LAURA
Laura pushed her way out of the back seat of the car. She wanted to be inside the gig with the punks and the music and the laughter and the freedom and not in this car doing more drugs and drinking. She pushed her way into the parking lot across from The Oven and out of the way of the drugs and beer. She got her feet out of the car and onto the pavement. She was tired of the boys from Pittsburgh. She wanted something else now. All day long she drank beer and smoked pot and remembered that she didn't have anywhere to sleep tonight because she couldn't go home. She didn't know what to do, but it wasn't this anymore; it wasn't these punks anymore; it wasn't these drugs anymore. So she ran off, away from the boys in the car and their drugs and their beer and their complaining about their drugs and their beer. She ran across the parking lot and into the punk-rock gig. She hoped that somewhere, somehow, someone would pick her up and carry her away.
Laura paid the man at the door her five dollars in change to get into Zodiac 13. She looked around, and suddenly, she was scared. Her bright red lips popped against her starched china doll face, which was flocked with pink hair parted in the middle and hanging in strands on either side of her face. It was only the second time she'd ever hung around punks, and it was only the second time she'd been to a punk rock show. It was only the first time she'd ever smoked pot, and it was only the first time she'd run away from home. She didn't stay in her room this week and not go anywhere because her parents caught her stealing five dollars from her sister's piggy bank. She told them to fuck off because that's what punks do. All of these people told their parents to fuck off a hundred times, at least. This was only her first.
Laura took a step away from the door. Her feet seemed to still be running across the parking lot away from the boys she didn't want to have sex with and didn't want to be doing drugs with. She looked at the walls, lined with hair of all colors and sizes, crowning a sea of black leather and denim. Boots everywhere, mostly combat under rolled denim, but some biker and others even more extreme and taller—hip boots or knee high over black tights. Everything was ripped, torn to shreds and draping against waif bodies that seemed bruised and distorted under the buzz of the conversations being had all around her. People littered the large space in clumps, hanging out and moving and not hanging out and not moving here and there, periodically. It was what she remembered from her first time at the bar on the other side of town where all the punks hung out and got drunk and laughed at everyone who danced and pushed each other around roughly and talked about music and decided who was cool and who wasn't. She wanted to be cool—more than anything in the world. If she couldn't be carried away then she wanted to be cool. These people, chosen by her because of their languid, uncaring detachment to so many things, had to like her. She would do anything for that to happen, even dying her hair pink to make her mother cry; even destroying the worship of her younger sister; even telling her parents to fuck off and running away from home and smoking pot.
"You going to see Zodiac 13?" Jackson asked, puffing out a huge cloud of smoke.
"Umm...I dunno. You guys going?" Laura took the joint from Jackson. She held it between her fingers like she watched them do and put it between her lips. She inhaled a bit and almost choked on the thick, sweet smoke, but managed to hold it in. She passed the joint to Laney.
"Fuck yeah! It's Zodiac 13, dude! We're totally going!"
"Cool," Laura replied, waiting for an invitation to come.
"So you going then?" Jackson asked.
"Yeah, of course," Laura replied.
"Cool," Jackson smiled, "Then you can come with us."
"Cool," Laura said, and took the joint back from Laney.
"It's my turn!" Jackson insisted.
"Sorry," Laura said, handing it to him.
Laura took another step into the gig. From somewhere in the crowd, a hand reached out and grabbed her.
"Hey," Tim said, "What's up?"
Laura didn't know what to do. She stood there and looked around to see what was happening because what she wanted to happen was suddenly stopped by what was suddenly happening, this hand on her arm holding her frozen at the front door.
"Hey! Move!" The skinhead at the door said.
"Huh?" Laura asked.
"I said, 'Hey. You're cute,'" Tim said again.
The skinhead looked at her sternly, "Get the fuck out of the way!" he ordered.
Laura felt the hand on her arm pull her. She let it happen. She didn't know she couldn't. The hand on her arm pulled her off to the side, out of the crowd and away from the door.
"Come here," Tim said as he pulled this girl to him. "What's your name? I'm Gordon," Tim lied.
"Hey," Laura said, "I'm Laura."
"Cool," Tim said, "What's up?"
"Ummm...." Laura began to look as dazed as she was trying not to look. Tim laughed. He was drunk and happy.
"Don't worry," Tim smiled, "It's not a big deal. Want a drink?"
"Sure!" Laura burst.
"What do you want?" Tim asked.
"I'll have a beer," Laura said.
"I'll get you a vodka and orange juice," Tim replied.
"Okay," Laura agreed.
Tim held onto the girl with one arm as he led her through the crowd.
"Where are we going?" Laura asked.
"Just here, baby." Tim replied, "Just right here." They kept moving through the crowd to the back of the bar and out the back door. Laura looked behind her worried. "Don't worry," Tim said, "Gordon's got you." Tim smiled.
"It's cool," Laura said. She wondered what the people in the gig thought of her. She wanted to stop and talk and drink and get high, but Gordon was pulling her.
"Are you with the band?" Laura asked.
"Yeah, kind of. I'm a groupie, I guess, but I know Gacey pretty well. He buys his drugs off me," Tim said.
"Are we going to do more drugs?" Laura asked.
"Yeah," Tim said, "We sure are."
Laura thought of the punks she'd left in the car and the drugs they were doing. "I don't want to do coke," she said.
"Don't worry. We aren't going to do any coke. I've got some dope we can smoke."
"Ok. That's cool. I can smoke some more dope. You have beer, right?" Laura asked.
"Yeah. But I'm going to make you a vodka and orange juice. Remember? You wanted a screwdriver." Tim said.
"Oh yeah," Laura puzzled, "That's right."
Tim smiled at her and slid the van door open. "Here we are," he said.
"Is this yours?" Laura looked at the van. They were behind The Oven in an alley a couple of blocks away. In the distance, she could hear the first band going onstage.
"Yeah. Come on," Tim motioned as he hoisted himself into the vehicle. He turned around and held out his hand. Laura looked around her for a minute unsure. Tim smiled. She shrugged, took his hand, and stepped into the van as Tim slid the door shut behind her.
