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WitFit Jan/Feb 2013

90's Sex, drugs and rock-n-roll

Word Prompts: Persistent, resistant, reminisce

"Are you coming or what?!"

I looked out the small window and checked under the light of the streetlamp to see if it had quit raining. Only a light fog hung around and I was thankful for the reprieve from the persistent, blustery weather that had lingered all day.

"Hurry up, Bella. I don't want to miss the first set and if we get there late we can't go inside," Rose said, tossing on a shiny black rain coat.

Turning from the window in the hall, I noticed she was, as per usual, impeccably dressed, with her long, flaxen hair grazing the top of her hip in a shiny sheen. I felt so underdressed.

"Just a sec, I need a coat so I won't get cold." And to cover up my ancient sweater and skirt ensemble, I thought.

Ultimately, I would have preferred to stay in and curl up with a good book. Resistant as I was to following musicians around like a groupie, Rose was so excited about this particular band, and something about her enthusiasm told me that maybe I shouldn't miss this one.

An exasperated sound followed me down the hallway.

"Coming!" I half-shouted at her. "Don't get all riled up."

She was already halfway out the door when I rounded the corner into the living room.

Rose's new Mustang LX cut through the side streets on lower Queen Anne, leaving a wet spray in its wake. We eventually ended up on the Viaduct, heading south to the industrial part of Seattle—to an area I wasn't familiar with.

Away from the bright lights of the skyline, things seemed so dark. The houses were jumbled together in tight knit rows with no discernible sidewalks and mostly busted out streetlamps.

We ended up on a dead end road in front of a gray house set apart from the rest. Multiple cars plugged the driveway, giving an illusion of a party rather than a band practice.

"This is it? Looks like it should be condemned," I mumbled.

"That's why they use it as a practice place. The owner doesn't really care what they do in there as long as they pay the rent," she said as she took the keys out of the ignition. "Trust me. You won't be disappointed."

Her ability to be so open to new things was enviable. Everybody knew Rose—she moved effortlessly through the local music scene, attending as many live performances as possible. Her current boyfriend, only official for the past six weeks or so, had orbited around her like the proverbial moth to a flame for months.

It was only a matter of time before they ended up together: Rose always knew what she wanted, and this time it happened to be Emmett. They spent every spare moment together, except when he was with the band. I'd only met him once when he came by to pick her up from my place. That day he was dressed in his delivery uniform, fresh off of work looking like any other guy off of the street . . . definitely not like his rock-band alter ego.

Carefully walking up the rickety steps on the side of the house, we entered into the kitchen —much at our own risk, I mused. The door had about thirty layers of paint that had clearly obliterated the molding over time. Old linoleum greeted us as we walked in, sticky with remnants of beer and soft from years of use.

There were a few people dotted amongst the old furniture littering a living room that appeared hazy from smoke and a single lamp. I was surprised at the condition of the inside; it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. Despite its outwardly condemned appearance, the house seemed cozy.

"See," Rose said, reading the surprise on my face. "Told you it wasn't so bad."

"Yeah. Not as scary in here as it is out there."

She shook her head and grabbed my hand to lead us into the basement.

The dark stairway opened into a large room with unusually tall ceilings for being a lower level. It had been altered a little, probably to make for better acoustics. We slid into the room unnoticed while the guys from the band moved their equipment around, getting ready to play.

Rose caught the eye of Emmett almost immediately and he winked back at her as he screwed on the final hi-hat to his drum set. The band had just come back from a few gigs on the 'road'—a run down Elk's lodge and an Eastside roller rink. They were ready to cut their first demo and were pushing rehearsals now. Supposedly, they'd caught the eye of a producer for an indie label in Seattle.

I sat quietly on an old sofa watching them get ready. Emmett jumped over a few cords and made his way across the room. Grabbing two beers out of an old dilapidated fridge, he handed one to Rose and one to me.

"Hey, Babe," he said kissing her on the mouth. Rose reached up with her fingers, adorned with long red nails, to wipe a swatch of residual lip color off of his lips. "Hey, Bella."

"Hey, Emmett. This is a cool place."

"Wait 'til we get going. It'll melt your face off."

I laughed and accepted the beer he passed in my direction. "That's what I hear. Sounds like fun."

They exchanged a few quiet words before he backed away to resume his setup.

"I thought you said we were going to be late."

Rose looked at her watch, shrugged. "We would have been, but Emmett just said one of the guys isn't here yet. Seems like you got a reprieve."

"Hah. Don't be like that—you love me even when I make you late."

She clinked her bottle with mine. "That I do."

We talked about random bits of gossip while we waited, eventually migrating to a darker corner of the basement to get away from a guy toking up some potent shit. The conversation was low and the air in the room seemed a little tense. The band stood ready to play, shuffling around, plucking a string or two.

"Finally," Emmett shouted, glancing at the stairs. I couldn't see what he did, crowded as the area was, but I did see when he nodded at the blond guitar player standing in front of the drum kit. The guy moved his hands and the opening chords of Welcome To the Jungle floated in the air.

There was a couple of greetings, followed by a low voice I couldn't quite make out and a whiny, female voice.

Not really interested, I reached down to pick up my beer. When I sat back up, I noticed a tall couple moving across the room. I could barely see the guy through the statuesque blond attached to his back, her hand in his back pocket. He carried his guitar case on his left while she clung to him for dear life, narrowly missing the amplifier cords with her high heels.

I was put off by the display but too curious to turn away. He put his things down and she immediately wrapped her hands around his shoulders speaking to him softly when he lightly, but noticeably shrugged her off. She huffed, took her cue and went to sit with a few girls on our side of the room, completely ignoring us as she passed.

I turned back to look at the guy she came with and couldn't help but notice his lean body: the muscles of his back twisting and flexing as he set up his guitar. I could see a tattoo underneath his right bicep, peeking out from under his sleeve. The pattern was reminiscent of something I'd seen once before. His hair looked dark in the dim light, and I couldn't tell if it was brown or black.

He leaned over to light a cigarette, taking a long, slow drag before slinging the guitar strap over his shoulder. Plugging in an amp cord, he nodded his head as if to signal the guys that he was finally ready to play.

The song started in an acoustical pattern, slow and melodic as he began. His back was still turned to me and I closed my eyes, listening to the beginning of the song—the notes filling and haunting the room as I imagined the smoke drifting around his head.

Feeling the music, I opened my eyes to see the blond guitar player turn to meet his band mate in the middle. Their easy compliment of each other was so very fitting to the song; I could feel the chemistry between them as they played.

The bass player nodded his head and grinned at something almost private as he strummed.

When the lead guitarist began to sing, I sought out his face, completely mesmerized by the tone of his voice. He lifted his head to close in on the mic and caught my eye as he turned.

"Holy shit," I whispered.

Underneath the copper-colored hair that partially covered his brow—the hair that I had ran my fingers through many times, not so long ago—were the eyes of Edward Cullen.

Excited to do this. Hope you enjoy.

Thanks nicnicd for letting me bounce things off and for helping me to shake off the dust. xoxo

Song: Soundgarden – Blow Up The Outside