The Time Traveller
14: Acledale 31-03-84
Of course, during the gig, there was the standard high jinx one would expect from a close knit band that was used to living a life on the road. The crowd would sing Happy Birthday, accompanied by a rocking instrumental from the band, bringing on the oversized cake, and a mini food fight began. The gig was extra special because of this, although it did seem largely over orchestrated. Something the Management and the Label would put on. Of course there were plenty of drinks flowing, and the music took a hit - Susie herself particularly lairy. It was part of the process of life on the road.
This gig went down in Woodrowe history. Many bands since have tried to emulate it, but it only ever paled in comparison. Having a front seat view to this and the after party - the people we saw and rubbed shoulders with? I could see Comfy getting a little jealous of the attention Susie was harbouring, but he shouldn't have worried. She always came back to him, as her anchor - her solidity in the sea of the blatant fallacy of fame. And boy, could she drink?
It carried on way into the evening. The more drunk she became, the more others either helped a bit until they’re bored, buried their head in the sand, or claimed they didn’t know what to say or do. I was in desperation. How couldn’t they see it? I think I got a bit confused -
Of course, proceedings inevitably moved to the privacy of the coach, and the poor girl was left alone. I couldn't leave her alone. The rest wanted to do something outrageous - go outside to do something outrageous. It was also Ippy’s Birthday soon, so the others took him out, to muck about. Even for Comfy, the chance to mess around, truly mess around, with Rock Stars was too tempting. But I couldn't leave her. Not like that. So I was left in the coach to babysit Susie.
At first, she was alone on the couch, me on a chair. Then I moved to the couch. She moved to me. She rested her head right in my lap. I was tingling all over. I’m not sure who she thought I was, but she rubbed my leg, snuggled her head in my groin, with such a beautiful smile on her face. She moaned, contented.
She was drunk. Oh, how I hate drunk people.
Yes, she’s flirting with me, and that’s fine. Is it? If only she knew -
Look at her? I want to. I really do, but something inside me stops me - stops remaking a fool of myself, or making a fool of them? I’ve analysed it, sure. But it’s degrees, I suppose. This close to her I could do anything. This close I could take her, rape her, do whatever I want, damn the consequences -
Oh, it’s that thing, that little voice inside my brain. It says, “Look, but don’t touch.” It says, “This is enough, why do you need more?” I hate that voice. I hate that it makes me moral, makes me principled - in a world filled with hedonistic recalcitrants who work on the ideal of the individual to get all they want, they desire - isn’t there a saying, that goes, "Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law”? Aleister Crowley, I believe. Or is that just modern society?
Oh, I always end up pining after the ones who wouldn’t show me the time of day.
Naturally, I must have fallen asleep, because when I awoke, I was alone on the couch and we were just pulling into Kesheard.
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