It was early April, the 12th of 2008 if memory serves me correctly. Myself and a few buddies decided, though probably broke that a trip up to a local college town from post was in order. We got into town and booked a hotel. Conveniently for us the hotel we stayed at had a bus that could drop us off on the main strip of the city on the hill. For four boys of drinking age this was spectacular because of the only one way fee of a cab.We went to a bar that was a popular "preppy" hang out. The bar was on the penthouse level of a three story building, and had a patio that overlooked the beautiful strip of this college town. It was one of my first visits to this town and I didn't know it all that well. After a few drinks and starting to feel saucy, a song came on that was recognized by both myself and close friend Tommy. The urge was undeniable and irresistible. As the first notes were strung, the excitement and filled us both. The energy was contagious. At that time there was no real excitement at this bar, and there seemed to be the usual clicks of four or five people socializing. Tommy and I knew that continuing to sit there and do nothing would not only be a disservice to ourselves, but to the patio of people who were having a lack luster time.
We stood and belted the first line of lyrics. "Just a small town girl, living in a lonely world..." We immediately got stares of discouragement and confusion. It didn't stop us. We continued on, grabbed the crowd by their balls and twisted them. It got their attention. The song broke and the guitar riff seemed to help convey the crowd that this was good thing. They seemed still yet unconvinced.
It only inspired Tommy and I to work harder. Our energy had to be contagious at this point. It was still early in the night, and if this failed, we would be shamed, or even worse have to pay our bar tab and leave. This is where I will tell you a little secret. If you want to win over a crowd, it's energy, energy, energy, fist pump. We lost all reality. The lights seemed to dim around us, and spot lights lit up our stage. We could see the lighters in the crowd, swaying back and forth. We had started to fist pump. It was as contagious as SARS. The entire patio started fist pumping. The faces of those who had once been against us, now in our favor, wanting to be part of the scene. Feet started tapping. Fists started pumping. Heads bobbing. Lips moving, like we had become some kind of voodoo masters, casting a spell on the audience. Every move we made, they were soon to follow. Tommy jumped on a table, I on a chair, singing at the top of our lungs.
We were rock stars, we had captured the moment. Even long after the song ended, eyes followed us around the bar. People bought us drinks. We had gone from outcasts to outcasters. You're no good, go away, out of my face.
We settled down and started talking to the group of people nearest to us. They were yankees like we, and were pretty open to conversation. They were down from Pennsylvania, or somewhere like that. They had a girl in their party that was sitting to my back across the table. I hadn't noticed her earlier, and perhaps she had not been there. I felt invincible and only needed a quick opener to start talking.
Across the table my friend Jason sat with his friend O'brien. There was an empty chair between he and her. I asked if she was using the chair, because Tommy and I were one short. She said no, and lifted the chair over the table to hand to me. It was one of the corniest things I could've said, but I was a rock star, invincible. "Wow, you must work out." Like I said, corny. But it cracked a smile, and I knew conversation would ensue.
I talked her ear off, and she talked mine off. I remember very little of our conversation, but I know that at the end of it, it left me feeling good, and desiring more. She and her group of friends were suddenly nearly out the door and I hadn't given or gotten her number. The abrupt leaving nearly through me off on closing. I stumbled over every word when I tried to offer her my number. She said no thank you, momentarily crushing me, but then as if she knew the detrimental gravity she could smother me down with, she raised my spirits. "I'll give you mine," she said. I wish I had had a pen and paper, because the next step I thought would be embarrassing. I had recently broken my phone and was using one from I believe the 70's. As I pulled it out and thought of the dorkiness of my situation, I combated it with a somewhat smooth save. I told her I would write her number down in my VCR... a poke at my phone. Sadly myself. It worked and she gave me her number. And it was real.
There is plenty that went on after that, that night, but the smile and beauty of this girl named Gina was the first thing I remembered the next morning. The game of meeting someone is a tough one. Well it was for me anyways. Jason will always give me crap about how he could have had her, and that he's a good friend for passing. Thanks Jason, off the record of course.
It's nearly been a year since that day in April, and she's no longer that girl with the pretty smile that probably works out. She is my girlfriend and my love. She's very special to me and I miss her dearly. I love you Gina.
"...don't stop, believing, hold on to that feeling..."
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