Harmony and Havoc (Tales From a Former Wanna-be Rockstar)
Harmony and Havoc
I’m driving😍talk soon!
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I’m driving😍talk soon!

Flash fiction from an Ariel Gore School for Wayward Writers weekly prompt
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I’m driving😍talk soon!

The Drink

Her body ought to have sensed the danger, but the drink had that numbed. Her mind was in control, she was sure. 

The road curved away from her then straightened again in a surprising turn of events. Some kind of dad rock, Dire Straits maybe, rolled out of speakers in some other car, or perhaps it was her own. The headlights swept into the green-black woods, catching the yellow reflection of animal eyes.

Another curve appeared, but she continued straight. How long had she gazed into the eyes of the beast? The tires squealed and she rocked hard right and then hard left, bucked against the lock of her seat belt, and then right again. The car did not turn over.

There was a stop sign coming up, she was sure. 

Was there a hairpin first or the stop sign and then the hairpin? She closed her eyes to try to remember and the car slowed drastically, waking her from a temporary nap at the wheel. She woke further, slamming on the brakes. She had found the stop sign. 

From her right, a fox crossed impassively, ignoring the stop sign on her road. Foxes never wag their tails, she thought. All nature was indifferent. 

Earlier in the evening she had made a choice. She would stop drinking at 11pm and have three hours before closing time to sober up. But Buzzard, unaware of her vow, had brought her favorite drink to the table. One more wouldn’t hurt. Anyway, she could sleep on his couch - his place was only a few blocks away. Walking distance. 

Sexting

She had received a text from Dale, the sexting flirtation she had been engaging in for a week, from Tinder. 

Are you out?

He had texted

Out of my mind! ;)

She texted back

Then somehow he was there and they were making absurd promises based on their prior interactions, over text. He was sort of funny in person, but too serious in his delivery. Not the dry humor she adored. More like joking on the square. Unnerving, to be honest. 

He was talking to her but Mishka was also telling one of their best jokes. The sexter dude got angry.

I am speaking right now!

He said.

She just looked at him and gestured to the ceiling, the speakers, the chaos. She smiled. She put him at ease, ignoring the silent alarms blaring in her mind. The trip wire, tripped, and vibrating like electric shock. But against the liquor, it was just a loose, far-away filament. Easy to ignore.

He had his fingers around her arm over her elbow and leaned in for a hard kiss. Too hard.

I bet you’ve never been kissed like that in a bar!

He said.

She didn’t answer. This was not true. She had been kissed in dozens of bars, and would be in a dozen more before her 30th birthday, she hoped. 

She raised her eyebrows and shook her head, not meaning to confirm his point, but doing so.

Being kissed in bars was one of life’s great adventures. It was an excellent way to vet candidates for adventurous overnights. Kisses said so much about a person. His kiss didn’t crack her top twenty. It was a cruel, hungry, insensitive kiss. 

Somehow, it was 1:45 am and there was no denying she was drunk. She told him she needed to go to the bathroom and went looking for Buzzard. He was headed for the door with a woman in a hot red tank top, matching red silk short-shorts, and a headband with red horns holding her black hair from a sharp face. She had candy apple red lipstick on. He waved dismissively, winked, and rushed out the door. 

She went into the bathroom and sat on the toilet until some drunk woman pounded on the stall door. When she came out of the bathroom he was there. The fear kicked in and she nearly turned around and went right back into the ladies’. She should have.

You about ready to go, hotness?

He said.

She was, but where would she go? Was there a Motel 6 within walking distance? It was an hour back up the mountain to home. They poured onto East Colfax with the rest of the misfits who had just to stay until closing time. Across the street, there was a line of used bookstores and she had a short fantasy of sneaking in somehow, falling asleep between the stacks, and being found the next morning by a kindly book buyer holding an extra latte.

I guess we go to my place.

He said.

He was looking down at her, triumphantly. She noticed her response time was lagging and considering that fact wasn’t helping with a comeback. The entire gloss of sex and romance that had banged around in her DM’s all week was now worn all the way off. This man was an unattractive hick, a control freak with a bad mustache, and his shirt was tucked in to boot. Plus, that kiss.

Things were bad.

I’ve got to get home.

She said.

She smiled brightly and tried to give him a hug.

Mistake.

He held on and began to rub himself against her, with his hands pressed between her shoulder blades. He was dirty dancing with a mannequin. She was stock still. Unresponsive. 

It went on for a long time and he was not getting it. Her mind lulled. He kept it up. The bar was nearly empty and she saw from her view over his bony shoulder that they would soon be alone on the street.

Hey!

She spoke, pushing him back.

That’s enough of that!

She giggled, to avoid potential anger. But he did not look happy.

My car is over there.

He said.

I’m going home now.

She said.

You can’t drive right now.

He said.

Let me help.

He said.

I’ll be fine.

She said.

She began to walk away from him and he had her by the arm, just above her elbow again. Forcefully. His fingers dug into her skin and he jerked her back toward him.

Fuck!

She said.

Someone turned around at the street corner and she locked eyes with him. He walked away.

I’m going HOME now.

She said. She smiled into his eyes and peeled his fingers off her arm.

Good luck with that, bitch.

He said.

Don’t call me to bail your drunk ass out of jail. Last call. You could still come with me and get railed just right.

He said.

She began to walk fast, away from him. 

An Uber drove slowly past and she tried to flag it down like a yellow taxi. But of course, that wasn’t how it worked. That was from the movies in an age long passed. She didn’t want to turn around and see where he was, but she had to. 

He was gone. 

This made her turn around and around in a circle, wondering if he was hidden now in some doorway, waiting to see where she parked. She put her key in her fist between her middle and fourth finger on her right hand and dug in her purse for her pepper spray with her left. She found it and turned the corner down a street with a dark apartment and tree-shrouded street lights. She was on the wrong fucking block!

***

Obviously she had found her car, eventually. Since she was now at a stop sign at 8,200 feet elevation, on a dirt road, on the mountain. She gripped the steering wheel and listened to her own breathing. She dozed and then woke up when her head hit the window next to her face. She turned up the dad rock radio station and got a fuzzy rendition of Gold Dust Woman, barely reaching her from Denver. 

A coyote went past, on the same line as the fox. No tail wagging. Casual and mangy.

She rolled the windows down and sang along as loud as she could, focusing every ounce of attention she had on staying awake, the pale dirt edges of the road in her brights.

She got home, killed the engine, and pulled out her phone.  She’d been getting text messages, but her phone had answered them all automatically.

You don’t know what you are missing

I’m driving😍talk soon!

I bet you think you are better than me

I’m driving😍talk soon!

Bithces like you  make me sic

I’m driving😍talk soon!

It would have been so easy. It’s fucking magic when I go offYou can’t believe the motherfucking magic

I’m driving😍talk soon!

Fucking tinder. Such bullshit.anotherlyingtindrbitch leadinme on

I’m driving😍talk soon!

Her phone kept dinging until she was in the house, door locked, gulping water and gathering the dogs around her in bed. She blocked his text messages, deleted her Tinder profile, slept.

Woke up to a zombie headache.

Buzzard called and apologized, while also bragging about what a night he had with the devil woman. 

Wanna go to Racine’s for brunch?

He said. 

Hair of the dog! And Todd will be there with this guy Timothy he met last night, apparently he is beyond ripped. Come flirt with us! My devil woman is bartending.

Ok.

She said.

See you in an hour.

In the mirror, she made promises bound to be kept one day, far away.

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Harmony and Havoc (Tales From a Former Wanna-be Rockstar)
Harmony and Havoc
The chaotic blend of creativity and personal drama that fuels the life of a musician and writer. Each episode captures the raw emotions, the unscripted outbursts, and the meticulous artistry and the general mess behind the music and words. "Harmony and Havoc" offers listeners a front-row seat to the passionate, often messy, reality of making art that moves and resonates.