Disappointing Show

Based on the fantasies and feelings of concertgoers.

John felt like he was spinning on a carousel that had already been spinning. Dazzling flashes of headlights, streetlamps, analog wristwatches, and beer advertisements churned together to blow a whirlwind of color past his eyes. His mind played a tinkling tune in his ears as voices, car alarms, corner preachers, and the perpetual thudding bass of the deejay still inside the building echoed through a long tunnel of sound waves. Shaking his head disconcertedly, he leant against the cool brick of the Boulder. The smoke in the club must’ve been a lot more than it had lead on to be.
     Concertgoers (and deserters) trickled in and out of the club in steady jets, their sweat-slicked hair catching pinpoints of neon light that caught John’s sight every time. He would lazily drag his eyes away just to be distracted by another huge sparkle explosion half a moment later. They sped by in garish blazes:
     Dull, copper blonde.
     Mocha brown with lemon streaks.
     Electric blue walking with his arm around a wad of humanoid-bubblegum.
     Another one, blonde and mundane…
     Then a blip of striking red streaked past and he reached out to grab onto that image. It was so familiar. Someone from far away. His hand came to rest on a jutting elbow.
     “Hey! What the hell are y—” the woman squealed. She scrunched her mouse-like features cutely. “John?”
     “Hey,” he whispered. He didn’t know if it was the effect of the stale pot from the club or the migraine threading from it, but he had lost his lung capacity to an equating zero.
     (i’m going down)
     He snickered. The girl with the cute mousy features rolled her eyes.
     “You were always such a lightweight,” she groaned, pulling herself out of the rapids of the crowd. “What’re you doing here?”
     “The Disappointers concert,” John sputtered.
     “Yeah, I can see that now,” she grimaced. John lazily watched her eyes flick side to side.
     “Who are you with, Ana?”
     “No one. I mean, not really,” she said quickly. John nodded. “Sort of—so what have you been up to?”
     “I’ve been working at a café,” he mumbled. “Lots of beatniks come in.”
     “Uh-huh. Well, I’m waiting for someone. I should probably go back inside. It was nice to see you—”
     As she started to walk away, John fingered her elbow again.
     “How many years has it been again?”
     She was staring at him, but he couldn’t focus. His eyes were flitting across her mousy face, landing on the pitted plain of her flushed cheek, the comma of red hair that rounded the hill of her shoulder, the virgin zit on her chin, her dark arching eyebrows, the thin schoolmarm nose, her narrow neck with the mole, artistically complimenting the hollow in her throat. It all fluxed in and out of view. He held onto her shoulder, afraid if he let go that he’d fall into that soft hollow and get lost there.
     “It’s been five years, John,” she stammered, lifting his hand off her shoulder.
     “Remember I introduced you to this band?” He grinned lopsidedly, hitching a thumb behind him vaguely at the club. “Weird, huh? Seeing each other here?”
     “Yeah, I guess,” she said. “I am waiting for someone. See you around.”
     John watched her pause by the now sparse entrance, waving someone over hurriedly. As a man stepped into the glow of the streetlight, Ana hooked an arm around his waist, nearly knocking out the drumsticks that were shoved deep into the his tight hipster jeans.
     Just then, the Econoline pulled up to the curb, its side door rattling as it rolled back on its track.
     “Johnny! Get in, man!” The man beckoned from the backseat, then, in a stage whisper: “Your girlfriend’s getting pisseddd—you were supposed to meet us on the corner!”
     John could feel Olivia’s nostrils flare from the driver’s seat, though she was draped in the night. The streetlight did not reach her side; he couldn’t even tell what color her hair was this evening.
     “Roger, Roger,” John drawled and hoisted himself up on hands and knees into the van. “You’ll never guess who’s Ana dating…”

Reviews

That my friend is what you call I slap in the face- how ironic that she was there at a band HE introduced her to and she's dating the drummer, what a bummer.
Well done though :) xx