olive oil basic (gwenog) wrote in write_lab, @ 2014-09-16 10:17:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | instance one, ~cheekymonkey, ~gwenog |
PLAYERS: cheekymonkey (owns a motorcycle) & gwenog (works some nights as a bartender)
SCENARIO: Listening to the Beach Boys
WARNINGS: None
Dave made his way through the crowd. He almost couldn’t breath and he knew that he needed to keep moving and find a clearing. It was much more crowded than he’d expected it to be, although really he hadn’t known what to expect since this was his first to this kind of thing. He felt an elbow to the ribs and knew that he needed to keep moving. He passed a girl with bright blue hair before he found his seat according to his ticket and relaxed when he sat down, his legs glad for the reprieve of standing.
He moved his leg when he realized that it was nearly touching the person next to him. “Sorry,” he yelled over the noise of the crowd.
"No problem." Ed offered a perfunctory smile to the man in the seat next to him. A seat that could have belonged to his wife had she actually wanted to leave the house for once. He would have been surprised if she'd agreed to go with him, truth be told. Not much could tear her away from courtroom tv and her sunken spot in the couch cushions unless it involved a dinner in a five mile radius from their home.
He didn't bother with the effort of coercion anymore. She'd told him no, and he'd purchased one ticket for himself. He did that for most things. And damn it, he was determined to have a good time just to spite her, even if the concert was wilder than he'd anticipated and his bad knee was feeling stiff.
"It's wilder than I expected," he found himself saying a moment later. A conversation starved household would do that to a person. "I haven't been to one of these in years. Is this usual?" He gestured towards the couple necking in front of them.
“I have no idea,” Dave said, shaking his head and putting his hands on his knees. The couple wasn’t much younger than he was, but they made him feel years older. “I don’t get out much either, but since it’s been forever since they’ve been on tour and I couldn’t miss it.” Dave took a sip of his beer and placed it in the arm rest. The beer tasted like piss and was $11 but he was determined to enjoy it.
Ed nodded, suddenly feeling allied in the novel experience. He hadn't been out much, either, but now that he'd broken the chain to his old, rusty ball, he could do whatever the hell he wanted.
"I liked them a lot when I was a boy," he admitted. "I still like them now. Hell, it's probably good I never saw them in the 60s." The level of energy on stage was admirable, but certainly indicative of their age. And his, which was an unwelcome reality check. He paused. "You're young, though."
“My parents,” Dave said. “I grew up on ‘em. I swear it’s all my dad listened to in the car when we were younger.” The memory was strong, driving through the middle of the country, Beach Boys playing, orange soda in the cupholder, and facing out the back window of an old station wagon. Not all his memories of his father were good, but times in the cars were the best.
Ed nodded. That sounded about right. "The good old days," he agreed. "Course, I still listen to them when I ride around. It's usually just me, though. Probably for the best."
He left the younger gentleman alone for a few numbers, breaking the silence, finally, with a nod towards the beer cup. "Did it cost you a kidney?" He was trying to figure out if it was worth shuffling out to the vending area.
“Yeah, but worth it to say you had a beer,” Dave said. “Tell you what, on me. I’d ask you if you had a preference, but they’ve just got regular and light, it’s pretty sad.” After all, he thought the other man, from what he could use a little bit of kindness and a pick me up.
Ed was surprised by the gesture. It had been a long time since someone had paid for his drink or dinner. "When someone else is buying, I don't have a preference," he said with a smile. "Thanks, son. What's your name, anyway? Feel like I ought to know it since you're buying me a beer. S'too bad I can't give you my senior citizen card, but they probably wouldn't accept it. I couldn't even find an open handicap spot in the lot. But maybe that means you're not sitting next to the oldest guy here." He was rambling, he thought, and promptly stopped himself.
“Nah, I mean look at them.” He was referring to some older looking gentleman that looked like they had a good couple of years than the man next to him. I’m Dave,” he said, grinning at the older man and offering him his hand to shake. Even if he was was there alone, at least there was someone to talk to. Dave did a lot of things alone, but it was nice when he didn’t have to. “And you are?”
"Ed," Ed replied, pumping Dave's hand up and down a few times. "Sorry I'm not young and pretty," he added with a chuckle. "I'm doubly sorry it'll take you 200 dollars more for me to get that way." He gestured at Dave's beer good-naturedly. "Guess that's the price you pay when you come to these things alone."
“I never mind good company,” Dave assured him. That’s one of the reasons that he enjoyed his part time work as a bartender: company, always someone to talk to, and if it was really slow, there was the television. “No matter who they are.” He moved to stand up. “I’ll get you that beer.”
Ed smiled again, wondering if there was anything else he ought to do aside from accept Dave's generosity graciously. His wife would be surprised that he was able to accept things graciously. It wasn't like she did much for him that didn't involve nagging, though. If Dave even gave the slightest indication that he wished Ed would shut up, Ed thought, he'd take the hint. He didn't want to seem senile.
"Well," he greeted when Dave returned, "you didn't miss much. Thanks again, Dave. It's not every day I get a free beer, much less one served by someone else."
“It’s part of my job,” Dave said and then quickly explained why he’d said that so that Ed didn’t think he meant anything weird. “I work as a part time bartender.”
"Really? Well. I'm retired now, but if I had to find myself a job, I don't think bartending would be too bad." He pushed up a bushy eyebrow. "You like it? That what's keeping you from getting out?"
"Yeah it's a good gig, tips are nice but hours are long," Dave said. "I don't know what I want to do but this is good for now."
"You have plenty of time to figure it out." Ed took a long sip of his beer, reflected on the Beach Boys for a little while, and then followed the thought up with his own experience. "Don't settle with something you can live with. Make sure you like it, at least a little. Incidentally, that's my advice for marriage, too." He lifted his cup.
Maybe it was just this moment, with the Beach Boys playing in the background, people around him happy, or maybe it was just hearing it from someone who didn’t know anything about him except that he liked beer and was sometimes a bartender, but everything felt like it made sense. All those hours of anxiety and worrying about what he should do next, the man, Ed, next to him was right. Taking his time was the right thing to do and if things didn’t work out, they didn’t. Wasn’t that what his therapist had told him before he’d been kicked off his parent’s insurance?
“Thanks man,” Dave said holding up his own cup. “I’ll remember that.”
Ed's mouth turned up at one end. You better, kid, is what he wanted to say. When you settled, you ended up in a monotonous job for a big name company who, after decades of hard work, twists your arm into an early retirement. You ended up in a disconnected marriage with a wife getting more enjoyment out of watching trash on television than eating dinner with you. You ended up convinced that you were fine until you realized how pitiful you were, subjecting a nice kid to your own regrets. Jesus.
Ed drank.
* * *
They were nearing the end of the concert when he stood up. He hunched over for several seconds, his knee cracking and grinding into place. His cup was empty and he had to pee. "Think I'm going to head out early," he told Dave as he prepared to limp his way down the aisle until his knee recovered. "Beat the crowd." Save himself the embarrassment of the other concertgoers swallowing him up and then leaving him behind.
Leaning down, he grasped at the air beneath his feet until his fingertips came into contact with what he was looking for: his motorcycle helmet.
“Yeah?” Dave asked. “Be safe.” He offered him his hand again to shake it. The company had definitely been decent at this concert, the couple in front of them had stopped making out and the mood was light before the encore, well at least Dave’s was.
"I will be if everyone else can control themselves," replied Ed. He tucked his motorcycle helmet under one arm and reached for Dave's hand with the other. His joints were swollen like knots in a tree, but his grip was firm. "Thanks again. For the beer and your patience in entertaining an old man."
He sidled past Dave, and looked over his shoulder. "Keep enjoying yourself." Whether he meant it to be concert specific or more life advice remained ambiguous.
And so they parted. He took his time down the stairs and entertained the idea of buying himself a t-shirt. He wasn't the only one cutting out early, though he was still jostled now and again, feeling every bit the ancient tortoise in a sea of hares. Slow, not steady. By the time he'd made it to the parking lot, more people had begun to pour out of the venue. By that time, Ed only had one thing on his mind.
She looked sharp, even under the parking lot lamp. He sighed as he straddled her; the leather seat was still warm from the heat of the day. Her engine started with a rumble, invigorating parts of Ed that were otherwise out of commission. With her, Ed was fast. Alive. In control. Even the Beach Boys hadn't managed to revive his youth like this. He put on his helmet and adjusted his strap before revving the engine on the motorcycle so aptly licensed, H0T M4MA.
When they finished with the concert Dave looked at the seat next to him that was now empty. He wondered how Ed had wound up there alone, the man had been kind enough, but he seemed so sad. Dave made his way out to the parking lot and headed towards the bus stop, the air cool compared to the compressed air inside of the stadium, hot with the heat of thousands of people.
When he went to cross the street to the bus stop, he took a step when a motorcycle zoomed past him, almost catching his foot under the tire. Asshole he thought before he crossed as the license plate H0T M4MA faded off into the distance.
One kid with a death wish wouldn't slow Ed down. He sped through the yellow light and continued down the street. Home was in the complete opposite direction and he was in no hurry to get there.