Holidays Pt. 1

It's New Year's Eve. I'm at a party where I've been filling in at bass with some band I barely know. It's been a great gig so far, I'm drunk and high but it's before the dark years.
I'm enjoying myself.

I'm outside as the world lurches from December into January, year following increasingly blurry year; the sharp winter air feels good on my face, the smoke, noise, drink and assorted dopes have made me feel a little blended and winded. Blent.
I look up and see twin moons until I close one eye.
Whew.

Better sit down a bit, we still have a second set to play. The drummer and guitarist were well-rehearsed; the guitarist would call out the chords of the song , the drummer would click four and away we'd go. Great crowd, great gig, great party, great jams.


I'm getting my stars back in focus when I feel someone playfully punch my arm.

"Hey! Hellloooo..."

It's the curly-haired brunette I was eying as we played...I had said hello to her earlier but that was about it.We had to play before we could say much else but I had been watching her watching me.
Her nose was too large, her hair was a little unkempt, she didn't wear any make up and her wool sweater was practical but not sexy.
I was hooked at first sight.
I tell her I'm happy to see she tracked me down.

"You were great. I thought John played bass for them but they sound better with you."

"Thanks." I explained that I was just filling in but I had this other band and she should come see us...somewhere along the line I salvaged enough decorum to introduce myself by name.

"I'm Agape", she said.

"Damn. I was hoping for Eros."

"No, I mean that's my name. Agape."

"Of course it is." And it is.

Agape is half-Danish half-Texan and has the strangest, most compelling accent I have ever heard. She tells me about her recent stint in the Peace Corps and how strange it is to be back in the world of excess.
As she speaks, I can see the rounded bubbles of her words floating towards me and I delicately inhale each one, rolling it to and fro in my own mouth and releasing it back to her...soon we are speaking as one , breathing in unison.
We share a breath that seems like hours and during that breath something was exchanged, an unspoken need was filled. Something was found.

The second set was a blast and I made sure I had Agape's number before we packed up.

It would be the last time I enjoyed New Years Eve.

--------

It's July 4th and it's raining. Agape and I have been visiting friends of hers outside of town and we decide to stop at a local pub on the way home and have a couple drinks.

"Oooh, let's step outside and smoke one of those joints Dave gave us."

"Cool."

I thought she meant to smoke in her car, but instead she wanted to climb up the hill behind the bar and see if anyone was firing rockets. I grabbed an umbrella.

The rain had largely drizzled out by then, but it felt good to huddle together under the umbrella sharing a joint and watching the fairly steady stream of consumer-grade fireworks streak and fizz upwards from the city below.

BAM! BAM!

Agape presses against me, she knows the difference between the report of a firecracker and that of a handgun. This is a handgun and it is close.

On the path a dozen or so yards below us a young black gangbanger is firing a pistol into the air. Six shots into the wet sky. Seven?
Agape tells me she wishes she brought a steel umbrella.

The kid looks up and sees us just as I'm hitting on the joint. We stare at each other. I hand the joint to Agape and ask her to hold it. She is trembling and drops it on the wet stones.

The kid stashes the gun in a jacket that's far too bulky for a summer night. He walks directly across and up the hill to us. I take a quick inventory... twenty bucks, a debit card, a few joints. Not much to get shot over.

"What's up?"

"C'n I hit that, man?" He pinches his fingers near his lips in the universal "toke" gesture.

"Oh. Hell, yeah." I light a fresh joint, the adrenaline settling a bit. The kid introduces himself.
His name is Life.
Life, meet Agape.
Life apologizes, says he's sorry if he scared us, but it's the 4th of July. He informs us that "half the niggers in the 'hood be shooting cos' the cops don't come" on the 4th. It's like New Year's, he says.
Sure enough , there's quite a few gunshots mixed in with the bottle rockets. Life says he likes to shoot down here because the bullets land in the river. I doubt the accuracy of this ballistic assumption but I don't voice this opinion.
We finish the joint.
Life gets me to fumble through a three-stage prison-style handshake. My white clumsiness makes him laugh.

"Happy Fourth, man."

"Happy Fourth."

It would be the last time I enjoyed the Fourth of July.