fit to hold, so excited for the future, our future. I couldn’t risk ruining the moment, and so I wouldn’t move a muscle.
David and I push gently around people packed shoulder-to-shoulder to get to the front, and we get there just in time. The band walks onto the stage with a plume of smoke, an explosion of light. A lot has changed since we started coming to the 9:30 Club almost a decade ago, but the excitement of anticipation is the same. I shiver.
We dance and laugh and sing as the band plays. My teenage self-consciousness is long gone, and I sneak a peek at David, who admires me as I swivel my hips in time with the drums and guitar. The crowd pushes toward the stage, jostling us. I bump into him once and then find excuses to do so again and again, feeling my arm brush against his, goosebumps forming on my skin. He doesn’t seem to mind. It almost seems like he’s doing it too. It could be wishful thinking. During the last song of the set, David grabs my hand and pulls me close for a second before twirling me around. I’m having more fun than I can remember.
The encore starts after the band takes a short break, and I know my time with David is almost over. I want to ask him to grab a drink with me after the show, but the threat of rejection is too high. He’s probably staying with his family, and they’ll get suspicious. He might not want to go with me anyway. Tears sting my eyes as the band starts to play one of our old favorite songs, and I throw all of my energy into singing along, my voice one of nearly a thousand belting out the lyrics.
I can’t help lookin g at David as I sing our line, the one we’d always sang in the car, sometimes seriously, sometimes jokingly, always emphatically. “The city’s been dead since you’ve been gone.”
He catches my eye and I blush. We’re still looking at each other when the song ends. I think the band’s frontman is saying something into the microphone, thanking us all for coming, but he sounds far away. I only see David.
“I double-dare you.”
My heart stops. Did he really just say—? No, he wouldn’t have. “What?”
“You heard me.”
And then, we are kissing. His soft lips are against mine, our tongues tangled between us. It is perfect. It is right. It is everything I didn’t know I was missing.
We kiss for what feels like forever and not possibly long enough all at the same time. We kiss as the band begins to play their f inal song, as fans join them onstage to dance. We kiss as the crowd disperses, as the lights turn on above us. We are holding each other close, our bodies pressed together. He rakes one hand through my long hair. His flannel shirt is soft. I can feel his heart beating, or maybe it’s my own.
David breaks away first. He looks at me, his eyes darting back and forth, scanning mine . I worry for a second, but he doesn’t look unhappy or angry or regretful at all. He looks hungry .
I’ve seen the look before dozens of times, maybe even a hundred. All I can think is that I’m so thrilled, so happy I can still give him that look. I am sopping, dripping wet. I can feel my excitement soaking through my panties and threatening to spill out from underneath my skirt, to run down my bare legs.
We are the only concertgoers left. The venue’s employees are sweeping the floor and picking up empty beer bottles.
“What are we doing?” he asks.
“ I don’t know.”
“Okay.”
“My place?”
“Yes, now.”
We exit onto V Street holding hands. I’ve run into people plenty of times at shows, and all it would take is one former classmate to see us, one coworker for us to come crashing down. It is all the more exciting. David is staying at a mutual friend’s house, a friend who won’t ask questions. He is all mine tonight.
There’s no time to wait for the Metro. We need each other, and we need each other as soon as possible. David hails a cab and we jump in. I give the driver my address. He takes us from the club to Southwest,
David and I push gently around people packed shoulder-to-shoulder to get to the front, and we get there just in time. The band walks onto the stage with a plume of smoke, an explosion of light. A lot has changed since we started coming to the 9:30 Club almost a decade ago, but the excitement of anticipation is the same. I shiver.
We dance and laugh and sing as the band plays. My teenage self-consciousness is long gone, and I sneak a peek at David, who admires me as I swivel my hips in time with the drums and guitar. The crowd pushes toward the stage, jostling us. I bump into him once and then find excuses to do so again and again, feeling my arm brush against his, goosebumps forming on my skin. He doesn’t seem to mind. It almost seems like he’s doing it too. It could be wishful thinking. During the last song of the set, David grabs my hand and pulls me close for a second before twirling me around. I’m having more fun than I can remember.
The encore starts after the band takes a short break, and I know my time with David is almost over. I want to ask him to grab a drink with me after the show, but the threat of rejection is too high. He’s probably staying with his family, and they’ll get suspicious. He might not want to go with me anyway. Tears sting my eyes as the band starts to play one of our old favorite songs, and I throw all of my energy into singing along, my voice one of nearly a thousand belting out the lyrics.
I can’t help lookin g at David as I sing our line, the one we’d always sang in the car, sometimes seriously, sometimes jokingly, always emphatically. “The city’s been dead since you’ve been gone.”
He catches my eye and I blush. We’re still looking at each other when the song ends. I think the band’s frontman is saying something into the microphone, thanking us all for coming, but he sounds far away. I only see David.
“I double-dare you.”
My heart stops. Did he really just say—? No, he wouldn’t have. “What?”
“You heard me.”
And then, we are kissing. His soft lips are against mine, our tongues tangled between us. It is perfect. It is right. It is everything I didn’t know I was missing.
We kiss for what feels like forever and not possibly long enough all at the same time. We kiss as the band begins to play their f inal song, as fans join them onstage to dance. We kiss as the crowd disperses, as the lights turn on above us. We are holding each other close, our bodies pressed together. He rakes one hand through my long hair. His flannel shirt is soft. I can feel his heart beating, or maybe it’s my own.
David breaks away first. He looks at me, his eyes darting back and forth, scanning mine . I worry for a second, but he doesn’t look unhappy or angry or regretful at all. He looks hungry .
I’ve seen the look before dozens of times, maybe even a hundred. All I can think is that I’m so thrilled, so happy I can still give him that look. I am sopping, dripping wet. I can feel my excitement soaking through my panties and threatening to spill out from underneath my skirt, to run down my bare legs.
We are the only concertgoers left. The venue’s employees are sweeping the floor and picking up empty beer bottles.
“What are we doing?” he asks.
“ I don’t know.”
“Okay.”
“My place?”
“Yes, now.”
We exit onto V Street holding hands. I’ve run into people plenty of times at shows, and all it would take is one former classmate to see us, one coworker for us to come crashing down. It is all the more exciting. David is staying at a mutual friend’s house, a friend who won’t ask questions. He is all mine tonight.
There’s no time to wait for the Metro. We need each other, and we need each other as soon as possible. David hails a cab and we jump in. I give the driver my address. He takes us from the club to Southwest,
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