ONE Monday morning at around nine, Johnny Dom popped his head into my room and stopped by for his usual morning fare. He loved to stop by before he went to class to say hello to Victoria and just to see if I was going to brave the rapids and head to class for once. We both had class at ten (I think, cannot be sure of that one), and we would spend the hour or so beforehand drinking coffee, smoking cigarettes, and discussing both whom I was hooking up with besides Victoria for the week and whether or not I would be attending class that morning.

     This morning was a Monday morning, which meant it was usually a safe bet that Victoria would be in the bed given that it was, well, Monday morning. Victoria loved spending Sunday night at my place as sort of a wind down of the weekend. We would drink and blast concerts and hold small parties for all those who wanted to stop by. It was a special night of sorts as it was the only night that I was not sure to be found in bars. It was strictly a stay in and drink free beer night, and it was the one night of the week that I truly loved Victoria.

     I may have said that I never loved Victoria, but on Sunday nights I certainly did. She always showed up at my place at around five o’clock and we would start drinking and welcoming guests. Each guest would take a piece of paper and jot down which concert they wanted to hear that night, and we would put each one in a hat and pick it out after we were buzzing at around nine o’clock. The concert selection was wide, as I had taped Phish over sixty times, Strangefolk over fifty times, String Cheese Incident and moe. over forty, and a host of other up and coming jambands over the years.

     After the selection was said and done, we would all settle down in random seats and begin listening. Everyone would light a cigarette and simply listen for the first set of the concert, muttering ‘yesses’ and ‘oh’s’ and ‘that’s rights’ and so forth at peaks and crescendos to show their approval. At this point it was all about the music, the beers, and the people’s faces around you. You had to notice what your neighbor was digging, and they noticed what their neighbor was thinking and appreciating.

     The crowd was normally between ten and twenty in number – sometimes larger – and we all sat in silence during the first set. Whoever showed up was welcome, and the events became famous as my social standing recovered in that my final semester at the University. Still, it was rare when more than twenty ever showed up.

     As the first set ended, set break ensued, and we took a half an hour to collect our thoughts and quietly reflect over the first set; the break also included shots of Jaeger, cigarettes, and heavy beer drinking. After about a half an hour, the second set would begin, and things would get considerably louder. Normally for the second set of the live show, dancing would ensue, as would loud talking and commentary, which was still usually reserved for discussion about the music at hand.

     By the time the encore came around, the small concert crowd would inevitably be drained and would spend their last bit of energy enjoying the final song. After the pseudo-concert, some people would string out – they were already strung out – and the rest would smoke cigarettes, talk tirelessly, and await the sun to come up while listening to softer music, usually a jazz standard of some sort from the late forties or early fifties. Before long there would be no one left save Victoria and myself, and I would fall asleep with her in my arms, my apartment trashed yet in prime condition, and tired Matthew Sweet music playing while we awaited Johnny Dom to awake us the following morning at nine o’clock.

     The difference on this Monday morning that I now speak of was drastic, for the night before had been a drastically different night. Johnny did not attend the concert the night before, which was rare, but his assumptions were obviously led astray when he entered on this Monday morning. Undoubtedly, he was assuming that Victoria would be in my bed, as she always was on Monday mornings after the concerts. He could never know who would be in my bed on other mornings when he stopped by, but on Mondays he was always sure of who was naked and voluptuous next to me underneath my covers, for it was a given. But, as I say, he was not there on this Sunday night.

     Somehow, a Phish show from the summer of ’98 in Hamburg, Germany was selected, and that may have been the start of all the trouble. Actually, for me there was no trouble in sight, only more fun, for trouble and bitter attitudes to me meant high pleasure. But let us get down to it, what Johnny would have seen had he attended the show that night, would have been something along the lines of the following:

     Victoria showed up early, as was the usual, with extra beer and cigarettes (and even a little Harry) for all. She then began to set up my attic loft as I sat and reread James’ Daisy Miller. As I quoted to her with exclamation brilliant lines from James’ masterpiece, she simply went about being the perfect host. She set everything up as if fifty people were going to show up, even though this event was never planned and we never knew if anyone else save our own bodies would show up. Sometimes I very nearly forgot to show up, and probably would not have were it not for the promise of a loud concert right there in my apartment that everyone would keenly listen to. But Victoria would always be there to set everything up, giving her all for a cause I believed in but she only half-heartedly believed in. She did this solely because she saw herself in the mirror and repeatedly convinced herself that she was indeed in love with me, even if I did not stand for her, and truly could not stand her.

     At about seven-thirty, the concert wannabes began to show up, and there arrived a good crowd of twenty or so hippies and preppies. Whatever the reason, possibly a ballet box stuffing of some sort, the Phish show from Hamburg won the concert raffle, and I happily obliged with a punctual start to the show at nine o’clock.

     My behavior on that night could be described as slightly unfortunate for some, but highly fortunate for me. As Victoria continued to host the gallant concert by passing out beers and keeping everyone well fed with drinks, I found myself listening and grooving with a young University co-ed that just happened to sit next to me in my favorite listening spot.

     The girl was absolutely gorgeous, stunning from first glance. She sat down next to me and I was stricken immediately by her laziness and relaxed demeanor. I had never seen her before, yet she seemed so comfortable climbing into my attic and studying the show just because the show was there and why should she not hear it? She may have come with one of the other people there, but she did not seem to care or even notice as she just listened. It was as if it were her own concert and her own scene, almost as if she were alone in Hamburg with the four members of Phish playing solely for her benefit.

     To be sure, this was the level of comfort that I had striven for when I started the Sunday night concert series, but her ease with the situation exceeded even the closest of my friends. Which may have been why from the first I had fallen completely in love with her aura, if not with her heart. What was more, as I watched her ears and eyes contemplate the concert, it seemed as if Phish could have been playing this Hamburg show solely for her. That would have made complete sense given the feeling her halo-surrounded face arose in me as I too listened to and enjoyed the show.

     To say that Victoria did not notice would be an understatement, as she was too busy enjoying the show on her own, filling everyone’s beer, and smiling at my pale face. At set break, I was so overwhelmed by the playing of Phish and by the view of the mystery girl that I had to step outside and smoke a cigarette on my own. I went out onto the fire escape and lit myself a cigarette and looked onto the Easton scene.

     There were people walking to and fro with silent looks on their faces and looks of despair and loneliness as if they were only walking because someone told them to walk and they really did not understand where they were going or where they had been. They were seemingly only walking to walk, to get to some preordained place that was set out for them in stone and they were unwilling to break their own tombstones so they simply walked. And they walked forever, back and forth in front of my apartment they walked. They were forced to walk, just as they were forced to say hello emptily to their supposed friends that walked by them in the night on the way to or from - somewhere. Where they went I just could not figure out –

     Interruptions are the greatest part of life, for they allow us to stop the insane drivel that our minds fall off into and save us from hellish sanity.

     "Did you need another cigarette?" A voice whipped into my neck from four inches behind me. The mystery girl had appeared in my presence, really exactly next to me. I whipped around and smelled her for the first time, if only by accident. She smelled not of perfume or cologne, but of a wonderful and natural beauty. It was the smell of vanilla earth, of pure naturalness and reality that rarely exists in girls in the present era. I smiled a broad smile that would shock any other girl that stood so close to my lips and loins.

     "Well…?" She smiled mockingly and repeated her question. "Do you need another cigarette?"

     I arose from my traumatically serene shock and raised my cigarette to her. "No, I have one." I smiled widely at my own wittiness, even though I had not made a witty reply, in her presence I thought it to be somewhat humorous and intelligent. Though in these situations of complete awe my intelligence level always dropped nearly fifty percent, bringing it down to damn near zero.

     She seemed prepared for this response, and increased her smile. "Right, I can see that, but do you want a menthol?"

     How did she know I loved menthols so? I had a thing for menthols, but only smoked them every once in awhile because I had heard they were twice as bad for your health as regular cigarettes. Honestly, I always believed it was all bullshit, but someone told me the fiber glass in the menthol filters fire holes right through your fucking lungs, so I could not bring myself to buy packs of the shit (though I could buy two packs a day of regular blacken and tar your lungs Camel Lights). At this point, I figured I could really use a menthol, as it would make about as much sense as the rest of the night, or no sense at all.

     "Um, yeah, can I get a menthol?" I flicked my half-smoked cigarette off the fire escape and awaited my prophetic menthol cigarette.

     "Of course you can, Trafton, open up." She put the menthol cigarette in my mouth for me, such a sweet girl, and put one in her own mouth as well. I lit us both up and looked at her for a moment. Her eyes looked at mine and mine at hers for about thirty seconds as we blew smoke into the air. I was shocked and pleased by her unfaltering stare; she was searching for the same thing I was searching for, though both of us had no idea what that was. She seemed to have that same confused look in her eyes, and when they met mine, the confused look found happiness in the confusion of my own vision.

     I was also surprised to know she actually knew my name. "So you know my name, but what’s yours?"

     "You mean you’ve never seen me around here at the University?" She was at least mildly shocked.

     I could not tell a lie. "No, um, I don’t think so?"

     "Well, Trafton, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Gabby." Gabby extended her hand towards mine and I shook it dutifully.

     "Nice to meet you too Gabby." I took a drag of my cigarette and held my ground inches away from her as we smoked and smoked and smoked. "So where do you know me from?"

     "Everyone knows you Trafton, you just refuse to know everyone else."

     "That’s not true."

     "Sure it is, but that’s ok." Gabby glanced back inside and admired the scene that had amassed inside. The usual set break activities were taking place; everything was falling into shape. "I really like what you have going on here."

     "Really? Thanks." My sarcasm was made up of the sarcastic sort of sarcasm.

     "No, really. We need more of this kind of thing here at the University. This is so laid back, so…rare." Gabby’s lips were inches from mine as she said these words, and she so lovingly looked into my eyes that I had to be out of my skull with bewildering thoughts and desires. I could not understand a proclaimed mystery girl in my apartment for my scene just loving the serenity and loving the host. I took the last drag of the menthol and looked at Gabby squarely, actually the whole fucking time I was looking at and examining Gabby squarely, but I was awaiting her final word. "So when does the second set start? I want to hear ‘Jesus Left Chicago.’"

     "It starts whenever I want to start it." I took command and pretended to be the boss, even though Victoria basically ran these parties and hosted her ass off and made me love her and made me want her incredibly and want to be next to her. Still, no one can predict the sort of situations that the Gabby’s of this world can create, and emcees meant nothing to me in the fire pit of heaven created by Gabby, where I was living at that moment.

     Gabby turned away from me, and without looking back, proclaimed: "If you want another menthol later, come to me…or just come to me…" She then walked back inside from me and left me to myself, God I hate it when people leave me to think to myself, though that is the one thing in life that keeps me on the edge of tears and sweat and love, thinking to myself, which is really bleeding to myself.

     Back inside, the concert quickly started again. I spoke to Victoria for a brief second, but she had to return to her duties as my slave, so I remember little of what she said – nor did I care at the time or even now what she said. This is not evil, this is simply my reality explaining to myself that Victoria was there for a reason, and that Gabby was there for a reason as well. And, with Phish, there could be two thousand some odd reasons as to why everyone was somewhere, and inevitably, why I was nowhere.

     The second set began as a romp, with loud music becoming even louder, albeit with my strong aid. As I have already explained, the second set included much more thunder and response, or call and response, on the part of the crowd. Most milled around and enjoyed the music to their own liking, no longer holding back with first set jitters and unwritten silence ordinance laws. But Gabby and I held our ground and sat in our original seats; we simply looked each other over so as to see where the attraction was coming from.

     I cannot honestly explain where her attraction for me came from, for I am a gawky geek with no body, no build, and no looks to my credit. But I can describe the attraction I had for Gabby: she of the long brown (light) hair and full large breasts complemented by strong yet tender thighs indeed small calves and poignant yet delicate face all dark complexion filled with yonder yearnings of someone you wish you could have but now – now she was sitting next to me digging the same music digging me digging us all digging my own soul which for so long I had so much trouble digging at all as what was digging in the first place fuck digging I wanted to end up loving and I could love this girl I could dig this girl even if I was fucking digging she could be the one and I had only met her during the first set and now we were into the second set and then I knew that I had known her for long enough so I asked her for a menthol:

     "Gabby?"

     Gabby awoke from her trance, which was half connected to me and half-connected to the surreal and beautiful music. "What? What’s up wonderful?"

     I could not believe this manner of speech, not so soon anyway, not from some one other than my own damn self, anyway, but I continued nonetheless. "Can I bum another menthol?"

     "Of course, OF COURSE!" Gabby raised up screaming ‘of course’ and no one noticed for everyone was digging Phish’s ‘Wolfman’s Brother’ (why even dig anything anymore…). She then grabbed her menthol cigarettes and handed me one and grabbed one for herself. "Light me, dear Trafton."

     It was at this moment, at least I think it was at this moment, that Victoria had enough of a lull in her hosting duties to catch wind of the good (too good) vibes that were flowing between Gabby and I. She heard the words ‘dear Trafton,’ and looked over at me with a horrifyingly subtle look of disdain and desperate worry. She knew she could do nothing, so I lit the cigarette, and ignored the look I had never seen.

     Then started ‘Jesus Left Chicago,’ the old blues tune that gave Trey and Phish great reason to jam and gave most of the crowd in my attic reason to move their disjointed legs slowly. Victoria forgot her fears, and continued to enjoy herself, and Gabby and I began dancing slowly inches from each other while we smoked our mint menthol flavored cigarettes. The inches seemed like miles as we were careful to not even brush up against each other, for that would represent touching and maybe even having us fall deeply into each other’s arms before we could do anything to stop ourselves; we did not want to stop ourselves, and this added to the intense emotions as each second that we did not touch was like a sonic moment of electricity. The tension built so fast that the excitement of Phish was becoming second fiddle to the reality of the temporary and deadly wonderful attraction between Gabby and I. We danced paralyzed, attempting to only look at each other through blindness, for if we opened our eyes we would have been together instantly. But the jam extended itself –

     The barriers of reality were lowered gradually as the Phish jam went on. A drunken truce was realized, and both Gabby and I saw our minds into our hands, and our hands were holding together, holding steady. When I first felt Gabby’s hand, it was not strange, it was as if four years at the University had gone by without me touching her hand, and now the years of draught had been ended. It was as if my life had been completed by her soft and slightly sweaty hands. Both hands were together held blatantly and in a moment my lips were upon her cheek, then back again. Back again, I smiled off-handedly and she returned the grin and placed her chin on my shoulder, to which in response I kissed as gently as man can possibly kiss her ear, which may be the greatest ear in existence, as it received my kiss without a sound. She then raised her skull towards the sky and kissed my temple and laid back only to smile at me to which I could only smile an even greater smile and kiss the slight crevice just about the spot where her dimple meets the sun and then I was only a slight second away from her ridiculous lips – time out: see this was nothing like Victoria, who kissed me without thinking for the first time, without build-up, without thought, this was passion-pleasure, if I could have kissed Gabby at that moment it would have been kissing the fruit of the devil, and I would have been the angel kissing the devil, for there is no way an angel can look that good without being a devil, and that is what Gabby obviously was, and that is the only reason that I might have loved her from the get-go – time in: my lips treading face delicately on her dimples, back and forth from one side of the face to the other, our lips teasingly trimming as I pass back and forth across the face as smoothly as I can, hampered not at all by any movement I pull away. I pull away basically because I do not want a split second kiss; I hate split second kisses. Split second kisses usually end up in the vault somewhere behind your worst kiss ever, and they lead to nothing, so I chose the tease as the prequel to the kiss that was obviously coming. Or was it?

     There was still a throng of people surrounding us. Even though most of them were wasted and not noticing our close and fortunate attitude towards each other, Gabby and I were still holding back somewhat due to internal and surrounding factors. One fact is that Victoria was running my place -

     Wait - as soon as Gabby and I recognized our surroundings and saw the danger in any intimate dealings, we noticed the fact that there was no reason to be tentative, as we were at a virtual concert, and there was no one to stop us. Fuck it!

     I kissed Gabby on her right dimple, I kissed Gabby on her left dimple, she pulled away with a big grin on her face as we put our arms around each other, we released each other for a second then pulled ourselves together again, arms fully surrounding ourselves and each other, arms sending out the arms of the world to our own damn selves, Gabby’s arms pulling my waist taught to hers, my arms pulling her plump hind towards my bony material, and we were then eye to eye - mind to mind - soul to soul - Gabby to Trafton - Gabby to me.

     I was kissing her everywhere on her face besides her inviting and wanting lips. I could not resist anymore, but I was too late. Gabby pulled me even closer than inches would allow and looked me squarely in the eyes. Her eyes smiled at mine and she pressed her lips against mine for a moment of serenity not imagined by woeful infinity, wish infinity could last forever, wish my kiss with Gabby could have lasted forever, it did not. The crowd was dancing and all of a sudden it seemed like a real concert to me; there were people surrounding me, and I knew most of them, but I did not care because my lips were one with the strangest and most becoming of all girls I had ever seen at the University. We kissed forever. We kissed like there was no chance we would ever kiss again because it was not known whether we would kiss again – I hoped against hope that the answer to this unknown question was yes.

     The night between the two of us was spent kissing and loving and hugging and simply being together being as one or two needs to be joined at the hands and lips and heads and we were just that – and did anyone else even notice – answer is a quiet but quite positive yes, they all noticed, and eventually Victoria noticed. Near the end of the concert, Victoria grabbed me forcefully from Gabby’s clutches and pulled me to the side of the apartment and demanded an explanation. I had none. All I could say was that there were never any promises made, there were never any vows exchanged, and for that reason I was going after Gabby without any holding back inside my heart, which, by the way, loves to hold back, though only in the pretend world.

     Somehow, I did not feel bad when Victoria saw what she considered her boyfriend to be kissing the lips of another woman right in her presence. I felt I had been abundantly clear in my rationalization of all things to come between us. I had continuously stressed that there was nothing serious between us, and that the only seriousness I saw was a serious and working friendship. We hung out together all the time, and we shared each other’s company brilliantly. We were a perfect pair, which is why it possibly seemed so unnatural to me. It was all so easy, and I did not feel right about it at all.

     Still, due to my disinterest and inability to make any concrete decisions concerning relationships (my past), I let Victoria do what she wanted to do. In essence, she ran the relationship I never even wanted to be involved with in the first place. Unfortunately, that meant she convinced herself, despite my actions and warnings, and despite what she heard about me behind my back, that the two of us would be long term and serious – what a joke. In a way it was sad; Victoria had little interest in anything she did in her life, but she was interested in me; she was interested in something different.

     Victoria left without saying a word. She did not appear angry, only dazed. She undoubtedly had heard stories of my infidelity in the past, but had glossed them over by lying to herself as she had never witnessed it first hand. Furthermore, she did not really care if she did not have to see it, for this was a superficial relationship that she was creating on her own. But on this night she was dazed, for she saw it. All the others followed her out earlier than what had become the usual, as they saw that I was preoccupied and unable to speak or pay attention to anyone other than my new soul mate. An hour after Phish stopped playing, only Gabby and I were left remaining in the apartment.

     I kissed Gabby after Victoria left, and I kissed Gabby after all the others left. We lied in my bed and talked for as many hours as we possibly could before finally dozing off. We talked and loved and I was amazed as to how perfect for each other we were at that very moment. The comfort level was unreal; Gabby was unreal, a phantom beauty created by some foul-mouthed God who would eventually look down and laugh at how mightily he tricked me. I was tricked immediately, lying star-struck by her bright hazel eyes and mid-back length brown hair. Her beauty was stunning, but more importantly it was so very fitting.

     More than any other girl I could remember knowing (I have a terrible memory), she was solidly there with me, I could feel her body, feel her breasts, feel her solid waist, and it did not seem far away. It seemed to be an extension of me, right there and ready to touch, ready to love though I had never met or seen her before. She was perfect for me because there were never any questions between us, there was only understanding through touching of the soul and of delicate fingertips. We talked through silent emotion, and we never stopped until we slept silently in each other’s minds. We walked a poppy mine field that night, and we certainly were blown up as we dreamed inside of the other’s mind hoping, wanting some sort of solidarity, or at least a semblance of continuity, so we did not have one night and out on our stained resumes together.

     The sleep I had that Sunday night was more serene than any sleep I had in years. I had won the game the night before without even playing a game. There was no game playing, a rarity, there was simply an unspoken understanding that Gabby and I had to be together – so we would be and so we were.

     I awoke in the middle of the night and looked over expecting to find Victoria and to realize I had been induced in another one of those wonderful dreams. I thought the whole Gabby incident to be so firmly based in reality that it had to be a dream. She seemed so real that it must have been false. And before I even looked to check who the girl next to me was (this is a normal occurrence), I was sure that I wanted to live forever in the randomness of my dream world. At least that world is a happy world.

     Johnny Dom knew none of these developments when he stopped by on the aforementioned Monday morning. He fully expected a naked Victoria to be in my bed, and was looking forward to hearing about the concert from the night before. When he walked in I was thinking about getting up and making the coffee, but since I did not have a clock in the attic, I had no idea whether or not it was time to get up. So when I saw Johnny walk in, I figured it was time to make the coffee, that it was time to get up. I would allow Gabby to sleep – she too was enjoying her dream.