Random Romance
I have just been slapped. My proud exterior failed to highlight the influence of regret I felt on the inside. For the record, no injustice had occurred. I was reeling--realization became clear--it was his eyes that struck me, struck me across the face like a fist. It has always been my tragic flaw to obsess over a simple look. Or better yet, a complicated one. For these were no simple eyes and this was no simple incident. His eyes were something else entirely. They were not "just" brown, but not deep, burning holes to get lost in either. They were like mirrors looking at me as if he wanted them to flash at me and grab my attention. I looked at him with a smiling face and a burning intensity. Perhaps I was performing one of my most composed skits ever, because what I felt did not coincide with how I acted. I remained immersed in the conversation that was taking place inside the van. Maybe it would be better to describe the setting.
We were all on our way to Palm Desert for a show. Me, the girls, the LD and TS. I was one of the lucky few to get into the TS van, which happened to have AC, plush seats, and ol'skool Nintendo. For the next few hours, life would be grand and I knew it. That is why I kept myself composed, and failed to act as I felt. Upon grasping the idea that I liked this boye, I decided to invest my feelings into the quest for understanding why. I hopped over the seat I was on and into the back where he was to dig a little deeper into the brown eyes that kept flashing at me during opportune moments. I followed through in asking those necessary questions, "Where are you from?" and "When is your birthday?" The answers came with unexpected grace--as if it was of no consequence to him. What would I be without the quest for understanding? Nowhere, and I knew that was not where we'd end up. Yet, premeditation wasn't the outcome waiting for me in the form of a train station. We were on the road and that was it, for now.
Silence then bore itself into the conversation and I gazed out the window. I saw the familiar windmills that foresaw every journey I ever took into the low desert. I decided to comment on the spectacular sight that was before us. Immediately, I felt the hot, damp heat of Palm springs rest upon my skin. I warned everyone in the van of our soon shared experience of heat. My poor dear, Kelly, had to unleash herself from human detoxification and we were minutes away from allotting her wishes. As I pondered this, I noticed that we were pulling over in one of those "bourgeois" neighborhoods in the downtown desert. For sure, indeed, several boutiques scattered across the street and separated bars and skateshops. The bar the boyes were playing at sat directly aside of the van. I looked out the window and saw the entire posse of the LD van wandering on the sidewalks outside.
With all the preparation in myself that I could muster, I jumped out of the van. The air was not damp-it was sweltering and breathing was limited. Just as I presumed, everyone immediately complained about the humidity, everyone that is, except for Lorene Drive. It was all but two weeks prior that they were there before, playing a show. And, just like last time, the air was thick. Stepping out onto the beige concrete spun me back into another era. All the vintage stores seemed to beckon me. Luckily, I was not the only one. Lynette was drawn to the gleaming windows as well. Yet despite our urge to consume, the boys led us to a staircase that would level us with the bar. We reluctantly followed with hesitation slowing us down. Climbing the stairs became another conquest in itself. I took one look at Lynette: she was identically exasperated.
“Girl, can we do this?” I asked.
“I don’t know.” She answered blankly, sweat beads already forming on her brow.
“Should we even try?”
“I want to go shopping.”
“Yeh, me too.”
“Lets go.” She said and I nodded in agreement. We turned around and went back to the stores. We both knew this trip would be pointless if we didn’t take back a souvenir. Too bad for us. Much to our dismay, the time was 7pm and all the stores closed at 6. For as long as we let our new-found depression over the inability to peruse useless treasures, we stared into every window, remarking on what we would have purchased. Minutes passed until we realized that our group was far from sight and we would lose our coveted spot as roadies if we lagged any longer. Putting the heat out of our minds, we eagerly climbed the stairs once we saw everyone upstairs on the deck of the bar with misters spraying water on their heads. Justin looked down on us, his dreadlocks sparkling as the water collected on them and eyes flashing,
“Hey ladies. Check it out up here.”
“What’s up there?” Lynette asked.
“Come see.”
We were all on our way to Palm Desert for a show. Me, the girls, the LD and TS. I was one of the lucky few to get into the TS van, which happened to have AC, plush seats, and ol'skool Nintendo. For the next few hours, life would be grand and I knew it. That is why I kept myself composed, and failed to act as I felt. Upon grasping the idea that I liked this boye, I decided to invest my feelings into the quest for understanding why. I hopped over the seat I was on and into the back where he was to dig a little deeper into the brown eyes that kept flashing at me during opportune moments. I followed through in asking those necessary questions, "Where are you from?" and "When is your birthday?" The answers came with unexpected grace--as if it was of no consequence to him. What would I be without the quest for understanding? Nowhere, and I knew that was not where we'd end up. Yet, premeditation wasn't the outcome waiting for me in the form of a train station. We were on the road and that was it, for now.
Silence then bore itself into the conversation and I gazed out the window. I saw the familiar windmills that foresaw every journey I ever took into the low desert. I decided to comment on the spectacular sight that was before us. Immediately, I felt the hot, damp heat of Palm springs rest upon my skin. I warned everyone in the van of our soon shared experience of heat. My poor dear, Kelly, had to unleash herself from human detoxification and we were minutes away from allotting her wishes. As I pondered this, I noticed that we were pulling over in one of those "bourgeois" neighborhoods in the downtown desert. For sure, indeed, several boutiques scattered across the street and separated bars and skateshops. The bar the boyes were playing at sat directly aside of the van. I looked out the window and saw the entire posse of the LD van wandering on the sidewalks outside.
With all the preparation in myself that I could muster, I jumped out of the van. The air was not damp-it was sweltering and breathing was limited. Just as I presumed, everyone immediately complained about the humidity, everyone that is, except for Lorene Drive. It was all but two weeks prior that they were there before, playing a show. And, just like last time, the air was thick. Stepping out onto the beige concrete spun me back into another era. All the vintage stores seemed to beckon me. Luckily, I was not the only one. Lynette was drawn to the gleaming windows as well. Yet despite our urge to consume, the boys led us to a staircase that would level us with the bar. We reluctantly followed with hesitation slowing us down. Climbing the stairs became another conquest in itself. I took one look at Lynette: she was identically exasperated.
“Girl, can we do this?” I asked.
“I don’t know.” She answered blankly, sweat beads already forming on her brow.
“Should we even try?”
“I want to go shopping.”
“Yeh, me too.”
“Lets go.” She said and I nodded in agreement. We turned around and went back to the stores. We both knew this trip would be pointless if we didn’t take back a souvenir. Too bad for us. Much to our dismay, the time was 7pm and all the stores closed at 6. For as long as we let our new-found depression over the inability to peruse useless treasures, we stared into every window, remarking on what we would have purchased. Minutes passed until we realized that our group was far from sight and we would lose our coveted spot as roadies if we lagged any longer. Putting the heat out of our minds, we eagerly climbed the stairs once we saw everyone upstairs on the deck of the bar with misters spraying water on their heads. Justin looked down on us, his dreadlocks sparkling as the water collected on them and eyes flashing,
“Hey ladies. Check it out up here.”
“What’s up there?” Lynette asked.
“Come see.”