George Is Dead at the Court Tavern

[Originally written on this date in 2005]

Before heading out to the show that evening, I had to shave the sides of my head, take a shower and adjust some of the safety pins on the shirt I would be wearing.  While I am in the middle of putting my shoes on, there is a knock at the door.

It’s Shane; he wants to know what I am up to.

There I am, still peeved that he did not call me back when he said he was going to, and slightly annoyed that I was unable to get a hold of him even though he said I could call any time.  It had gotten to the point where I wanted to just walk down the street, knock on his door and ask what was up, but thought that would be rude.  Shane apologizes and simply just forgot he was supposed to call, explaining that his phone gets shitty service.  Mine does too so I know he is not throwing me some bullshit excuse, especially when he says that in the future I should just come over if I want to talk.

All of these things become trivial when he smiles and gives me a kiss.  The situation is all too familiar but that does not stop me from inviting him to join me for the show.  He smiles and happily accepts, then states there is a chance he might be going on a little vacation tomorrow, so it would be nice to have an evening of fun.

Fixing my makeup and finishing my outfit, I let Shane into my car and have to chuckle as he adjusts the seat to accommodate his long legs.  Windows were rolled down, surf tunes were turned up and he lit a joint just as we entered the highway.  He asked where we were going, so I gave him a brief history of the Court Tavern and its relevance to the punk scene in southern New Jersey, then described as best I could the antics of George and why I had to see him there.

Scored free parking and we sat in the car for a while to drink a mix of vodka and everclear that was accented with some pineapple orange juice.  We swapped spit between doing a few bumps, then were ready to conquer the venue.  After paying and walking downstairs, I see someone an ex is friends with but remember he knows the drummer of George is Dead as well.  Out of nowhere another one of his friends comes up to me, shakes my hand and asks me how I’m doing.

The encounter is weird and Shane asks me if I knew who that was, his hand suddenly holding mine a little tighter than before.  Laughing I tell him the guy used to play drums in the ex’s band, then mentioned how I sort of just left a note breaking up with him when I moved out.  All of that is in the past though, but then I realize the Asshole is in the band I was there to see.

Determined to have a good time despite his presence, I share this information with Shane who promptly plants a kiss on my lips when the old curmudgeon glances in our direction.  From then on our attention is directed to George and Lenny, the people I was supporting in the first place.  His arms are around me for their entire set, our bodies rocking to the music and my cheeks a bit red as I am flattered by his slightly protective stance.  The music had us cheering, as did George breaking several ceiling tiles with his fist and then smashing a bottle against his forehead until he drew blood.  Most of the crowd was not into that, but they don’t understand the motivation behind such things the way I do.

After the set we disappeared into the bathroom for drugs and debauchery, the latter of which nearly got out of control when Shane expressed the desire to have his way with me right then and there.  Convincing him to wait for later, we left the Court and walked until coming across the grease trucks, splitting a sandwich and soda while sneering at the college kids who gave us dirty looks.  Then we were on the highway again, more tunes and smoking and drinking in a cool breeze.  Not in the mood to go back to the house, Shane invited me to his place where we wound up on the couch.

In my heart I know the way things will go, even though I am well aware it is not fair to assume.  When certain things remind me of events that have occurred in the past, it is really difficult for me not to.  The more time I spend with Shane, the more familiar the situation becomes; it’s very similar to being with Aaron.  Don’t get me wrong, I cherish our relationship greatly and would not give it up for anything in the world no matter how difficult it becomes.  However, the closer I want to be with him the further he seems to become, and now I feel as though it is happening all over again with Shane.

When someone makes an impression on my life, no matter how trivial, it stays with me.  All I ever ask of anyone is their friendship, yet in the past all I seemed to get were people who came in and out of my life as they pleased.  The situation between Aaron and I is what it is;  I have talked about it enough and right now I am done trying to change it when things are out of my hands.  He is never far from my thoughts, and though I haven’t seen him since that accident in Asbury, I love him dearly and have devoted my heart to him.

Then I think about Shane, who I had not seen in a dog’s age and there he is living on my street.  Next thing I know we are exchanging passionate kisses and doing drugs like we have been together for months.  Having left him on the couch this morning, I went about my daily routine and tried calling a few times; I don’t even know if he’s gone or what.  If  he is, I haven’t the slightest clue for how long or when he will be back.  Is it strange that I miss him already?

On a similar note, I don’t remember the last time I hung out with James.  Had to be at least a month or more ago, and I spoke to him maybe once after that.  Then again I know that he was busy with moving, but not having any contact with someone I care about really bothers me.  This is my plight and part of the reason I feels as though I don’t even have any friends.

Without Aaron I would have nothing, and that is a painful fact.

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One comment on “George Is Dead at the Court Tavern

  1. John Nielsen says:

    Dr. Emmett Brown : [Picks up a pair of underwear] Oh, look at these underpants. They’re all made of cotton. I though for sure we’d all be wearing disposable paper garments by 1985.

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