blondie
the house lights went up for 30 minutes in between the opener and the main act, but it didn’t take the whole half hour for me to spot you from my vantage point in the mezzanine.
you were below, standing near the back, your eyes obscured by your glasses, your face angular but not sharp. white t-shirt, black crossbody bag, light blond hair, dark blond beard, broad shoulders. alone in a sea of people, all clad in overalls and graphic tees and corduroy and piercings, all conversing with one another. did you really come out here by yourself? surely your best friend is just grabbing another beer, your partner is at the merch table, your brother is running late. surely someone as beautiful as you couldn’t go anywhere alone. i certainly wouldn’t have let you go alone if you’d told me you’d be here tonight.
you don’t look up, your nose pointed down towards your phone. light mode. i won’t hold that against you.
i drove across the golden gate bridge for the first time this afternoon. it was a sight to behold. yet i’m not thinking about the bridge right now. i won’t think about the bridge in the darkness on the hours-long drive home, or in the darkness on my way to sleep. i won’t think about any of the sights i saw today, except your mess of golden hair.
did you travel as far to be here as i did? it doesn't matter, we’re never going to cross paths again. but if you are local, at least i’d know where to look for you, should i be desperate enough to try.
the house lights go down again. the countless forms below begin to blend into one another, bodies overlapping in the darkness, but there’s just enough ambient light to catch your beautiful blond hair. it pulls just enough contrast between your light shirt and dark bag, and the faint glint of your glasses give away the movement of your head.
up on stage, the saxophonist is keeping the beat by pivoting his knees in a walking motion, despite his feet remaining firmly planted on the ground. it’s what i drove all the way out here to see. it’s charming. do you find it charming? are you enjoying the set? they’re playing the new stuff, do you know the words? what’s your favorite song of theirs? what’s you favorite song at all? would you want to get coffee some time and discuss it? the man at the front door called me “sir” when he gave me my 21+ wristband, would you object to having coffee with a sir?
the saxophonist has pivoted to playing a flute in the time my eyes were averted. how long have they been resting in your hair? he’s wiping the back of his neck with a towel, is it hot in here? i don’t feel hot. do you, blondie? it was 75 degrees in san francisco today, but i still wore a jacket. what do you look like in a jacket?
did your date finally join you by your side in the darkness? are they as beautiful as you? you dip your head, is it to bring your ear closer to their mouth? what are they saying to you? are you smiling? are your eyes smiling? or perhaps you are just tired. perhaps this show started as late past your bedtime as it did past mine. we can both sleep in tomorrow. suddenly, i have the urge to check your pulse by pressing my nose to the side of your neck.
the saxophonist is keeping the beat with his hips now, swaying precisely from left to right. the guitarist pulls a new pick from her knee high sock. the glow of a joint passes a few heads in front of you like a firefly. have you ever seen a firefly in person? i haven’t. there are lots of things i haven’t seen. i haven’t seen your eyes behind your thick glasses. are they light too?
the house lights go up. you’re still alone. you start towards the exit before most people have started to move. a practical move to get out in front of the crowd. you’re smart blondie, and somehow that just makes your golden hair even more beautiful. no doubt you’ll be long gone before i even make it to the stairs. from the mezzanine, i wish you a silent goodbye as i crane my neck to catch what i presume is my very last glimpse of you.
when i spill out with the crowd into the night air, you’re unchaining your bike from a lamp post. local. you’ve dawned a thin, fluorescent yellow windbreaker, no doubt compactly tucked into your crossbody bag just moments before. you’re used to cycling in the city at night. you’re smiling as you lift your head to share a remark with the man standing at the bus stop. you’re eyes are light, your smile reaches them. i catch what i know is my very last glimpse of you. i understand now how someone could leave their heart in san francisco.