hallway.

“Authorized Personnel Only” 

Nobody will be in there, perfect.  I tried to open the door but it was locked. 

Damn it. 

     A fire exit was the next thing I saw. 

Even though it would be possible that the fire alarm would go off, ensuing chaos through out the building, I took the risk, opening it slowly at first. 

Why do we feel the need to open a door slowly if it has the risk of setting off something?  It’s almost as if we believe that opening the door slowly will somehow trick the alarm into not going off.  As if the alarm is saying, “No one in the middle of a fire would open this door slowly.  I guess there’s no fire.  I won’t go off.” 

When I opened the door, though, the alarm didn’t go off.  Maybe fire alarms have some sort of intelligence after all.  Or maybe this building is just fucked if there’s ever a fire. 

     Outside of the door was an alley leading to the parking lot.  One light above the door failed to light the ten foot stretch of brick wall. 

I couldn’t hear anything, not even the wind, or maybe there just wasn’t any. 

Leaning on the wall, I stood there for a minute, in the cold, just staring out into space, thinking.  Doing the best I could anyway. 

A million things were racing through my mind: what would happen now that we were signed; should I tell people about it; how badly I needed a cigarette; how could this night get any better?

Then I heard the door open behind me. 

Who’s coming out here now? I couldn’t tell at first, but the small figure and the denim skirt made me realize that it was a girl.  As she backed into the alley I heard the click of a lighter and smoke started to waft into the air. 

Now it made sense.

She came out here to smoke.

A breeze blew through the alley and she shivered.  Then when she turned around, she jumped, and even screamed a bit at the sight of me. 

After the initial shock of seeing me wore off, she said:

“You could have said that you were here.”  I laughed.

“You seemed to believe that you were alone.  And who am I to destroy the belief?”  She laughed.

The smoke was now wafting from behind her, because when she saw me, the cigarette immediately went behind her back.  She didn’t want me to think that she was smoking. How precious.

In her eyes there was this desperation to smoke.  So I said:

“You know you don’t have to hide that from me.”

It was funny, the few times I had met this girl I didn’t take her for a smoker.  People who met me said the same thing.  But I don’t smoke.

Her name was Abby.  Abby wasn’t a “scene-chick,” but she had “scene” elements to her style: Black shirt (probably with a band on it) underneath her buttoned, plaid shirt.  It wasn’t one of those plaid shirts you see in Alabama though; it was colored pink, white, and light green; more like the kind you see girl in Southern California wearing when they’re trying to be cute, but aren’t.  Abby was though. 

 

She pulled out the pack and stared at the Surgeon General’s Health warning:

 

“Smoking may cause Lung Cancer, Heart Disease, Emphysema, and May Complicate Pregnancy.”

 

Obviously embarrassed (she was turning slightly red), she took the cigarette from behind her back and placed it in her mouth.  She took a long inhale and then blew out a couple of smoke rings.  I was absolutely amazed by that; smoke rings had always seemed like something that people only do in movies.

“That’s so cool,” I said.

“I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone about this.  I really don’t want anyone knowing that I smoke.” 

I pulled the pack out of her hands and took one out:

“Don’t worry neither do I.”  She looked stunned. “Can I have your lighter?”  Still silent she handed me a lighter, but she was smiling now, so that was good. I didn’t shock her into a comatose state.  I lit the cigarette and inhaled.  Exactly what I needed. 

There was a huge smile on her face.  She had one of those smiles that showed all of her stark-white teeth.  One of those smiles that lit up her face.  One of those smiles like a kid on Christmas morning.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” she said.

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

“Good point. So what did you come out here for?”

“To get away from everything,” I said. “Just needed to be by myself for a few minutes.” I paused and took a puff of my cigarette.  “So how did a girl like you end up smoking?”

“Well...ever since I was a little girl, I’ve been expected to act a certain way.  I’ve always been the good girl.  I’ve always been the one everyone expects done the right thing.  I guess...I guess smoking was just my way of rebelling.”  It was sweet that she was letting me into her head.  Almost.

“Why hide it from everyone then?”  I asked.  She laughed again and the smile came back to her face.

“You’re right.  That was bullshit.  I just like it.  It’s calming.  And I definitely needed to be calmed down after tonight.” (Abby was running the show we were currently at.) “And plus I like being unpredictable.”

She looked backed down at her shoes and pushed her hair back behind her ears.  Her hair wasn’t like most scene chicks.  The bangs were the same:  short, slanted the opposite way of the part.  But instead of being long, it was short and feathered. 

At that moment, talking with Abby in the alley, over that cigarette, I realized how beautiful she was.

“What about you?” she said.  “What made you start smoking?”

I thought for a second

      “I’m not sure actually...but that was a few years ago and every time I smoked I felt very paranoid, so I quit.  Now it’s only when I’m really stressed.  And except for this week, my last one was in October.”

      “Jesus.  How many have you had this week?” 

“A pack.”

“Christ.”

      “Aren’t you Jewish?” I asked.

      “Well that’s how shocked I am.”  We both laughed.  “Why the long hiatus?”

      “It’s complicated,” I said.

      “We’ve got time.” 

      Well, if you want to hear about it that badly.

“Well if you want to hear about it that badly….”  I started to tell her all about Emma.  How we went out.  How we broke up.  How we tried to act like friends, but it mutated into the acrimony of a cold shoulder.  How she was with Gregg.  And I told her all about what happened at the library.  The embarrassment, the anger, the humor. 

By the end of it all we were sitting on the alley floor, against the wall, smoking one cigarette between the two us.  We figured that was more economically efficient, since we had already smoked two each. 

We couldn’t help but laugh, because I couldn’t help but make the story funny.  That’s how I dealt with things.  That’s how I needed to deal with things: humor. 

Humor is just another defense against the universe.  Mel Brooks said that.  Leave it to a funny man to be philosophical. 

Socrates must have been a riot.

There was this big inhale of air.  That’s how Abby laughed.  Gasp-laugh-laugh-laugh. Gasp-laugh-laugh-laugh.  It was cute. 

“So pretty much, you brought her biggest fear to fruition, and read it out loud.”

“Yea,” I said.

Gasp-laugh-laugh-laugh.

“Awesome,” she said, taking the cigarette out of my hand.  To me it seemed that she let her hand linger on my hand a little longer than seemed necessary; but what do I know? 

Why would a beautiful girl be interested in me?

“You know you really shouldn’t worry about Gregg though?” she said.

“Why not?”

“Well, I used to have this thing with him...”

 It seems like everyone has.

“...and take it from me he’s very socially awkward.  He may not let anyone know it.  But he is.  And he’s a flake.”

“Really?  That actually makes me feel better.”

“Good.  You really shouldn’t worry about it.  He’s an a*****e.  He can’t hold a conversation.  Unless of coarse he’s talking about himself.  If he’s talking about himself he can go on for hours.  It gets really annoying.  I honestly don’t know how I did it for so long.”

“How long were you with him?” I asked.

“A month.” Gasp-laugh-laugh-laugh. “But it seemed much longer. 

“It’s terrible only talking about one thing for a month, or sitting in silence.” 

She paused. 

“That why it’s so nice talking to you.  You actually listen.”

I was shocked. 

A millions thoughts ran through my head.

Why would a beautiful girl be interested in me?

I'm not impulsive.  Very careful.  I think before I act; I go over my actions in my head before I go through with them. 

Every once in a while, though, I will be.  And at that moment something came over me.  

I kissed her.  And much to my surprise she kissed back.  She did like being unpredictable.

In two months I hadn’t even touched a girl.  And there I was making out with Abby, sitting in the alley, freezing.  A cold breeze blew through the alley.  We both shivered. 

Abby broke away from the kiss first.

Damn.  She came to her senses and realized who she was kissing.

She kissed me again, though, and said:

“It’s way too cold out here.  Let’s go inside.”

“Where?”

“I know.” 

She stood up like a baby deer, awkwardly, because of her skirt.

A new band was playing when we got inside, and everyone’s eyes were diverted towards the stage.  No one saw us go towards the door marked: “Authorized Personnel Only.”

“This is locked though,” I said. 

Reaching into her pocket, she smiled.  God, what a great smile.

“Not when you know how to open it,” and kissed me on the cheek.  When she kissed me it was cute, because I’m much taller than she is, so she had to kind of jump to reach my cheek.

I heard foot steps coming down the hallway as Abby walked into the room.

Someone was coming down the hallway.  It was Cory:

“Hey, man what’s going on.” 

This would be the part where I look into the camera, break the fourth wall, and say, “Damn it.”  

“Hey, Cory.”  He looked at the open “Authorized Personnel” Door. 

“So, um, what are you doing?” He knew I shouldn’t have been there.

“Oh, I-um-Abby needs me to help her with something.” Usually I’m not that bad of a liar, but I found myself faltering.  “She asked me to reach something for her.” 

That makes sense, Abby’s short, she can’t reach some things.

“Oh, right...well...I’m going to go. I’ll, um, give you a call tomorrow.”  I’m pretty sure he bought it but there was something in his voice that said otherwise.

“Yea, yea, sure.”  I let too much urgency into it.

He went to turn around:

”Oh wait, tomorrow’s Christmas Eve...um, I guess I’ll call you Monday then.”

“Yea, yea, I’ll talk to you then.”

He started to turn around again, and stopped as if he was about to say something else, but didn’t.

Cory was out of sight in a few seconds, and I stepped inside the door.  It was dark, I couldn’t see anything.  I couldn’t see Abby. 

This would be the part where the lights suddenly turned on, and forty people stood in the room laughing at me:

“Why would a beautiful girl be interested in you?”

The lights didn’t turn on though; instead something hit me in the face.  It was warm and smelled like Abby did.  It was her shirt...

A little while later, I’ll never know how long, but a little while later; I walked out of the “Authorized Personnel” Door.  I tripped over my own show laces, because I wasn’t able to tie them in the dark. 

The cold, damp feeling of your shirt sticking to your back from sweat is never a pleasant feeling. 

Neither is someone slapping you on the back when you have that feeling.  It was Keith:

“Hey, buddy, what’s up?” He looked at me more closely. “You okay? You’re sweating like a pig.  It’s not that hot in here.” 

But it was in there.

The “Authorized” Door opened again. Abby came out this time; fixing her hair, and then her plaid shirt that smelled like she did. 

Keith looked like he’d never move again.  He just stood there mouth agape. 

I could feel the blood rushing to my face as if the speed of my heart was set on high.  It was racing fast enough to break skin.

Of course, Abby was smooth about it, like she always is.

“Evening Keith,” she said calmly. 

Keith was in a daze, a lot like I was.  Abby continued:

“You guys were great tonight.” Then she looked at me. “I’ll definitely have to book you again sometime.”

I didn’t know if she was being glib, or if she meant exactly what she said, but whatever her intent, it was cool.  And if there’s anything Abby is, it’s cool.  Like James Bond in the body of small, Jewish girl.

Keith stood there, mouth agape.  I knew what he was thinking, the same thing I was thinking:

Why would a beautiful girl be interested me?   

While Abby wrote something down on a piece of paper, Keith and I just stared at each other. 

Don’t get me wrong, Keith gets his fair share.  He’s a self-proclaimed ladies’ man.  Normally something like this wouldn’t shock him.  But it was me.

The “Asian Work Slave” as he affectionately referred to me as.  The lanky nerd that sat behind a drum set, and constantly referenced movies that no one had ever seen.  Later he would call me “charmingly unconfident.” 

And there I was with this gorgeous girl, who I know had turned him down a while ago.

Abby stopped writing.  She placed the piece of paper in my pocket and she whispered in my ear:

“Merry Christmas.” 

She stood tip-toed and kissed me on the cheek.

Keith and I watched her walk away.  She never turned around.  I never turned away.  Completely cool about the whole thing.  James Bond in the body a small, Jewish girl.

I wanted to think of something clever to say back to “Merry Christmas,” but nothing came.  It was too cool of a statement to say anything back to.  And if there’s anything Abby is, it’s cool.  Then she turned the corner.  Too late now. 

“Is that her-“

“Yep.”  Keith was talking about the piece of paper that Abby placed in my pocket. 

It was her number. 

It said, “Call me,” with a smiley face next her number.  And next to her name she put a heart.

“Did you two-“

“Yea.”

Pause.

“Nice.” 

I would have laughed if I hadn’t so shocked by everything.

“If I hadn’t seen it, I wouldn’t have believed it,” Keith said.

“I was there and I still don’t believe it.”

That was the best Christmas present she could have given me.

Merry Christmas!!