Chapter 16 Jessa #2
“I would looooove to see you play.” Kayla’s voice is saccharine sweet and I think she could care less about his sound, but our plan is working.
“I don’t mind driving us to Touchstone if you wanna catch the show,” I mention offhand-like, as if this wasn’t a plan.
“That would be awesome!” Kayla shrieks. Bird is nodding, but I can tell she’s uncomfortable at the thought of going into Touchstone.
“Cool, doors open at seven. See you there,” Emmanuel says, and nods at Kayla. “Looking nice today.”
He scurries off before she can respond, and then she drags Bird to the bathroom, no doubt to discuss Emmanuel and our evening plans.
I gather the now-empty mugs and look to Natalie, who’s currently hanging over a long-haired kid attempting to pull some kind of a sound out of a giant didgeridoo.
Ugh. Not all music fads are a good thing.
The drive to Touchstone is uncomfortably quiet, so I toss in a disc.
I feel like a clash of styles with the garbage noise rock I’m about to hear, so Dar Williams is supporting women everywhere with “As Cool As I Am” and actually making a didgeridoo work, while Kayla looks out the window—she demanded shotgun.
Bird is making meaningful eye contact in the rearview, but I must be too dumb to understand the message she’s sending.
When we pull in, Kayla is as charming as ever. “Ew, this place is kind of ghetto….”
“Nirvana played here, and a lot of other big bands before they got their start,” I snap back.
“Must’ve been in better days,” she mumbles, and hops out of the car. “Let’s go! I don’t want to miss Emmanuel’s set!”
I hop out as well, go to the backseat, and open the door for Bird, leaning in to whisper, “Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on you. This place is nowhere near as scary as you think.”
Bird nods, grabs my hand for a brief moment, then drops it.
Tuck lets us inside, waving away my offer of cash and stamping me with the over-twenty-one stamp: a T. rex. Then he marks huge black Xs on Bird’s and Kayla’s hands.
“Why don’t I get to be twenty-one?” Kayla whines.
“ ’Cause you don’t come to ghetto places like this,” I grumble back, thinking she should be thankful for the free cover.
“Do you really want to drink?” Bird asks her, looking shocked.
“Dade and I do all the time.”
“Oh,” Bird says, and I can see her deflating.
“I’ll get us some drinks,” I say, and wander to the bar to pick up some Sprites. The urge to get some vodka in mine is quashed by thinking of Bird’s disappointment at me doing so.
Once I get back, they’ve pushed to the front of the stage, where the crowd is already churning in anticipation.
Emmanuel and his bandmates are plugging in amps, setting up drums, and laying out the set list. I can see he’s already swaying a bit, and that means this show is gonna be the usual garbage we get from them.
“Isn’t he soooo fucking cute?” Kayla yells. I can see he hears and smiles to himself.
I press the cans of soda into their palms. “Chugalug, once the music kicks off, we won’t want these in our hands.”
“Why?” Bird says, taking a sip.
“ ’Cause we’re essentially standing in what will be the mosh pit.”
Her eyes widen in what I think might be fear. I put a hand on her back. “Don’t worry, it’s just the opener. I don’t think they’ll rage that hard.”
I see Natalie slink in, and she waves to me to hit the bathroom.
I duck out and head to the horror show that is the Touchstone crappers.
At least they managed to get the leaking toilet to stop dousing the floor in dirty piss water.
Natalie is perched on a toilet seat, blazing up.
She hands me the joint and I breathe in smoke and breathe out calm.
The drug hits me right away and I can feel the light happiness it gives me, the sense of potential for the evening, the happy buzz and slight euphoria.
“So, here with Bird, huh?” She side-eyes me.
“Shut up,” I murmur back.
“Hey, I think it’s good you’re diversifying. Dade’s a dick.”
“You don’t know him.”
“And I don’t wanna.” She puff, puff, passes.
“He’s better one on one.”
“Aren’t we all?” she responds. We finish the joint, just the sounds of the inhale, exhale, and crisp snap of the cherry burning up the skunky weed. She tosses the roach in the toilet and fixes her hair in a mirror practically covered in stickers.
“Thanks, Natalie,” I say, and unlock the door, ready to head back now that my brain is in the right clouds to listen to noise rock.
“Of course, comes from the earth, goes to the earth, and is meant to be shared.”
As I step out I hear three sharp raps—the drummer setting the beat—and then bass, guitar, and drums slam out. Shit, Bird and Kayla, they’re still in the blast zone.
“I gotta…”
“Go.” She waves me on.
Soon as I push through the crowd I see Kayla onstage, awkwardly trying to pair pop dance moves with the hardcore noise rock, Emmanuel looking like he ate the fucking canary and raging on his bass, the funky beat thrashing along with a shrieking guitar and drums slamming through everything like an oncoming train.
People are picking up, starting to circle, and Bird is right in the middle.
I start pushing faster, trying to beat the pit, but they get into full spin before I can make it to the front. I see someone lean back and swing forward, body-slamming Bird. Shit.
She goes flying back, her drink in the air, spattering the entire pit in its downward fall.
I elbow past the last few onlookers and grab her as she stumbles toward me, wrapping my arms in a hug around her and spinning her to the outside of the pit.
Seeing the dude who pushed her in, I grab him, body-slam hard, and ricochet him off the biggest guy I can find.
He shrieks, enjoying it, as the massive dude bounces into him.
Sweat and Sprite spatter me, and while the high part of me wants to enter into the commune of minor violence and sheer human energy, the smart part of me remembers Bird.
I find a hole in the crowd and push out, see her walking toward the bar area.
I follow, catching her wrist, and she whips around looking ready to kill until she sees it’s me.
“I am so, so, so sorry, Bird.”
“Where were you?”
“Crapper,” I say and look at my Docs, ashamed I let her down.
“Well, thanks for saving me in there, but this is not my kind of place.” She looks about to cry and I want to hug her again, do anything to make her feel safe.
“It’s not always this wild, but I definitely think you’re more of a Lilith Fair, blanket-in-the-lawn-seats type.” I’m grasping at straws.
“I happen to like Sarah McLachlan,” she yells over the noise.
“Me too!”
“What?! The edgy Jessa P actually liking a soft mainstream artist?”
“I have many skills,” I say, ducking my head and giving her a shy smile.
She smiles back, and for a second I think the night is going to be all right. But then I look past her to the bar, and suddenly I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.
Mack.
She’s spinning on the stool and her lips are going a mile a minute. Her shoes are off and her eyes are wild, her gestures huge. She’s manic.
“Jessa?” Bird must have seen my shock. She looks concerned.
“My fucking sister is here.”
The song stops and I can hear Mack’s voice, loud and boisterous. She’s going on about connections again, how we’re all connected. This is a slope I know all too well. The day the spiel makes sense is the day I voluntarily commit myself.
“What’s wrong?” she says, and follows my eyes to my older sibling. “Is she okay?”
Mack gets up and pushes the guy next to her. She’s yelling now, but the next song is going and I can’t make it out.
“I dunno, it’s her Friday night special, bar fight.”
“She’s gonna fight?!”
“Not if I can help it,” I say, and head over to the rapidly escalating situation, catching eyes with Harry behind the bar. He’s giving her space now ’cause he sees me, or she would be bounced.
“Mack,” I say, and tug her arm.
“Baby sister!”
“Hey, you wanna get out of here?”
“Don’t be a dud! Come here and we’ll do shots! It’s Friday night!” Harry runs a finger across his throat, letting me know she’s cut off. I’m sure she’s already full of shots, but booze isn’t what’s got her to these heights.
“I’m good. Why don’t we chill in the car for a bit?”
Her eyes turn dark and I know she’s swinging toward anger. “Why don’t you fuck off, fun police.”
“Hey, bitch, I think she’s right.” The guy she was arguing with is definitely not helping.
“Excuuuuuse me?!” she slurs, and whips her attention to him. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Someone who can smell the crazy coming off you,” he says, looking at her with disgust. I can feel Bird behind me. She has her hand on my back, something to keep me stable. I’m shaking.
“Fuck you, asshole!” Mack scratches at him, catching his face.
“Okay!” Harry takes charge. “Cool it or get the fuck out….”
Too late, though, the dickhead has other ideas, and I see him haul an arm back in the familiar upswing of a full-on bitch slap.
I push Mack out of the way and his hand comes down hard on my face, the sting and sudden pain of it shocking my system.
The violence is such a dark contrast to the ecstatic bash of the mosh pit.
I stumble back and see Mack advancing for payback.
“Don’t you hit my fucking sister!” she screams, and runs toward him, claws ready to put more lines on his face, but I grab her waist and start dragging her away. “I will fuck you up! I’ll fucking kill you, you piece of shit!”
I get her outside with sheer determination and Tuck’s assistance, and we’re moving toward the car when I realize Bird has been following, wide-eyed and probably thinking the worst of me right now.
When I shove Mack into the backseat, expletives and incomprehensible word stew sputtering out of her, Bird grabs my keys from my hand and walks around to the driver’s side.
“Hop in back,” she says. “Take care of her.”
I do, thanking her inwardly for not trying to deal with this here, for not saying or asking more, for being here to help. I can’t drive right now for so many reasons.
I slide in back and Mack has quieted some, but is still bitching. Once I sit beside her and get us both strapped into our seat belts, I hear Bird start up the car and we begin to cruise.
“Goddamn it, Mack.”
“It wasn’t my fault,” she says, her bottom lip trembling. She’s gonna cry. She’s whipping between high and low. She’s definitely off her meds.
“I know,” I say, and she leans into me, tears coming big and loud, sobbing suddenly.
“Don’t tell Mom and Dad,” she keens.
“Okay,” I say, feeling outside of myself, outside of my body, the hot outline of a hand on my face the only thing bringing me back here, into this car, into this absolute fuckery.
“I’ll get better,” she cries.
“Sure, Mack, sure.”
In the rearview mirror I can see Bird looking at me with something different than shock, pity, or horror. She’s looking at me with concern, and for a second I think I might cry too.
But Mack has the monopoly on that right now. Instead I mouth thank you and hope Mack will tire herself out on the way home.