I knew the moment I laid eyes on him, everything I thought I knew would be drop kicked out the nearest window. Maybe it was the fashionably shaved head, worn long before it became fashionable, that got me; the fact that it would feel like crinkled silk if I ran my hands across it was almost as tempting as the apple Eve offered Adam. (I'd long since had what I commonly referred to as a thing for shaved heads.)
Perhaps even the aloofness with which he carried himself, never letting on that he cared much one way or the other, captured my undivided attention. The air of nonchalance he wore as easily as his faded jeans, work boots, a white T-shirt, loose, but hugging his chest in defiance.
For two weeks I studied him from the tiny window of my second floor hotel room. Night after night was the same. He'd stand, leaning against the red brick wall of the club across the street, chain smoking and peering into the mass of people milling around in the streets. It was as if he was searching for something, but not quite sure of what it was. The intensity behind his gaze led me to believe he hadn't yet found it.
I thought it strange he had secured his own little space of solitude amidst the never-ending throng of roaming bodies. There seemed to be lines drawn, behind which he stood sheltered. Every once in a while he'd nod slightly to a passing person, almost as an afterthought, reverting back to his stoic gaze in an instant.
Occasionally, a woman would cross the imaginary lines, pausing ever so slightly to look up at him before her companion reined her back in with a hand on an arm or protectively around the shoulders in the same amount of time it takes to draw a breath. He was oblivious to most of the attention paid him. I found it amusing, though not surprising. He was captivating.
By the third Monday after my arrival I was driving myself crazy. An understatement at best, but I was never one to stay cooped up too long. I despised people in general, but could maintain my anonymity among the living, breathing, mostly drunken creatures with little effort.
The night air was cool as I stepped from the hotel lobby. It sent shivers up my spine with the first breeze. The muted sounds of music gravitated through the closed doors of the club. I couldn't hear the thump thump of the bass so much as I could sense it. Weaving though the mass of people, I wandered across the street and through the club doors, stopping only to show my ID to the hulk of a guy employed solely for that purpose.
There was a poster announcing the arrival of Traueresche, a band from Germany, in town for one show only. “Tonight” was emphasized in bold, black letters. I was inside long enough to grab a seat before the show started. It was then I saw who I'd been searching for the minute I stepped from the hotel lobby.
He strode out on to the stage, his guitar hanging haphazardly from his shoulder. The crowd exploded, each person's cry blending in with all the others to create a wall of sound I doubted anything would penetrate. The rest of the band sauntered out, unnoticed. He stood motionless except for the slight movement of his head scanning the sea of people, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses.
I sat perched atop a booth in the back of the club, oblivious to everything but him. I was hooked, stunned, slightly embarrassed to be affected to such an extreme by a man - by any man. I didn't know his name, who he was, didn't care. There was a familiarity I couldn't explain. Maybe it was just a diversion I created to avoid dealing with the fact that I was hiding from the world - what better way than good, old-fashioned lust?
He stood unmoving until silence overtook the room. People were shifting, moving, restless. The moment stillness threatened to become overwhelming, he tore into his guitar with abandon. The music was angry, hateful, all the things I needed to feel. The fear, the hurt, the loneliness threatened to drag me away.
Without a second thought I stalked toward the pit and threw myself in the middle of the chaos, pushing and shoving and bounding around like a madman. All the anger and frustration came pouring out as if someone had turned on a spigot full blast. Screw all the people who thought it unladylike to be pissed off, to be aggressive, to be anything. I was furious. I stayed there an hour.
