Why?

Why?

By: Chris Fox

Transcribed from: “Why?" by The England Ram-a-Band

Off of the album: The England Ram-a-Band.

It ended together.

It was that sort of place where you go and see musicians play. They were playing indeed. I didn't know what kind of music, or who it was. But there I was, lurking around the merch desk - more of a table with purchasable goods strewn about - gandering at the band doing whatever they were doing. It was entertaining, whatever it was, hypnotic really. They would cry, "Why?" as if it was some sort of protest song, which it certainly wasn't. Then the choir of drunkards doting about the room would respond, "Why!" Less a question more an answer. It was apparently some inside joke I wasn't aware of, or wasn't drunk enough to understand the concept of. Whichever.

It was that sort of place where you go to drink alcohol. They were drinking indeed. The patrons of this bar - less a bar, more an Italian restaurant on the south side of town - were milling about wildly like ants in a hill someone's disturbed. It was entertaining, whatever it was, hypnotic really. Socializing seemed to be an artform, which it certainly isn't. They would cry, "WHY?!" when the band begged of them, and "HEY" when their friends beckoned them. It was apparently some trade secret I wasn't aware of, or didn't have enough friends to understand the concept of. Whichever.

I tried to come with friends, honestly, I had. But this isn't one of those type of shows; a bring your friends to see the awesome band sort of shows. Even though it is. Everyone else brought their friends; that's who they're drinking with, and HEY!ing with, and WHY?!ing with. But I brought nobody. Partially because my friends tend to be busy. Busy partying, or drinking, or loving with others elsewhere. Partially because I can't really claim to have that many friends to begin with; plenty of acquaintances, sure. But they are only acquaintances; they can't claim to know the first thing about me; they're just people I spend time with now and again. And partially because I didn't want to invite anyone. This is one of my favourite bands, and I love them. Thus, I like to keep them a secret from the world. Call that squandering good talent, if you will. But I find a certain aesthetic pleasure in keeping bands close to my heart, and away from the viral eyes and ears of others. I don't like it when my music is spread across the world so ungratefully, and so rudely. I like only the best of the best of my fellow music listeners picking up on the music I enjoy. But that is me, and this is just a big party, after all.

Just a bit party. Just a big get together. Just a big fête, it's all it was. It's what I expected, and I lived up to the expectations. I went alone. I expected to be alone. And I was. Standing about by the aforementioned merch booth, I took in the happenings all around me. I loved to be around strangers. There's a certain fascination in being surrounded by people you don't know whatsoever; a certain fascination in being surrounded by people who stare at you, pondering your existence as you stand alone, atypical, drinkless, friendless, alone.

I was drinkless, and I was friendless, and I was alone, and atypical. Then again, you already know how I began this story.

He wore a shirt that made him look like a carpenter. But his pants juxtaposed this, as they fit him so well, showing off his slender form. He walked in and he caught my attention immediately. I admit that I was quite attracted at first glance, but I've been taught first glances are not to be trusted. I looked away. I felt him looking at me. It was a burning sensation on the left side of my chest, as if his magic gaze was magnetically pulling my heart to the left side of my ribcage. I sat down in an empty chair on my side of the room, as if that would help (it didn't). He looked uncomfortable, his gentle eyes drifting around the room, as if searching for an old friend. He seemed to notice no one. Instinctively, he pressed his back to the wall directly next to the front doors, making very sure not to bump into the gumdrop machine he leaned against. He acted cool. He acted as if he belonged, as if he was meant to be there all along, as if he were waiting for someone - as if that person was on their way, and simply hadn't arrived yet. He stood there so calm and naturally, and I fell in love with that. But I'm a wallflower as well. I know that move; I'm well practiced in that language. I saw through this boy's façade, and love him more for it.

He looked uncomfortable, like I would've. He moved. He went to the nearby table, entranced by the same band as I was. He sat down, pretending, again to wait; he occupied his social anxieties by eating from the assorted salad provided on the table. He kept glancing at me. He noticed me. Every time his gaze turned to me, my heart beat like a bass drum, and rolled like a timpani roll against my soft chest when he quickly, embarrassingly averted his gaze toward the aforementioned hypnotic band. I couldn't help glancing myself. He's one of those strangers, the sort you meet in random circumstances like this. They're just there, and they're gorgeous, and you can't take your eyes off them, even when all you want to do is keep staring. Their style, their mood, their expressions, their gazing. It's all addicting! You want it, but feel like it's a faux pas. Like everyone in the room notices the secrets of shyness between you and this mysteriously intriguing soul, even though, in truth, all of these thoughts float ambiguously out of the public mindset.

He disappeared. I was thinking, and he disappeared. I looked over his way, but it's as if he no longer existed. Some cool cat - who I think belonged to an important local band I had seen elsewhere - was walking near me. That cool cat distracted me. In my distraction, like a phantom, this mysterious entity of a boy vanished into nothingness. Then without warning, he fathomed into existence next to me. He pulled a chair next to mine, and sat down. I stared bewildered, of course. He smiled, supposedly at my bewilderness, as far as I could tell.

"Hey."

"Hi." If my heart were dynamite, it was at the end of its fuse, and ready to explode. It was.

"Do you like them? I can't say that I've ever heard these folks before." He pointed to them. I didn't look at them; I simply stared into his eyes.

"They're... nice..." I shyly replied.

"Hypnotic."

"That's exactly what I said..." I sounded like a buffoon, but he was too pretty of a boy and I was too hypnotized to notice.

"But you're alone, right?"

I nodded my head, only to maintain my sense of logic. "Just alone enough. I find going to concerts like this, by myself, refreshing and liberating." This was a lie.

"I'm glad you came." I agreed with him. This was a truth. "I saw you first, as soon as I stepped in."

I nodded.

"Honestly..." The band stopped playing, and the person dj'ing put on some unappealing rap music. "It wouldn't have been the same thing had you not joined the festivities."

I smiled.

"I don't like going to shows alone..." I admitted.

"Neither do I," he replied, flirtatiously taking my hand. "Why do you think I started talking to you?"

"Because I'm just some pretty girl?"

"You are a pretty girl," he replied, eliciting another smile by myself. "And I wouldn't accept your beauty any other way."

It started alone. It ended together.