november 4

Eleanor woke bright and early that Wednesday morning. She was nearly tingling with excitement for the coming night. That morning’s bagel used up the last of her cream cheese, but she hardly seemed to care. For once she actually got dressed before noon, even going so far as to put makeup on and bring the beer bottle cap earrings she made the week before. She could tell this show was going to be epic.

She left for her biology test, getting there with plenty of time. For once she was actually confident in getting a much better passing grade: all those extra notes seemed to have done her brain some good and real studying hadn’t seemed necessary. Nine o’clock rolled around and the tests were passed out. She whizzed through it, as usual. She was out of the lecture hall and on her way to the city bus stop by 9:30. The bus couldn’t come fast enough.

She ended up taking a different bus than she really needed. She was going to be plenty early to the Greyhound station, so she stopped at a 7-11 for a small hot chocolate. The day promised to be a rather cold one, reaching perhaps the low 50s. She walked the almost-mile to the station, clutching her toasty warm cup and thinking about how to pass the time while she waited for the bus.

Not long after sitting down she was approached by a young man, asking if she had any chapstick he could borrow. She somewhat-reluctantly handed her Burt’s Bees over to him, hoping he would leave her alone after that. No dice.

He began talking to her about where they were going (Florida for him, Washington for her), what they were doing there (going back to school for him, visiting a friend for her), where they were from (Florida for him, Baltimore for her). And when he asked if she had a boyfriend it became obvious he was hitting on her, an event that always managed to surprise her when it happened. In her mind’s eye she was kind of cute if you liked shorter girls with awkward haircuts and glasses. Being told she was pretty, attractive, or anything more flattering than ‘cute’ always managed to confuse her, though she hid her surprise well and took it in stride. She told him no, she didn’t, she wasn’t exactly interested in that sort of thing. She was more the schoolwork type, really.

He asked her where she went to school, what she studied, did she like to party. She answered as vaguely as she could (Virginia Commonwealth, art, not really), trying to show with her short answers that she wasn’t really interested. She pulled out her biology lab binder, hoping that it would deter him. It didn’t. He asked if she had a Myspace, or some other way he could contact her, a phone number perhaps? She told him her phone was dead, sorry.

Mercifully his reboard number was called and he had to leave. She sat there confused and bemused by his actions, hoping no one else would approach her and try that again. Finishing her lab, she pulled out her recently purchased Hitchhiker’s Guide and started reading.

--

The bus to DC was scheduled to leave at 11:15. She was skipping two classes for this little adventure, English and textiles, and hoped she wouldn’t have to go to the other biology lab class the next day. She bought the tickets almost a month in advance with her own money to hide the trip from her parents. Her mother had already gotten kind of mad the month before when Eleanor skipped four classes to work on an overdue project for textiles, so she had no doubt this would garner a similar reaction. That meant no mentioning it in her Facebook statuses or to any friends electronically, blocking her parents from the photo album, and using her own money rather than the credit card her dad gave her the year before for “school supplies only.” It had been tough, especially towards the end there, but she knew it would be worth it.

Her bus actually left just after noon, having been delayed due to issues involving a handicapped person. The driver had been rather vague about the whole fiasco, only telling them that they had to wait for another bus to come because of something or other. She sat next to her backpack in line reading.

The trip itself was rather uneventful. She sat next to a Middle Eastern businessman who snored occasionally and wanted to know how close the DC airport was to the bus stop. She didn’t know. The bus made all the local stops between Richmond and DC: Fredericksburg, Woodbridge, Springfield, DC. It was somewhere around Woodbridge that her stomach area began to feel a little weird. She couldn’t quite decide if it was from hunger, motion sickness (she had been reading), or menstrual cramps (because she knew her period was due that week, but hoped to God it wasn’t that day. Please, any day but today.)

They got in around 2:30 and Yasha was waiting to pick her up. But first she needed to use the restroom, if only to lay the stomach issue to rest. And horror of horrors it was that red devil. Great. She quickly wadded up some toilet paper and left the stall. Yasha was waiting in the terminal.

On their way to his car he gave her two options for what to do until the doors opened at 7. “We can go find the venue and then get something to eat, or we can drive over to Annapolis and you can meet Heather.” Heather was his new girlfriend, and so far she seemed wonderful – especially compared to the two previous buckets-of-crazy.

--

Half an hour later – and several U-turns – they were pulling up to the Whole Foods in Annapolis. Heather worked in the cheese section of the supermarket, and Eleanor was reminded of her own position as such at her own (technically former) place of employment. My Organic Market was a small company that was working to expand in the Chesapeake area – and was decidedly Whole Foods’ competition. It was Eleanor’s first time in a Whole Foods.

It smells strange in here. And it’s huge! They made their way through the produce area to a wall of open coolers where Heather was, in her bright red uniform shirt, finishing stocking. The introductions were slightly awkward, as far as Eleanor was concerned, but she felt better about Yasha dating her having now officially met her. She hadn’t disapproved before, but it always helped to have actually met your best friend’s significant other. He often came to her for advice about dating (though she had little real experience as such) and knowing the other party informed her advice.

They were starving, so they left Heather to her work and wandered off in search of something cheap they could share while waiting in the line. A pizza proved too much ($14? Seriously?) and Eleanor was reminded of how Whole Foods may be large, MOMs was much cheaper. She missed her work. And she made a mental note to email her boss about working over winter break.

The two eventually decided on a rotisserie chicken and a four-pack of root beer. Eleanor handed over the $15 she promised him for gas and because she always felt guilty when he mentioned how he was broke. (Which is why she mailed him $40 last year to help with his finances.) Yasha wrapped the chicken box in his winter coat to insulate it for the drive back to DC and they headed out.

--

9:30 Club was located on V street. Unfortunately, they discovered that V wasn’t a through-street, and spent at least half an hour navigating the streets around it, alternating between ignoring and using Yasha’s GPS. They even stopped to ask a couple for directions. Once finding the building, an unassuming tan two-storey with no actual sign, they began the task of finding preferably free parking. Down V to Georgia, passing up the Howard U parking lot (“What if we need a permit? I don’t want to get a ticket.”), a residential street (“Yeah, all these cars have permits.”), and a few side alleys, they wound up on 9^th, catty-corner to the venue.

They hid anything shiny or slightly expensive in Eleanor’s backpack in the trunk (Yasha even locked the release lever next to the front seat) and headed over to wait. It was 5 and in the low 50s. Two hours of waiting. There was an older couple already there, bundled against the cold, who said they had been waiting since 4:30.

Yasha, being the friendly guy he is, got to talking with them, telling them about the concerts they had been to; about his job at the Maryland Renaissance Festival; about being a Russian-Jew with a large nose that prevented effective head-desk actions; about how no, they weren’t dating, everyone thought that though, they were used to it. They tore apart the chicken, still slightly warm after the drive, and sipped their root beers. Yasha pulled out a cigarette.

It was sitting in that line, in the cold, that Eleanor took her next step towards being a “true college student,” as Yasha liked to call it (her first steps had been vodka and shots, which she took expertly and was left giggling and stumbling after). She somewhat guiltily, somewhat reluctantly, took the last drag on the cigarette. The first try she didn’t really inhale, just holding the bitter smoke in her mouth and exhaling it back out. The second try she coughed the smoke back out violently, reeling from the sudden light-headedness that came with the sudden drop in her already-low blood pressure, and very glad she was sitting down. She dropped the filter, too smoke-addled to bother stubbing it out properly.

It was several minutes of coughing and trying to get some fresh oxygen into her system that she could choke out a few words. “I hate you.”

“I know.” He had the nerve to smile. She wanted to punch him, but was still too delirious to do anything.

It was easily ten minutes before she could breathe normally and didn’t feel like the slightest change in height would send her falling. Never again. It had burned in her lungs and tasted horribly bitter. And it was “good Turkish tobacco”, Camels, which apparently tasted better than others. She realized that the three people she knew who smoked – her brother actively, Yasha socially, Liz sporadically – all smoked Camels. And then Yasha reminded her that pot burned hotter than tobacco, and was she sure she wanted to smoke that? She wasn’t so sure anymore, but would likely do it anyway.

Standing slowly, Eleanor told him she needed to go find a restroom. She walked down the block toward Howard’s hospital, having been informed by the other couple about there being a McDonald’s and a Starbucks a few blocks that way. She walked off quickly, trying not to shiver. She saw the McDonald’s first, but it was across the street, and went instead to the Starbucks, cringing internally at having to venture into the establishment (years of her mother working at a competing coffee chain had led her to avoid “the Evil Empire,” but desperate times). She changed the toilet paper, hoping she wouldn’t bleed through. And I meant to bring pads, too. Damn.

Considering the amount of cash in her pocket carefully, she ventured to the counter and ordered a small hot chocolate (none of that ‘tall’, ‘grande’, ‘venti’ shit). She was happily surprised that it was actually less than $3.

By the time she got back to the line Yasha was walking towards her, worried that something had happened to her. She offered him some of her hot chocolate. There was a new person in line behind them, along with a man standing apart, leaning on the large U for locking bikes to. She sat back down and they continued to wait.

--

Finally, a few minutes after 7, there came the call to move away from the wall, and there were three lines so be sure to use all three. She presented her ticket and ID, receiving a large swirly stamp on the backs of each hand. “You are under 21. You are not allowed to buy any alcohol, drink any alcohol, or hold any alcohol. Enjoy the show.” She stashed her ticket and ID back in her pockets, checking what exactly was in which pocket, and went to find the bathroom again.

She rejoined Yasha at the rail, right in the middle. The room was buzzing with excitement, though it was sure to pick up as the show wore on. He made friends with those around them, knowing that once everything got started they would all become very close, so it was best to at least talk to those around you first. There was a guy from just behind them in the line next to them, and a couple of high school boys behind them, and Chris and Adam showed up to their other side and behind. They discussed the opening bands, thenewno2 and Heartless Bastards.

8 o’clock. Show time. thenewno2 came out. Yasha exclaimed over the frontman, Dhani Harrison, son of Beatle George, and how they looked exactly the same. Eleanor spent their set deciding if she liked them and just feeling the way her body vibrated to the music. It’s what she tended to do at concerts if she didn’t know the band. For some reason she preferred recordings over live performances when being introduced to a band because the listener could clearly hear everything. At a show some instrument or aspect may be played up. She could barely hear what Dhani was singing, too engrossed in the thumping bass in her chest and the strange expressions of the drummer. Yasha quite enjoyed them.

The second opener was a more ‘classic band’ (drums, bass, guitar, rhythm guitar, vocals), compared to the strange assortment of the first group (who was playing what now? There’s a megaphone?). Heartless Bastards were harder rock with a woman singer/guitarist who sounded vaguely country. Eleanor watched the bassist and his fingers, reminding herself that was why she had a vague goal of learning the bass, though she was doubtful if she’d ever get around to it. Yasha didn’t much care for them.

She had stopped paying attention to time after a while. When Heartless Bastards left the stage and started clearing their things out to make room for the rest of the headliner’s equipment, she turned around and stared at the crowd. It had gotten noticeably bigger, pressing forward as more people showed up. She was excited, thrumming with nerves. She hoped they were safe from the pit, knowing that he would protect her regardless but not really wanting to deal with it.

And finally they came out. Wolfmother hailed from Australia, sounding like a modern (and better) version of AC/DC. Eleanor stood in front of Yasha, his arms braced on either side of her own on the rail, shielding her from the hoard behind them. Then the sounds ripped them open, and the real show began.

She tried taking pictures, and managed a few good ones in the beginning. They opened with “Dimension,” from their first album, and continued with a mix of old and new (having just dropped their second album not even two weeks before). The crowed pressed forward, and the screaming started. It was chaotic and violent and amazing. They were standing right in front of Andrew, the singer and guitarist, and his three large amps.

As the show progressed the crowd got more and more violent in their moshing. Soon Eleanor had to take out her banging earrings for fear of them being ripped through her lobes and stashed the camera in her pocket in favor of hanging on for dear life to whatever she could, glad her footing was somewhat stable. She was pushed into the rail, shoving backwards in return, jostled everywhere, Yasha always behind her. Not even four songs into the set and she had to let go of the rail because two guys had managed to press themselves forward and in front of her, and Yasha had to hold her around the waist with his fingers gripping her belt tightly. And then he too had to let go, the sheer press of bodies was too great.

In the lulls between songs she felt cotton in her ears. She was manic, shoving others back and smiling wickedly, knowing she would be feeling the ill-effects for several days to come. This is so much more intense than Flogging Molly! Several people attempted to crowd surf, but were quickly passed to the front and into the waiting arms of the bouncers. Eleanor ducked whenever one passed nearby, making sure her glasses were still there, that she was at least somewhat safe. She was a tiny girl, and had no delusions about the pit and how it would tear her apart if Yasha wasn’t there. As it was one surfer kicked him in the head, and he was punched several times in the kidney.

Whenever the crowd slowed down a bit, she lifted her face, stared at the ceiling, and worked to get a few good breaths of fresh air. The press of bodies was sticky with sweat, and she relished those brief, clear breaths.

The show was a blur, the frenzy was so great. She wielded her sharp elbows at anyone who shoved into her, working to hold her own as best as she could. Near the end, during a slower song, Yasha managed to shove them forward and claimed a small section of the rail again, providing more shelter and stability to Eleanor. She turned to Yasha and spoke directly into his ear, “If this gets any more violent, hand me over to the bouncer.” She wanted to stay for the whole thing, but she was tiring and already achy. The bouncer would get her someplace safer and she would meet up with Yasha at the car.

They played the encore, ending the show with Eleanor’s favorite song, “Joker and the Thief.” And slowly the floor began to empty. Her ears were stuffed with cotton and her throat was raw and she was sure she’d feel worse the next day. But she was running high on endorphins and didn’t much care at that point. Even going outside, where the temperature had dropped considerably, didn’t deter her much – the cold didn’t even register at first. They shuffled excitedly to the car, pulling her backpack from the trunk.

Midnight. They got gas for the long drive back to Baltimore and Yasha’s house. Yasha called Heather while navigating them out of the city, taking the highways at 80. It wasn’t until they were on the Baltimore beltway that Yasha realized they should have stayed at his uncle’s, rather than driving all the way back home. They made it in less than an hour. Quietly entering his mom’s house they crept to bed, knowing they had to get back up in a few hours; Eleanor had a 4:50 bus back to Richmond and a ten o'clock class after that. She was asleep within minutes of lying down, her phone alarm set for 3:30.

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This took so long to get out because I wasn't able to actually write while on that excursion. Stupid real life...