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Wednesday, February 25, 2009

i live to let you shine, two

The cab dropped us off at the nearest motel. It looked pretty decent, and it was only a block away from the venue. At least it wasn’t messy, full of graffiti or anything like that. Since I was the lead singer and pianist of our group, I was usually the one to register or check in at motels or hotels. The guys either didn’t want to speak because they didn’t want to experience another “What did you say?” moment because of their accents, or were just too lazy to speak politely. I walked to the front office while the band hung outside the room. “Excuse me, miss?”

She was busy writing something down, but she had looked up right away. “Can I help you?” She said this fast, and then slow. I think it was because of my accent. Or maybe my looks, who knows which of the two. Maybe even both. Now I’m not trying to boast or be conceited but I can sometimes have this affect on people. However, this rarely happens when I’m in England. There’s something that American girls, I suppose, like about British boys.

“Is there a room I can perhaps check in to?” I asked in my most polite tone. “Um,” she rustled through her papers before answering me, “yes. Room Fourteen should be available by now. The guest should have already headed out, so you may have that room.”
“Thank you. Do you have the key?”
“Yes, I do.” She spun her chair around to the corkboard that had only a few keys hanging. She took the one with the big fourteen on it and handed it over to me with a smile. “Here you go. Enjoy your stay.”
“I will. Thank you.” I said, smiling back at her and heading out to meet the band.

“Dude, what room?” Tristan, our drummer, asked.
“Fourteen.” I said, passing him and heading down the pavement to find room fourteen. It was on the ground level and it wasn’t that hard to find. Fourteen is quite a close number to the office compared to something like thirty-two. The guys followed and within minutes, we found the door with the number fourteen on it. I stuck the key in the door, but Jonah, our bassist, knocked my hand away.
“Maybe it’s open, mate. I think it is, because look,” he pointed to the window with drowsy white curtains hanging, “a girl’s heading out.” Jonah had his thick Australian accent, and never bothered to use his American accent. He hated when people would ask him what he was saying. He thought it was disrespectful and rude, and he also thought that people should clean their ears. By now, I’ve gotten used to it as the rest have gotten used to mine. To be honest, accents aren’t hard to understand.

I waited, standing my ground in front of the door. It didn’t take long until the door swung open away from me and a young, slender girl knocked right into me. She was about ready to fall on her bottom but I caught her from her back just in time. She looked confused, and she had bed hair. She looked like she had just gotten out of bed and didn’t bother to brush or make herself look presentable. Not that she wasn’t pretty, she was. She stood just below my chin and her hair was wavy, ending just past her shoulder blades. She was wearing a floral skirt with a loose shirt, and had a sling bag across her shoulder. She blinked a couple times, but I didn’t wait for her to speak first.

“Sorry to be bugging you at such an early time.” I apologized, feeling bad that I almost knocked her down. I thought that would have been enough to wake her up.

“Oh, um, no. It’s okay. I’m sorry for having bumped into you.” Her low, soft voice said. She seemed dreary and groggy, but her eyes were stationed on me. I could see her taking the time to look where her eye level was – my neck and chest – and then she made her way up to meet contact with my eyes. She stared at them for a while, but I decided to break the short silence.

“I’m guessing you’re heading out now?” I smiled lightly, to avoid any awkwardness, but it only lasted a short half second or so.

“Yeah, that I am. I’m sorry, again.” She almost whispered. I nearly did not hear her, and to be honest, at first I heard something like: “Ha-ham. Sore eye, gun.” But I was smart enough to know that it wasn’t what she had said.

She rushed out of the room quick that I could feel the lightest breeze against my skin when she passed, and I smelled her scent, and she smelled like marijuana, surprisingly. I began to wonder if she had done the drug inside the room.

I watched her walk out, or rather run out and onto the sidewalk. She stopped once she had reached it and looked as if she was panting. I saw her shake her head before she turned around. We met eyes again, but she broke the contact and continued walking quickly along. I continued to stare, watching until a building had covered her figure, and I shrugged lightly to myself. “What an odd girl.”

I walked into the room where my band had already put down their stuff. I placed my guitar down as well and slouched over on the couch. “How many people do you think will be there tomorrow?” I asked the group.

“It’s not a huge venue, Matt.” Adam, our lead guitarist, responded.
“That’s true.” Jonah added.
I thought about it for a second. “So? It’s bigger than our usual venues.”
“I guess that’s true.” Tristan joined.

“So anyway, what about that girl?” Jonah asked me.
“Um,” I looked at him, confused, “what about that girl?”
“Oh nothing, just wondering if anything went on, you know.” He said, shrugging.
I answered sarcastically. “Surely.”

“You know, there’s always one girl you hook up with whenever we play a new show.” Tristan added. “It’s crazy, playboy.”

“Maybe you’re just jealous.” I laughed at him. “Adam does it all the time too. Girls are all over the guy.”

“You know me. You’re all jealous because no girls are running for you guys.” Adam chuckled.
“You wish, Adam.” The whole band replied in unison.

We hung out at the motel room for the rest of the afternoon, planning to head out once it reached dark.

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