Drive(19)

“Just a suggestion. Hey, you’re twenty!” She perked up. “What’s eating at you?”

I turned with a sigh as she sat on my sister’s bed while I stalled in the bathroom doorway, ready for a shower to wash away the image of Reid’s face.

“I need this so bad. I need music, Lexi. I need to be with you, here. Let’s hit the thrift store first, get some dinner, and find a show, any show.”

“Okay, I’m your girl.”

“I know you are,” I said on a sigh as I quickly rushed to her and gave her another hug.

“That bad?”

“It’s not fun. I feel like I’m in limbo here. Let me shower.”

Lexi nodded as I shut the door. Not a minute later, I heard the rumble.

“Hey, did you know your sister has a huge vibrator in her panty drawer?”

It was my first laugh of the day. I smiled. I was twenty.





We are Young

fun./Janelle Monae



Moaning. And more moaning. And it came from me. My head hammering, I pulled my face from the couch cushion in a mess of drool and mascara. The apartment was dark aside from the faint light of the streetlamp that streamed through a dual set of blinds. I knew I hadn’t been home long. I shifted on the couch while what was left of my alcohol drenched brain screamed in protest. I raised my pounding head to see black boots on the carpet. Letting my eyes drift up, I cringed when I saw the steady stare of dark emerald eyes fixed on me. Reid sat in my sister’s recliner, a beer in his hand, his cast laying on the arm. The air conditioner kicked on, and I welcomed the stream of cold that swaddled my heated skin. It was only then that I realized my skirt was hiked up to my waist. My black, lace-covered ass was on full display due to the discarded blanket I’d kicked off. I sat up in a fog, the pound increasing as the blood circulated.

“Lexi?” I croaked.

Reid lifted his chin toward the TV, where Lexi lay immobile on the carpet next to the wooden stand. I let out a relieved whoosh of air and then looked at the clock on the DVD player—4:30 a.m. Pressing my brows together, I scrutinized Reid. “What are you doing—” Before I could get the rest of the sentence out, it came back in one gigantic play-by-play.



Eight hours earlier.



“Now this is what I’m talking about!” I declared to Lexi, who hustled down the bustling sidewalk next to me. Though I’d marched up and down Dirty 6th numerous times since I’d arrived in Austin, it was mostly to find a job, and it wasn’t the same without my partner in crime. Lexi had a similar amount of respect and enthusiasm for music as I did. Though she was mainly rock and roll, and I had a more eclectic palate. I didn’t discriminate, not in the least, and it was becoming harder to be biased due to the amount of new artists that had emerged in the last few years who made it impossible for any music genre to rule. It was no longer the time of decade-ruled music like ’70s disco and ’80s hair bands. And the blast of heavy metal through one open door of a bar on the crowded street followed by the steady bass of hip-hop a few steps later confirmed it. It was a free for all, far from the old days of dialing a radio station to vote for your favorite song and see who placed first on the countdown.

The diversity on the strip was much the same. It was one giant concrete party of young and old, green and gray. And for the first time since I arrived in Austin, I felt like I was a part of it. Electricity thrummed through me as I looked at the neon-lit row of buildings and passed large phone poles littered with advertisements. Lexi’s smile was a mile wide as she glanced over at me with the same resolve.

This was home. We both felt it.

“I will have us a place soon. I swear it.”

“This is so happening,” she agreed as we stomped down the concrete, taking in the sights and sounds surrounding us.

An older man with charcoal-colored skin and a set of ancient brass drums beat them in rapid succession to the side of us near a fenced off part of the street. He had messy dreads and oversized fists as he held his sticks and pounded away. Lexi and I both stopped for the show, along with a few others, while he sat half a foot from the ground on a worn-out stool and did his best to impress the audience. He won us all over easily as he hit his stride and then ended on a cymbal tirade. Lexi dropped him a five and we carried on, arm in arm down the street, where we were both sure we would be the first to see the next Jack White or Chris Martin before they played in front of filled stadiums. That was the best part of being on the path in which I was about to embark. There was no shortage of talent, and there were so many undiscovered artists losing a piece of themselves daily for any sort of recognition.

“This is where it starts, Lex,” I announced before she yanked my arm and pulled me into a line. We waited for a hand stamp before pushing through a small line. After getting through the door as Juanita Sanchez and Meadow Townsend, we were free to consume. A duet of guitarists strummed on a small stage to the left of us as a burly bartender eyed our hands before silently demanding our orders.

“Two shots of real liquor and a beer each,” Lexi demanded. “Nothing foo-foo.” The bartender peered down at Lexi with mild amusement. “Something to put a little hair on our chests, bartender’s choice.” He walked away with a slight head nod and Lexi’s offered money in his hands.

I looked over to her as she surveyed the small bar I still didn’t know the name of as the crowd went wild for one of the most famous guitar openings in history.