The Performance

It feels good. It feels real, real good. I cannot begin to explain the rush I’m feeling right now. Nothing else has ever come close to this feeling, right now. Well, a few things have. And just as a note, those are the things you don’t share with your mother.

Just to say simply, I’m with Amy. She’s sitting in the front seat of my ambling vehicle and we are headed to a party of a friend of mine. So in simple terms, this is a date.

We’ve been hanging out a few times in the past two weeks and while her boyband/T-word tendencies have been as evident as ever, I have tried to ignore them. And I am truly proud of my efforts to do so.

So there was the one time she almost pounced her computer when I walked in "unannounced," as she called it. She knew I was coming, apparently I had to knock and then wait for a "come in" or for the butler to allow my entrance.

She attacked the monitor of her computer setup and I later found out it was to hide the evidence. You ask what that was? Well, it seems she was searching the Internet, finding out their tour dates, as they were simply rumors. Yet to be released.

It’s times like those that I pity her, her parents, her friends, and most notably myself. I can’t help it, but the girl makes me laugh like no one’s business and smile like there’s no tomorrow. That and somehow she makes me admit to stupid things like I just did.

Back to the present…the ever-happy present. I walk around the side, all gentlemanlike, but she’s already got the door open. She flashes me a sheepish look, as if she just realized what I was trying to do. Pardon me, but my mother taught me manners. In fact she beat them into me. Glad she did thought because right now, I think I just won brownie points with Amy.

She drags a hand through her blonde hair, sweeping it away and calls out, "You ready?"

I simply stare at her. Of course I’m ready. I’ve been ready for this party for about two months now. My man’s big 2-1! My closest friend from home and he’s turning the big fat drunk age. Who isn’t ready?

She turns to me, perhaps wondering why that cheesey smile is present. I carefully grab at her hand, which she willingly accepts. God, this feels so good. Especially to walk into the party house, hand in hand.

I feel her squeeze at my hand quickly and then I look over to her. "Wha?" I wonder aloud.

With a smirk, "Nothing," and she continues to walk through the hallway with me trailing behind.

In instants I groan and realize what that stupid smirk was. God damn. Okay, so I said I tried to accept her "problem." I admit to that, but really. Sometimes this just gets out of hand. What is blaring out of the stereo? Some slow remix of that song she caught me singing just two weeks ago when we went out to eat. God, this is retarded.

Sometime later, I find myself along side a few drinking buddies, who are still hunting down their 21^st birthday. I gotta tell ya, it feels great right now knowing I’m legal. Especially along these youngin’s. After some time, I realize Amy’s been gone for a bit and I go out to seach for her.

She’s at the stairwell seated on her ass not even holding a drink. What the hell is that?! We’re at a party, free drinks and dancing. And what does she do? Sit on her bony bum and talk to someone. I stand before them, "Hey," with that suave voice. Or at least what I call suave and others call lame.

Looking up she’s got a plain smile on her face. Besides that, her face looks void of anything. With a stagger—most obvious of the alcohol—I step closer, "What’s wrong?"

"A lil’ dizzy," she smirks.

With a nod, I reach out for her hand, "Let’s head outside for some air." She willingly obliges and follows me outside, still clutching at my hand. "I’m really glad you came tonight," I seemed to slur.

She had a goofy-assed grin on her lips, so I’m assuming her hazy state allowed that to be open for fair interpretation. "I’m glad you invited me."

And here it was folks, a few more people came walking out from the house. We had this lil’ moment all to ourselves that was quickly ruined. One of the brunettes who spilled from the doorway starts yelping about some song that I can barely hear. "Didn’t they play this already?"

Amy’s ears seemed to perk up, "Yeah, but I love this!"

I turn to face her and the two girls begin what one could consider a battle. They began chanting something, I wasn’t sure what in my induced state.

But I heard the words, "Hello," and "Where are you," in a real whiny voice.

Then Amy busts up with this string of words that would normally make my head spin, but somehow, I understood it all. She was singing that song. The Call, as one other guy had announced through his laughter. The brunette got lost. Either on the words themselves, or on the nausea she seemed to have as she clutched at her stomach. Amy then took it all on herself. She continued onto each and every word, apparently mastering ever inflection of the voices. She even spoke out the telephone conversations.

The crowd around us laughed their asses off while I simply stared in shock that she had that in her. The memory, first off, she was showing during her drunkenness was surprising. And then the audacity to sing this song out at what could be considered the top of her lungs, it just blew my mind.

At the end, everyone clapped and screamed their appreciation for the performance. They seemed to drift away, back to the house and I simply stared at her. It was like they came out here just to bring this from her, only to return back to whatever it was they had been doing previously.

In a moment of surprise to both her and myself, "Will you go out with me for real?"

She gave off a laugh, "Like this is fake?"

With confusion, "Is it?"

And in moments her lips were on mine. And they felt great!