Inside My Head

the literary rantings of Angie Frissore

Waking up to us.

My stomach was turning as we turned down Market Street and began scouring the area for parking.  I wasn’t nervous about the show, which surprised me.  I was far more nervous that Micah had insisted on coming along, even if he and Eric were planning on spending the evening at a pool hall down the street.  I couldn’t let him know that Sam happened to be running the sound board for the show.

As luck would have it, we found a spot on the street just outside of the club.  I gathered my camera bag and turned to Micah, who was already having a hard time controlling his jealousy.

“If I get done earlier than expected, I will call you guys and come find you.  Otherwise, make sure you call me before you head back here,” I couldn’t stress that enough and looked Eric dead in the eyes.  He was there to run interference for me.  Keep him busy. I was hoping for some random moment of mental prowess that would allow Eric to hear that thought.

When I was finally able to pry Micah away from me, assuring him that all would go smoothly, I turned toward the club and was instantly lost in the crowd.  I pushed my way through dozens of collegiate hip hop fans and headed for the door.

“Hey, I’m Abby Harris, I’m hear to shoot the show,” I stated to the imposing bleach-blonde, muscle bound punk bouncer.  I’d seen him several times before, but usually while somewhat inebriated.  I gave him Kenny’s card, the sleazy promoter who was organizing the show.  I knew he’d mainly asked me to photograph the show in hopes that he’d have an opportunity to woo me enough to have his way with me.  Instead, I was there the placate him to an extent in order to shoot the opportunity of my still-green photography career: a national act, incredibly well-known, and with established cross-genre respect.  Unlike other acts I’d been able to shoot, this one wasn’t a nostalgic trip down pop culture memory lane…a reunion show, a ‘I wonder if we still have a following’ show.

The blonde man let me in and showed me where to find Kenny.  I was already enjoying the power that went with this line of work as the envious crowd looked on in shock to see me waltz into the place with ease.  I didn’t even like the act…which to me, was the best part.

I found Sleazy Kenny backstage, chatting up two young and stupid-looking college girls.  

“Hey Kenny,” I interrupted.  He turned around and immediately locked gaze on my chest.

“Abby, hi – I’m so glad you could make it,” he muttered, the words oozing sketchily out of his mouth as he undressed me with his eyes.  I pictured myself taking batting practice on his slimy little head with my camera bag.  “I kind of have bad news.”

“How do you ‘kind of’ have bad news?” I asked.  “It’s either bad or it’s not….what’s going on?” I prepared myself for the inevitable truth, the moment in which his master plan was foiled.

“Well, the show is being promoted by Salem tobacco.  I guess these guys’ management doesn’t want any photos…they don’t want any bad PR by being associated with a tobacco company.”

This was the best he could do?

“Call me crazy, Kenny, but I would assume, and this could just be me, that being the promoter, that would have been something you were already aware of, correct?” I asked, calling his bluff.  “I mean, you had to have known that.”

Before I completely lost my temper, I stormed out of the backstage area.  Thankfully, Sleazy Kenny had no idea that Sam and I knew each other (pretty well I might add).  I made my way through a sparse crowd of club workers to the front of house sound board.  I could spot Sam easily, given  his tall and incredibly sexy stature.  No matter how many times I’d seen Sam, there was always that moment of breathlessness when he first caught my eye.
“Abby….” Sam said deeply with a huge smile.  “You look absolutely beautiful.” He wrapped his arms around me and picked me up in a hug.  It had been almost a year since we’d been able to see each other.  He’d been on the road touring and I had been playing Rapunzel in the tall, cold tower of Micah’s jealousy.

Instantly, the disappointment of not getting to shoot the show melted away and I was wrapped up in the opportunity to spend the evening with Sam.  Sam never cared about Micah…he never really cared about anyone, for that matter.  Because of his work, we’d never really get the chance to be an actual couple, per se, but I had no issue with that.  Sam was the only man on earth whose actions when not around me did not phase me.  I didn’t care who he was with, who he saw, who he dated.  When Sam and I were together, nothing else existed.  I was the universe when wrapped in Sam’s arms.

“Well, things are pretty much covered here for now,” Sam informed me.  “Shall we venture outside for a smoke? My van’s right out front.”  I loved his fearlessness.  Here we were, in the middle of Market Street where dozens of pockets of club-goers congregated outside the several venues, and Sam and I were going to smoke a joint in his van, right in the thick of it.  

“So Micah let you out of the cage?” He asked with a sly grin.  Just because Sam wasn’t affected by my relationship status didn’t mean he wasn’t entertained with the drama of it all.  We sat in the van, smoking, and I lamented about the monster which had become my relationship.  

“I just don’t get it,’ Sam stated with a strange air of seriousness.  “You’re not the kind of girl that would let this happen.”

And I wasn’t, at least, I never used to be.  I never let any man exhibit any control over my life, and here I was, almost surrendering to Micah’s control.  He had always been sneaky about it – he was a provider, a nurturer.  Perhaps it was this that prohibited him from truly seeing the effect he had, since I didn’t need a nurturer.  I didn’t need someone to take care of me.  I could do that myself.

I tried to brush off the topic of Micah.  I nestled my head innocently into Sam’s neck and sighed.  Micah was only two doors down the street from us, and yet he may as well have been on the other side of the planet.

“Nothing else exists right now,” I noted to Sam.  “It’s just you, me and this van.  I like this.”

“Maybe that should tell you something, Abby,” Sam whispered, kissing the top of my head.


October 23, 2008 - Posted by | No Messages - Excerpts from the Draft | , ,

1 Comment »

  1. This is my second or third time reading this one. I really like it. Plus it’s fun to try and piece who’s who in the story.

    Comment by Mike | October 25, 2008 | Reply

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