Wild Cards

by Grey…

I’ve met very few people in this life who leave me transfixed and adorning. One bearing white denim and acrylic nails that brilliantly react to black light. The other loosely sporting white slacks and a clean white tank hovering over his shoulders, a clever independent brand short-sleeved button down shirt that would only grace his body in an informal way. I watch as they walk into the record store. They aren’t exploring the aisles; it’s almost as if they know exactly what they’re searching for. This made things a lot more serious. Was I about to participate in an age old tale of teenage rowdary in a town that has no limits? Me. Me of all people, with consequence and reason being what has kept me alive for so long. If I die tonight at least I’m glad I did it instead of doing nothing at all.

As we locked eyes and embraced I felt the awkward shutter of the beginning. We’d met only once before and it was brief yet so very exciting. We could feel how we were alike somehow and we all felt a little smaller than each other. This perfect bewitching chemistry between them, my friends, and myself. I’d only seen moments like this on the big screen and now I’m secure in knowing that every good scene I knew started from a night like this…a night in the blue.

So I dove right in.

I’m not the girl who lets the night take her anywhere. I make decisions and analyze, and analyze, and analyze everything. Not much fear of death in me but a decent fear of life. But I felt safe with these wild cards. These James Dean types. Breaking the ice was easier than I thought: rack up some balls and play a friendly game of pool is always the solution. We split up into teams and bantered, talked shit, and made a couple of wagers to keep things classy and true to the nature of the sport. We all at that point must have been forgiven. Forgiven for every bad thing we’d ever done. I felt like nothing else going on in the world mattered. The 2 hours spent in that cafe playing pool and taking shots of espresso were what a real good feeling is built off of. I reminisce now and I can remember the whole night as if I was watching myself from outside of myself. And I looked so light and so benevolent.

We raced across the middle of the street to his mom’s old BMW and we flew, leaving behind the cafe and our winning streaks. The night was young, as young as we were, and it wanted us to find a reason. We crossed heavy dense lanes with graceful speed. My heart was raising as we leapt over speed bumps headed further and further away. We wanted to see the stars. To our surprise, everybody wanted to see the stars that night. We slowly crept up to the observatory, passing angry drivers and some pretentious fashion show didn’t phase any of us. The interior of this car was made up of a time much too valuable to be interrupted by the outside world. They blasted music I’d never heard before by bands that I didn’t even know existed, but I just nodded my head and bluffed my lip syncing abilities. It felt more natural then you would believe. As we approached a tunnel, reaching our half way point up the hill, we rolled down the windows and began to howl, scream, and sound off into the concrete barrel. Others in their cars replied with similar echoes of our vocals. We, the choir of the hill, sang to the trees and no smoking signs.

We made it to the tip of the iceberg after traveling the other 90% going the absolute opposite of the speed of light, only to be greeted with the fact that we could not land amongst the stars (there was no parking). But instead of feeling sorry for ourselves we floated down the side of this urban mountain. Looking over the edge we saw the lights and the city from a bird’s eye view and I have to tell you…it all seemed lesser in comparison. The smell of his cigarette and the look of their faces as they’d turn around fully in the driver seats to look at our faces as they spoke. The rest of the world seemed like it was beneath us. This way about us all fitting together was unheard of. I was passed the phone and was told to pick a song to fit the mood. I played “TV on the Radio — Will Do” and looked at each of their faces. I wanted to remember every freckle and every expression before we reached those main streets. If this were a film we would have died by the likes of a deer crossing the road or a tree limb falling after being struck by lightening and I was ready for that. Like I said, I’m not scared of death, I’m scared of life. In those few minutes I was also scared of blinking, I didn’t want to miss anything.

As we rejoined the racy packed streets of Los Angeles we looked at the time and realized we would have to no longer be together. The two of them dropped us off and said goodnight. I walked a little bit behind my friends so that I could watch their car pull away. I don’t know why, but I thought that maybe they’d disappear into thin air and be nothing but a really bad case of lucid dreaming. As they turned the car off the curb they rolled down the window and waved. I waved back and watched them drive around down the street, becoming smaller and smaller until there was no more car, no more them, and no more night left to surrender to.

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