A Simple Story Fourth Verse (standard:romance, 4097 words) [5/5] show all parts
Author: sickboy	Added: Oct 22 2002	Views/Reads: 2328/2257	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
2 hearts crossed, one was taken...

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

on for me to simply care about the people around me, it was absurd, not 
to mention extremely annoying and unrealistically irritating. 

“Kay, that's just you.” I told Jacque. 

“You just have this crazy, save-the-world-thing going on all the time
about how people should treat each other. Remember when we first met 
and I cut myself cooking you your ‘welcoming dinner'? You totally 
freaked out and was treating me and helping me like you had a major 
crush on me or something. You totally freak people out and I think you 
totally freak yourself out. Don't worry about it, or her, it's what 
makes you you, though be careful ‘cause not everyone understands you. 
Hell, I don't sometimes. It will pass, before you know it you won't 
even remember how she looks like.” 

I suppose you can only see your own reality clearly through the eyes of
bystanders, and in my case, that piece of mind Jacque gave me turned 
out quite true. I didn't meet or see you anywhere for next 3 months, 
not at the station, nor at Lynn's. I asked about you casually once, 
Lynn said you'd gone back since that Saturday morning and I never 
bothered to asked again, after all, more of it would only make her 
curious and besides, I'd imagine it'd be pretty awkward for me to 
enquire too much. At any rate, my own life caught up with me and I was 
busy living it. With college assignments piling up and visits to Lynn's 
and other classmates' becoming more and more frequent, my memory of you 
faded, replaced by constant, spontaneous and continuous brain activity 
about concepts and ideas and designs. But it seemed that sometimes, 
some things just came back to you when you least expected them to, and 
for the most universal reasons... It was approaching the final weeks of 
my college semester and the deadlines for the “grand” final assignments 
were knocking at my door every time I turned on my computer. But it was 
Saturday evening, and it wasn't just any Saturday evening, it was the 
evening of Tone Wars 3, the 3rd annual free gig event featuring local 
underground bands with the potential of shooting themselves to 
superstardom, okay, local superstardom at least. Last year's gig was a 
total blast, I practically screamed my lungs out to the music and had 
my specs crushed somewhere during jumping up and landing on my back. 
Seeing as how I was an “avid advocate” of the local underground music 
scene (surprising isn't it?), it was obvious that this was not an 
evening I was going to waste by staring at a computer screen generating 
half-boiled designs. 

I couldn't bother to ask Jacque, from the sound of it he was having an
incredible moment behind his bedroom door with a thin cardboard sign 
hung on the doorknob saying “DO NOT DISTURB unless it's a fire”. 
Couldn't bother to ask Lynn either, anything with the word “local” in 
its description never strike any interest with her. So I left my house, 
went through the usual horrifying hassle of public transport and 
arrived at Mills at 1730 hours, half an hour before the gig started. 
The idea was pretty much simple: if it's a free gig, always be there at 
least half an hour early or the place will be way packed and there was 
no way of getting any good spots, plus it's a great time to check out 
the chicks ‘cause most girls who attended free gigs arrived early. So 
there I was, sucking Coke, puffing smoke and enjoying the sceneries 
until the grand opening. 

“Wassup People! How y'all doing?!” 

The emcee's voice broke the evening, signifying that the party had
begun. By now the opened-air car park was completely packed, filled 
from corner to corner with the rush, energy and anticipation, ready to 
scorch the place clear of its usual silence and replace it with 
over-the-top adrenaline fueled by the power of music. 

“Are you READY?! It's TONE... WARS... 3!!” 

And the crowd exploded, with every ounce of anticipation fueled, and
every pulse poised to roar. I was standing right in front of the stage, 
separated only by the iron-barred fence set up about a metre away from 
it and was ready as ever to be flown away. The evening sun was setting 
behind us, the breeze was fine and the hurricane was about to rage from 
the car park. 

“The first band to perform this fine evening has probably the most
unreal track record ever: only 3 months old and they've already won 3 
band tournaments. Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, give it up for 
MINDLESS... MUSINGS!” 

As the hyped applause cheered on, a guy with shoulder-length hair
stepped on to the stage, followed by 2 girls with guitars and another 
guy with shades and drum sticks. The girl holding the bass was wearing 
a white sleeveless T-shirt and a pair of paddle-pusher jeans with short 
hair dyed in dark blue and spiked up. None of them had any visible 
make-up on, well, at least not from this distance. The guy briefly 
introduced the band and the first track they were going to perform and 
went to the keyboard already standing at the left corner of the stage, 
then, finally, the music started. Once again the cheers and applause 
lauded in waves, lasting less than 3 seconds, then the music took over. 
The stage went smoldering: the vocals sang, empowering the floor with a 
voice that touched and roared and echoed through every ear, elevating 
every pulse; the guitars' strings jolted, blowing senses far and away 
with tones and riffs and rhythm, resonating every note; and the drums 
exploded, ruling every beat of the music and every beat of every heart. 
Not a soul was left in silence, all taken away on a journey of pure 
uncompromising music, all thoughts were irrelevant, all worries were 
oblivion... all except one. 

No doubt, I was just as taken away by the music as anyone else, but I
was also taken away by something else, or rather, someone else. The 
girl was playing as if making music was but a second nature by the 
finger tips, slapping the thick strings on the bass and filling every 
last space of silence, accompanying the rest of the band. As the song 
went into her solo, she looked up and scanned the crowd briefly. She 
was about to get back to her guitar when she stopped for a brief 
moment, and her huge, alluring brown eyes met mine. They widened a 
little, as if in utter surprise, trying to affirm that what she saw was 
in fact real, and then, a brief smile appeared, as though an 
acknowledgement, shining through the music... 

“Of all places.” 

“Yeah, I know. I'm surprised you could recognize me.” 

“Some people never forget faces.” 

“I'm er... pretty impressed and surprised.” 

“Of what?” 

“Well, of the guitar and the hairdo.” 

The rest of the evening was nonetheless electrifying. New and “veteran”
musicians continue to rage with their masterpieces, elevating every 
beat and every note and every pulse. The crowd must had jumped and 
danced; screamed and shouted; cheered and applauded through every hour 
of the evening, enjoying the beat and rush and hype, bestowed by the 
onslaught of great music that was the very symbol of youth 
rebelliousness and originality. However, I wasn't there frolicking with 
the crowd, shouting my lungs out and breaking glasses. Instead, I was 
actually having an 8-buck ice-blended cappuccino inside a café in Mills 
with... you. I took the liberty of sneaking to the back stage and the 
next thing I knew, the free-gig-evening turned into a pseudo date with 
the attractive and talented poet-wannabe I had almost forgotten since 
the last 3 months. 

“So... how's it been?” 

“Okay, I guess. How've you been? Though I imagine you feel as weird as I
do having this conversation right now asking how each other's doing.” 

“Yeah, I do.” 

Why? It was pretty obvious wasn't it? Last we left and last I checked we
were still mere strangers, at best mere acquaintances and here we were 
talking like a couple of long lost friends. 

“So how are you doing?” 

You laughed. I didn't think I've seen that the last time, I didn't think
I've seen anything more beautiful either. 

“I'm going over to Lynn's later, you wanna come?” 

“Why not? Considering how I can't just leave someone so attractive
unescorted.” 

“You hitting on me?” 

“I said you're attractive, I never said I'm hitting.” 

You laughed again. 

“I'm trying too hard again, aren't I?” 

“A little. (Smiling) It's er... my birthday actually.” 

“No shit?” 

“Yeah. I was thinking of a tiny, 2 girls night out thing, seeing as how
my sister's in Sydney and my boyfriend, well, we all know what happened 
to that now, don't we?” 

Of course I did, well, in a rough sense. It was the beginning of my
confusion with myself... 

“Can I ask you something really stupid?” 

“You can, ‘may you' is the question.” 

This time we both laughed. This was beginning to get a little... out of
hand. It was almost fictional and disturbing in a way I failed to 
explain, the thing about us... reminiscing. 

“What?” You asked, holding back the laugher. 

“Erm... you're not a er... lesbian now are you? 

“NO, for GOD'S sakes. (Laughing) What the hell are you talking about?” 

“Well, the hairdo and the guitar and all.” 

“It's just so typically guy of you isn't it? Just because an Asian girl
plays in a band and has overly funky hairdo would automatically make 
her a lesbian.” 

“Well...” 

“The hair is for the gig, and for my birthday, and for my personal
celebration.” 

“The gig I dig, personal celebration?” 

“You ever had ideas about some crazy stuff you just wanna do? Some
things that are just far from being... typical? The kind of stuff that 
would turn heads and make people say ‘why' or ‘what the hell are you 
doing?'. 

“Yeah, I guess.” 

“Ever follow through?” 

“Not exactly.” 

“Why not?” 

“Don't know; guess I don't want people to think that I'm crazy?” 

“You see, there you go. Why is it that the way others perceive us as
play such a big part in who we are?” 

“'Cause that's how the world works.” 

“That's right, that's why it feels so great. The idea that you've
finally done it, you've gotten over the common, sub-conscious notion 
that another person's view governs who you are; the idea that right 
now, you're doing this for yourself, ‘cause you like it, ‘cause you 
want to do it and to hell with what anyone else thinks, it's not about 
them, it's about you.” 

“Personal celebration.” 

“Exactly.” 

Was that the quintessence of being young and being you? Uncompromising,
refusal to conform, living up only to the expectations set by yourself, 
ungoverned and uncontrolled. All of it was clearly defined with you: 
your blue, spiked up short hair, your unlabeled, perhaps brand-less 
outfit, the strip of duct tape in the middle of your sleeveless 
stretching all the way down from the round-neck collar, the magic you 
performed with the bass guitar that looked at least as large as your 
body size. But was it that true, the notion of completely escaping the 
scrutiny and the looks and the criticism of others? It's actually 
pretty impossible, isn't it? I mean, even if one truly felt that way 
after doing something that was completely out of the ordinary, it would 
still be a mere illusion, wouldn't it? A lie to yourself that for that 
moment, though temporary, you're better that this, you're better than 
everyone else, you're different, but at the end of it, it's just an 
illusion. Yet, as self-deceptions go, why should one pass on it? After 
all, it's the simple lies and illusions we give ourselves that in the 
end, satisfy us the most. If given a chance, who wouldn't? 

“How come you didn't want to watch the concert? I mean, you did open
it.” 

You shook your head. 

“I've seen those guys play at least a hundred times. Too much of a good
thing makes it bad. At least for the night, I choose not to be a 
sheep.” 

“A sheep? So what, you're saying I'm a sheep?” 

“Yeah, you are. Technically speaking you were but yeah, you are.” 

We spent at least 3 hours arguing about the notion of being a sheep,
among other things. The funny thing was that we didn't really come 
around to talking about ourselves, where were we from, how many 
siblings did we have and all that crap. 3 hours and we still didn't 
really “get-to-know-each-other”. Instead our subjects revolved around 
stuff normally not ventured by children our age. 

“I think Poe's a little too edgy for his time.” 

“Hey, all great men are ahead of their time, poet or not. That's why
they're famous after they die.” 

... 

“What is the one thing that always sets emotions in motion?” 

“Enlighten me.” 

“Tragedy.” 

“What?” 

“Tragedy. Shakespeare, war, Goya, the list goes on.” 

“That is so not true, what about comedy? Or so-called love?” 

“No, no, nothing beats tragedy. See? You said so-called love.” 

... 

“You know we've never really left the age of colonization? In fact it's
worst now than it was 500 years ago.” “The ‘onslaught' of media.” 

“Right. Wait, did you read that article too?” 

Was that healthy? I didn't know, but I guess I did enjoy the
stimulation. 3 hours of a 2-person-forum and we just talked and 
expressed and exchanged countless ideas, it was like we didn't need a 
platform for introduction at all, like a couple of actors reciting 
their designated script with the designated expressions, only this was 
far from a play, no scripts, no lines, just plain, spontaneous 
communication. And as the minutes proceeded I couldn't help it but to 
find you increasingly interesting, those brown eyes almost lighting up 
every time we agreed on something, your sudden enthusiasm when we fall 
into a debate, the unique perceptions you seemed to have for almost 
anything... Lynn was right one thing, the part about us being “kinda 
alike”: the both of us had this unbelievable connection when we talked, 
like whatever you've seen, I've seen too; whatever I've read, you've 
read too; whatever I'd say, you'd say too... 

Finally we had to leave when Lynn's rushing phone calls to you were
getting a little too frequent. I supposed we had gotten beyond out of 
hand and the sudden “closeness” between us was getting freakier by the 
minute. I didn't understand one bit of it, your... friendliness, 
weren't you supposed to be Ice-queen from the freezing realms of 
Cool-Chicks-Ville? 

“Well, isn't this a small world?” 

As she walked down from the stairs, it was another version of Lynn we
saw, a version that I had almost forgotten she was capable of, 
considering the fact that time hadn't been an asset for us to be 
getting hip with. A tight fitting, black spaghetti-strapped dress and 
high-heel shoes, the pair that at one time I had to play cobbler and 
glued one of the heels back on. I supposed I had to admit that it was 
the versatility of Lynn that made her such a wanted personality. For 
the past 3 months, there were at least 3 other guys that were after 
her, one was even our classmate. No, it wasn't me. Lynn hardly 
attracted me in any way, she was far too predictable and in many ways, 
too typical. 

“You look over the top, Miss Birthday Girl. What the hell happened?” 

“Just having fun, now shut up and get in.” 

“Hold on a sec, Jo's coming with us.” 

We went to Zephyr, a club half way across the city; you drove, still
kind of wondering whether it was really your car we were in when we 
were still at the car park... 

“You're sure?” 

“Would you just get in?” 

It was another of version of “being and playing young”, another version
of what it means to be hip. College students, young adults, yuppies, 
all gathered under the lights, the sounds, the beat for the ultimate 
psychedelic experience. As the deejay scratched-on on his stand 
elevated about a storey above the dance floor, every silhouette hung-on 
to the edge of the music, moving to it as it thumps, swaying with it as 
it swings. Wall to wall there was nothing but pure heat and pure 
freedom, ignorant of the world outside, enthralled and confined by only 
the spell-binding excitement forged again by the one human creation 
that was designed to move souls: music. 

As we made our way through the moving crowd towards our table in the far
left corner of the premise, I could taste the exuberance in the air. 
This was of course, not the first time I visited a club and as always, 
I was ready enough to embrace the flawless enthrallment of the night. 

“To birthdays and friendships!!” 

Lynn called, or rather, shouted for a toast through the thumping music
in the air and all of us held up our glasses of Tequila in favour of 
it, shouting a hearty “Happy Birthday” to you. Perhaps it wasn't meant 
to be so but I never agreed that dance clubs were a place for one to 
socialize, so I had my share of the alcohol you bought but as Jo 
beckoned me to the dance floor, I was more than happy to follow suit, 
leaving you and Lynn still drinking and shouting at each others' ears 
at the table. 

Perhaps you were right about me being a sheep, for at the moment my feet
were on the floor, I dived senselessly into the music, moving as the 
bodies around me moved, following every beat as it beckoned, answering 
every rhythm as it flowed through my impulses. I could hardly detect 
the minutes or the seconds as I danced, neither the presence of the 
changing, dancing individuals around me. As the feeling of sweet 
perspiration crawled down from my forehead, I felt a pat on my 
shoulder. 

“Hey!” it was you. 

“You're here, FINALLY!” 

I took a quick look around me, still moving my body. 

“Where's Lynn?!” 

“She's at the table! Don't feel like coming down!” 

“Where's Jo?!” 

“She met a friend! Won't be joining us!” 

As I danced like it was a physical impulse to my body, I couldn't stop
stealing looks at you now mere centimeters away from me. You moved with 
an almost fictional hip, a touch of energy that sublimed almost every 
individual around us, portraying a sense of untouchable, untamable 
wildness that barred anything from matching your exuberant psyche, 
allowing nothing but the music to be your only follower. And then I 
thought about something you said... 

“Thought you said you don't want to be a sheep!” 

“Who said I am?” 

And at that instant, you jumped onto the podium standing about 2 feet
away from us, right at the second when a new track began, Rockefeller 
Shank, Fat Boy Slim. The crowd exploded in a loud applause, to the 
music? Or to you? 

“Ladies and Gentlemen!” The deejay's voice suddenly echoed above the
music, “Here's the birthday girl of the night and a personal friend of 
mine, Miss Tang Sue Ann!!” 

A spotlight suddenly flashed onto the podium and illuminated almost
every inch of you. Every head was turned, every eye was focused, and 
everyone was stunned to attention of you, and the crowd lauded their 
cheers louder than ever. You flashed a smile, shining through the 
limelight and continued your dancing, as if completely disregarding 
this sudden burst of fame. If it weren't for your outfit and your 
hairdo, this would've almost been a scene from Moulin Rouge. 

It took a few seconds before the spotlight went off and the crowd
returned to their own personal pleasures, but you stayed on the podium 
and went on dancing. It was like the world around you mattered none, 
nor the looks nor the attention nor the obvious separation between you 
and the common herd, nothing but the undying, unconquerable spirit that 
was perhaps your very birth right. And at a time, I thought you like a 
young vampire from the novel Rulers of Darkness (maybe Queen of the 
Damned would be a better metaphor?), unique and different yet lay 
almost undetected among the herd, seizing every chance of hypnotizing 
the world with your surplus beauty without even noticing yourself, or 
the circumstantial attention that followed... 

“KAY!!” 

A voice came suddenly from behind me, waking me from my growing
admiration for your performance. It was Jo, waving behind a guy dancing 
in a track suit, a with-held franticness laid in her voice. 

“GET LYNN!!” 

-to be continued-


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