Chasing Shadows (6 page)

“Here, let me get you another one.” Qasim
squeaks.

“Thanks.”

A deep voice booms from over by the
instruments. “Qasim get you’re ass over here and tune up man. Fuck
lets get going!” It’s Sergio who has removed his head phones and
plugged his guitar into an amp.

Qasim hands me the beer without looking at me
and lopes off. From the back he’s less impressive. I can notice how
skinny and awkward he is, when I’m not blinded by that face. Doug
is already seated behind the drum set. I see Fin standing by the
door, holding her coat, and giving me a dirty look. What’s that
about?

She heads over to Francis and me. “Hi.” She
says extending a hand. “I’m Fin, you must be Francis.”

Francis nods. “Nice to meet you. Nice dress,
rubber?”

Fin blushes. “Yeah.”

And now all conversation is annihilated by the
beginnings of a song. It’s fast and rambling, a little angry, a
little depressed, but mostly just loud. Then Qasim begins to sing
and I am embarrassed for him. Not that he’s that bad. He’s actually
better than I would have guessed. It’s just that I’m almost always
embarrassed by people who put themselves out there like that. I
can’t make out the words but his tone is high and clear like a
chandelier, or like a pre-pubescent boy. I wonder if his balls have
dropped. That is before he starts screaming-slash-growling into the
microphone. I take a deep swig and wish it were something stronger
than beer. His face is still lovely, even when contorted with
inappropriate emotion. If there was a mute button, I might actually
enjoy this.

I look over at the couch, and there is Carol,
still sleeping. I watch for a sec to see the rise and fall of her
chest. Yup, she’s alive. I envy her viciously, before I imagine
what messed up dreams she must get during band practice. After a
few more stanzas, there is a drum solo, and Carol curls up her
legs. That leaves an empty space on the couch. I cross the room
quickly to sit there. I’ve gotta get away from the beer fridge or
I’m concerned I’ll drink myself into liking this music. Then who
knows what I’d do? I take off my bag and my coat, setting them on
the floor next to the couch, right on top of Fin’s coat.

Now I’m seated directly in front of Qasim. I
lean back into the low, lumpy couch. Qasim looks at me, then away.
When the drum solo is over, Carol stretches out her legs so that
they are in my lap. I let my legs spread out a little to
accommodate the weight of hers, and I’m so grateful I’m wearing
jeans. Before I know it, they’re on to the second song and Francis
has pulled over the rollie stool for Fin to sit on. Fin elects to
sit on the arm of the couch instead, which means her hair swishes
into my face as she turns to watch Doug beat the living hell out of
those poor, poor drums. Doug’s pretty good really, from what I can
tell. Francis hands me another beer. As I start to drink it, I
begin to see the reasonableness of Doug’s eyebrows, how they add to
his persona.

Francis is gone for a minute. When she comes
back she has a big floor pillow, a cooler full of beer for us, and
a book. She throws the pillow down in front of the couch to my
right. She then proceeds to fold herself up onto it, lean her back
against the couch, and read her book.

This is cozy. With conversation impossible, I
am lost to my own thoughts. It’s nice. For lack of anything better
to do, I watch Qasim’s fingers as he picks out chords on his
guitar. They’re nice too, those fingers. I stifle dirty little
thoughts of where I’d like to put them. And his singing voice is
much easier on the ears than his speaking one. He’s not gorgeous
but he’s definitely
something
.

The band plays on. Every so often they stop and
discuss. Occasionally Doug looks at Fin, and she smiles adoringly
back at him. Their words are lost on me. Francis keeps feeding me
beer. Fin is drinking. Francis is drinking. The guys are too. I go
to that place I go when I’m inebriated where everything is a-ok and
I love everyone. The music is now damn near brilliant. Fortunately,
I am able to keep my mouth shut, so no one knows how shit-faced I
am. I quit counting my beers like six songs ago.

I disentangle myself from the couch of women,
as I’ve come to think of it, because I have to go to the bathroom.
When I get there, everything is familiar. Which means I must’ve
gone at least once before and don’t remember it. The music is
softer in here. It’s like being home in my apartment with the
neighbor playing his stereo. The bathroom is small and painted dark
blue. The toilet is across from an old claw foot tub that is held
up by cinder blocks, so that it’s actually chest height. I can
picture fractured ankles resulting if I tried to climb into it, and
maybe a broken wrist. A bass solo starts, and the groove in the
bathroom is excellent. I realize slowly that I’m staring straight
at a shadow. I must have been for a minute. I’m too drunk to bother
with fear or anger. I wipe and pull up my pants, keeping my eyes on
it. It wavers and undulates, looking more and more real the longer
I stare at it. Its edges shimmer blue. I kneel down to get closer.
It’s located between the tub and the wall.

Bang, bang, bang. Someone’s knocking on the
door. I get up and weave my way over. When I open it, Fin is
standing there with her hands on her green, rubber-coated hips. She
says something, probably not kind by the look on her face, but I
can’t hear her over the band. I smile happily and amble out of the
bathroom back to the couch. As I walk, I notice the feel of my hips
swaying, and I feel extremely sexy. Something in the recesses of my
brain registers this as a potentially dangerous sign, but I slip
right past that feeling and scoop up Carol’s legs to take my place
underneath them. I lean back, closing my eyes, allowing the music
to dictate the direction of the swirling sensation in my head. This
dress itches. Bad sign, my reason screams at me. I open my eyes and
look at Qasim.

“There’s the shadow.” I say out loud, though no
one can hear me. Qasim is singing. His eyes meet mine. The shimmery
blue shadow swirls behind his head, mixing with his shimmery black
hair. I smile at both of them. Qasim stutters his words a little. I
feel warm all over and happy, sooo happy. I wanna buy people
things.

The legs on my lap move, distracting me from my
overpowering good will. Carol is getting up. She nods to me in
greeting. She is so cool, and pretty! Wow I love being here, but
this dress itches. I feel my hands on my legs. They’re scratchy
too! I rub my thighs a little and look at my hands. Sparkles! Hee
hee, I’m smiling and chafing. I need a cigarette bad. I lean over
and reach for my bag. When I flip the flap open I see my clothes.
Oh thank God, my clothes, my own sweet clothes.

Next thing I know, I’ve got my boots off.
Francis is smiling at me. I wave at her. She laughs. I pull out my
clothes and stand up, wobbling. It only takes a second to peel off
the sparkle pants that Fin dressed me in and then I’m sliding into
my own, well worn, soft, easy jeans. Ah... that feels sooo much
better. Now I’ve got that dumb ass dress off. I pull my
long-sleeve, close-fitting, dusty green t-shirt over my head. It’s
the one with the white sleeves, my favorite. I’m adjusting it
across my body, my eyes closed in happy relief, when I realize its
quiet in here.

I look over at the band, then around the room.
“Is practice over?” I ask.

“Nice tattoo.” says Sergio.

“Tattoo?” My voice is all low and
sloppy.

“On you’re back.” He’s smiling at me.
Everyone’s smiling. I like it here.

“Oh that.” I say. “Yeah, I’ve seen that before
in the mirror.” I stoop down and retrieve a cigarette. I sit on the
couch and light it. “Can I smoke in here?”

“Sure, babe.” Sergio says. He is so nice. I
bend over to put my boots back on. I’m just tying the laces when I
register black and pink leggings in my field of vision. I look
up.

“What the fuck?” Fin says.

Why is she so angry? “Angry little Shelving
Fairy Fin.” I say. “There are your clothes.” I point to the messy
pile on the floor. It’s a misnomer I know. Those are not Fin’s
clothes. She's practically the size of howler monkey, I’d never fit
her clothes. They’re a loan from her roommate.

Francis laughs, and so does Carol who is back
now from wherever she went. Carol’s laugh is musical so I tell her
so.

“Well, thank you.” She says.

“Well, you’re welcome.” I reply.

Fin is glaring at me. “You’re drunk.” She says
accusingly.

“Well yeah,” I say. “That’s what beer
does.”

This gets a laugh from everyone in the room.
Everyone except Shelving Fairy, I mean Fin. My gaze sweeps the loft
and lands on Qasim, who is looking at me like I’m the super bowl.
That makes me feel really good.

“You are abnormally pretty for a man.” I tell
him.

“Get that girl another drink.” He
says.

I laugh at his tiny voice, but he doesn’t know
that. This is going so well. I love everyone. Also I feel queasy.
“I need food.” I announce to the room.

Ralph smacks Qasim on the back with the neck of
his bass. “Go get that girl some food.” he says
grinning.

“Yessss!” I hiss lustily. “Cheese sticks with
sauce.”

Qasim disentangles himself from his guitar. “I
guess practice is over.” His voice kills me. I giggle as I stand
up. It seams a feat of Olympic level dexterity, but I do manage to
slide my dirt bike jacket on, and sling my bag over my
head.

Qasim is standing next to me looking sheepish.
I put my hand on his upper arm to reassure him. He shifts to wrap
that arm around my shoulders. I melt at the contact, like I do when
I've been drinking. This is nice.

“What do you want to eat?” He asks.

I just said cheese sticks, I think to myself.
The others are talking, but I can’t concentrate on anything they’re
saying.

“What’ve you got?” I ask, wrapping my arm
around his waist. Its a good fit.

Qasim laughs nervously, running his free hand
through his hair.

Ooo there’s the shadow. “Hi.” I
whisper.

“Hi.” Qasim answers with a grin, as he leads me
to the door. He doesn’t know I wasn’t talking to him. Ha! Better
not tell him. As Qasim opens the door, the shadow takes on a
bird-like shape and flies down the stairwell. I poke my head around
the corner to watch it go. Qasim laughs as he leads me out the
threshold and closes the door behind us.

“It’s just you and me now.” I say.

Qasim smiles. He doesn’t know what I really
mean. “Yeah.” he answers, running his hand over my hair.

“Uh, sorry about that.”

“What?” He squeaks.

It’s getting sort of cute. “The hair. It’s all
stiff, because Fin put this junk in it. She didn’t think I was cool
enough to just come as myself, so she dressed me up like Rainbow
Hooker Bright.”

“She was nervous.” Qasim says.

“Yeah I guess.” I nod. We’re going down the
steps now and I’m grateful for Qasim keeping me upright. My hand
has migrated down to his hip somehow. I bet I could get laid if I
wanted to. This is the type of thought that normally puts the fear
of God in me, but not tonight, thank you Heineken. “Have your balls
dropped?” I ask as we reach the bottom landing.

“What?”

I meet his eyes. They look offended, and maybe
confused. I reach up and grab his face in both my hands. “Sometimes
I say things.” I tell him. “Don’t freak out.”

His skin is sooo nice. I like his lips. His
breath smells like beer and candy. I see him come to some
conclusion. Now he’s leaning down.

My body gets tingly. My nipples get hard. Oh my
God, I think, what the fuck am I doing? Now Qasim's lips are on
mine. His tongue presses into my mouth. We’re making those gross,
mouth noises as he backs me up against the wall. I angle my hips up
to him. He groans. That wasn’t so squeaky. And soon he’s got those
long, long fingers on my hips. His right hand moves down my thigh
and lifts it up. Oh God this feels good. I wrap my leg around him
and he lifts me by my waist, moving his pelvis forward so that my
area rests on his area. I let out a noise that’s something like a
whimper as I run my hands through his hair. It’s silky and soft.
Holy Fuck, what am I doing? His hands are under my shirt on my
abdomen. My jacket feels way too bulky as I press my chest into
him. My messenger bag is in the way of those hands. He’s hard, holy
shit, he’s hard and big, I can feel it through my jeans. I rub up
against him and open my eyes. I see the vomit and piss on the
floor. I notice the fluorescent lights and the cigarette butts.
He’s still all groping hands and slobbery kisses. I pull back which
isn’t very effective as I’m up against the wall.

“Dude.” I say around his tongue.

“Uh.” He goes. His hands squeeze my sides then
my thighs, as he thrusts his hips and his cock into me through our
clothes.

“Not here man.” I say.

Qasim pulls back. “Where?”

I shrug, and stroke his face, giving in to the
moment. I guess I'm going to do this thing. “Your
place?"

He sighs, squeezing my hips and presses his
erection into me again before putting me down. “You’re not gonna
want to.” He squeaks. “I’ll take you there, and on the way we’ll
talk, and you’ll sober up. You won’t want to. It’s my
voice.”