The First Time
Tags: Writing, Live Music, Growing Up, Short Story, Music

The first time I saw him play, I didn’t know it was him. How could I? I was in love with someone else.

I watched from a dark hallway as jealous fans cheered for him, reluctantly. Many speculated he was a plant. How could a guy, chosen from the audience at random, know how to play every note so perfectly?

I stood with my back against a cold, brightly painted cement wall dulled by the shadows, my uniform ruffled from a long, hardly lucrative night. I imagined the teenage heartthrob, rejected from the cheerful tv shows that turned their casts into celebrities and porn stars, finally landing the role of angsty pop punk audience member. Selected to travel from town to town, delighting locals with his intuitive ability to perform flawlessly at a moment’s notice. His floppy brown hair fell across his face as his hips moved the guitar suggestively. His fingers danced along the frets and his face was overcome by the most flirtatious smile. I could hear girls giggling in the rows before me, some plotting to find him after the show. My gaze moved lazily around the dark stadium and back to the stage. The final notes were edgy and dramatic. Cheers grew louder as the boy soaked in the final moments of his new found fame, a rainbow of lights that accompanied the song danced faster as they lit up the room. And then it was over for him. Ushered off the stage by large men dressed in black. Would he return?

Behind me there was a cheerful scream. It was Cassie, my best friend and fellow hot dog peddler, returning to participate in the moments she lived for. Her curly blonde hair was pulled back but messy and it bounced as she howled and danced. She had stains of sweat under her raised arms but she was never one to care about that sort of thing. She had momentarily excused herself from work to participate in the nightly fire safety meeting, a name used to disguise the moments in which the employees would smoke weed in the manager’s parking lot. I myself had declined to participate as I would soon be driving the two of us the 18.5 miles home and as a nearly adult teenager from Pleasantville, the world was on my shoulders and I was terrified of the consequences.

A second returning member of those who wished to keep the public safe and informed of the dangers of an unattended flame was local celebrity (at least I thought so) and current love of my life, Daniel Thomas. He looked like an album cover in skinny black jeans, and although he was a bit older than me, it was refreshing to have a conversation with someone who didn’t just go through puberty. He could at least pretend he wasn’t only thinking about all the places his penis could go. He stood next to me for a moment, moving closer until his arm was pressed up against mine. He continued to push until he couldn’t and then spun around so that he was directly in front of me so as to block my view. I pretended to be annoyed and wrestled him out of the way. He enjoyed the attention he received from being obnoxious. He could charm his way out of nearly every situation and any resistance often led to a most annoying enemy.

I, on the other hand, had a great fear of punishment and my “need to please” attitude made me an easy target to those in search of a scapegoat. One particularly embittered individual, known among the employees as “the tiny nightmare”, had already called me into her office three times since receiving the title of assistant manager. As others stole food and pocketed cash, we discussed how my lackluster greeting made her feel disrespected and I was reminded to be grateful that this would remain “off the record”. Tori, a young chain-smoking alcoholic, had recently been asked to fill the role after the previous manager had been caught by the district supervisor taking shots in the back office with the underage, undressed dessert girls. Tori had, at one point, been a participant in these activities, however, she had recently cemented her relationship with the stadium’s head chef, which had not only kept her from engaging that evening, but had prioritized her promotion. She found the power of her new job exhilarating and practiced it whenever she felt the slightest tinge of insecurity.

I contemplated her reaction to our flirting had she seen us, but for some reason, when I was around Dan, I didn’t care. His rebelliousness was infectious and I could feel bits of childhood melt away when I was with him.

“Come with me,” he said as he pulled me beyond the curtain and into the hallway, “I have a surprise for you.”

I attempted to get Cassie’s attention without a scene but she was dancing and blissfully unaware of her surroundings. She knew that permanent records didn’t exist, and that no one had time to hire replacements. I envied her mentality.

My attention quickly returned to what I felt was my impending doom. I hated surprises. They made me feel as though I was no longer in control of my life, and rarely could they live up to my expectations. My thoughts were overwhelming as I walked slightly behind him in the large, brightly lit hall. He always walked very fast. I wondered if perhaps I would be happier if I learned to expect disappointment.

We made our way through the main hallway, ducking into stairwells and giggling behind food carts, hiding from the spies who would seek to destroy our fun. Eventually we found ourselves in front of the second floor pantry, an overstacked room used for storing liquor and broken restaurant equipment. As we entered, he informed me we needed to wait. I stood silently as he played with his phone. I thought of anything to say.

“Do you think that kid they pulled out of the audience was really a random guy?”

“What?” he asked, briefly looking up from his phone but quickly returning his attention.

“The show, they like pulled this guy out of the audience to play on stage but he was like really good and…”

“Oh baby,” he interrupted, placing his hands on either side of my face, “the only person you have to worry about watching on stage is me,” and then he kissed me on my forehead. He preferred the room’s attention be on him and the mere mention of another person was often enough to revive his awareness. He knew better than to reveal his jealousy without hiding it within a joke, however. His romance was often strange and comical but it was enough to make you fall.

Suddenly the door swung open and a tall man I had never seen before entered backside first, wearing a chef’s coat and juggling several boxes in his hands. His hair was greasy and wild and tattoos covered his arms and neck in a mural of his chaotic life.

“Whoah! Here…” Dan said as he took one of the boxes from the man. He placed his free hand on his shoulder to greet him. “Thanks man,” he said as he patted his back. “I’ll see you on Friday?”

“Yeah man, what time is that again? I gotta go to…”

Daydreams began to fill my head as a conversation I wasn’t a part of dragged on in the background. I thought about random things like why would they keep all of these unusable chafers and how much longer could I put off doing my laundry. I was brought back into reality when the brown box he had taken from the man was shoved into my hands. It was cold. The two said goodbye and I followed suit, even though it was the only time that I had participated in the conversation. Dan held the door open for him and then looked up and down the hallway to be sure we would remain unbothered.

He returned to me with a smile. “That was Benny,” he said. “He just started last week, makes great desserts.” Dan was always friends with everyone first so it was unsurprising that he knew him and had already convinced him to attend his upcoming show.

He grabbed two forks and opened the box to what I imagined was once a beautiful, towering piece of chocolate cake, adorned with extravagant floral decor and dripping with caramel and chocolate syrups. During its travels, however, it had become squished and smashed, and now resembled what is often left of a child’s first piece of birthday cake. Nevertheless, it was delicious.

We sat together on the unused desk that sat obtrusively in the middle of the room, eating and laughing. I stared at him for a moment and he looked up and smirked.

“You’ve got something right here,” he spoke softly as he reached for me, quickly pulling me in for a kiss.

He licked my lips and I giggled, pulling away momentarily to wipe my face before returning myself to his embrace. We kissed with outreached forks in our hands in the dark room until a loud crash and a burst of light dissolved the fantasy world I had been immersed in. The echoes of shock and amusement sounded throughout the room as two bartenders had entered with clinking glass in bus tubs.

“Wha-ho! What’s going on in here!?” they cried, slamming their collections of half empty bottles onto miscellaneous surfaces.

With wide eyes and a red face, I smiled, dropped my fork, and ran from the scene and into the first restroom I passed. I left him in the room to be congratulated by his fellow men and as I splashed cold water on my face, I worried about all the possibilities.

I eventually left the safety of the bathroom when a group of intoxicated young girls with brightly colored hair entered singing and laughing. I smiled at them as my customer service training took over, though I’m sure they barely noticed me, and I took off down the hall attempting to shed my embarrassment, praying the intruders wouldn’t mention what they saw in front of the wrong people.

The show was ending. It was time to clean my section and to seek comfort in the ever non-judgemental words of my best friend. And then go home and drink.