* * *
John’s eyes darted around the smoky club. There were quite a few people showing up to see this band play—it was hot and slightly cramped as more and more people started to flood in, their loud chatter only dimmed by the cacophony coming from the speakers. Exhaling slightly, John rested his head on his hand, propped up by his elbow on the bar counter.
Catherine had meandered off somewhere earlier by herself, after he reassured her that he just wanted to get something to drink first, and he now wondered if it was plausible for him to sneak back home. She knew that he wasn’t an avid fan of rock and roll. Dismissing that idea with the wave of his hand, he straightened up, taking another sip of the alcohol and feeling it wash down his throat and into the pit of his stomach, where the feeling that he wasn’t meant to be there resided.
Was he always such a black sheep? John scanned the dimly-lit club, looking for a trace anything that could draw him in. The crowd was dancing, and the atmosphere was thick with electricity and excitement as the band played, their instruments clashing in one loud, heavy clamor. Reasons unbeknownst to John, it simply wasn’t his scene.
His eyes swept the boisterous crowd again, hoping he would be able to pick out Catherine so the two of them could leave. He felt a twinge of guilt for wanting to abandon his sister’s plans so early on. It was selfish, he realized, but she would have to come to terms with the fact that this wasn’t his idea of fun sooner or later.
He was met with a pair of startling blue eyes. Blinking twice, John focused in on the person holding his gaze from across the room. She was staring at him curiously from behind a mess of springy, champagne blonde waves. He watched her frown slightly, before an ecstatic grin lit up her face. She gestured enthusiastically at him, her hand waving him over to the throng of people. John smiled politely, and held up his drink as a formal decline to join the crowd.
When he looked back, she was nowhere to be seen. Strange, he thought inwardly. John sipped at his drink, fighting the urge to ask the bartender how many more songs remained in the set. He was yanked backwards abruptly, nearly falling off of the barstool to the ground, but managing to stumble to his feet. Coming to his senses, John looked forward to see that a mane of pale curls leading him into the crowd. He was rendered speechless.
John muttered apologies that he knew would go unheard under the roar of the music as he bumped into people, a small hand guiding him through the crowd. Reaching the center, he felt her drop his hand. He glanced quickly to his left and then to his right, utterly perturbed. Where had she gone?
Moving to the outskirts of the crowd, John kept a watchful eye out for the girl, and Catherine as the band continued to play. The singer belted out lyrics unknown to John, his long hair acting as a canopy his eyes, and the guitarist leapt, hitting a chord mid-air, and driving the crowd insane. John felt those two looked familiar, whereas the lanky bassist and the bearded drummer were unrecognizable.
The band’s set ended soon thereafter with a climactic strum of the guitarist’s axe. The crowd began to cheer wildly, and their applause was thunderous. Weaving his way out through the mob of people, John waited for Catherine by the bar. He felt himself trying to appear nonchalant; he pretended to not know why he was doing so. Perhaps it was just the alcohol speaking. John had always labeled himself as somewhat of a lightweight.
“John?”
Pulled from his inner musings, John directed his attention towards the voice that had just called him: Catherine, who was a couple of feet away. She looked lively, her face flushed from the close confinement of the crowd.
“Hmm?”
“Are you ready to go?”
“Yeah…” he spoke, and with one word, he felt as though he was leaving a world behind, “yeah…let’s go.”