The Final Chapter on Guitar Guy?

Posted by Tilia

Oh, the night I’ve had.

So, yeah, I’m moving in nine days.  My last day of work is next Saturday (which is in seven days), and I thought I’d have roughly until then to settle the matter(s) on Guitar Guy.  

Apparently, I was all sorts of wrong.

Tonight was Guitar Guy’s birthday (oddly enough, it’s also my kid brother’s birthday.  Whatever.)  So, I had a massive amount of trepidation about going in tonight, and even briefly considered calling in, so I wouldn’t have to deal with the inevitable group of friends, including the girlfriend, that would show up to wish him good tidings.

I even found out a few days ago that there would be a cake and ice cream, which I assumed would mean that it was an even bigger deal, therefore an even more solid confirmation that the Girlfriend would show up.  I was unable to handle even the mental image of Guitar Guy receiving a birthday kiss from anyone but me.

However, the cake and ice cream seemed to be just from the band, and handled entirely in the green room, so that was a relief.  Guitar Guy swung down between the first and second sets (there are four), and I grabbed him to wish him a happy b-day, and all that jazz.

“So, my last day is next Saturday,” I said, in an off-handed, pleasebeworkingSaturday type of way.  

“Oh … I’m gone all next week.”

There was a long pause in which we stared at each other, and then I glanced at his mouth.  ”So, that means that tonight is …” I trailed off, not really sure how I should phrase, “the last opportunity I have to rape you.”

“Yeah,” he said, checking his phone for the time.  The next set was about to start so he leaned forward and squeezed my shoulder.  ”I will be back,” he promised, but then was forced to run to the stage.

During the next set, while alternately having really intense eye sex with Guitar Guy, a Boy came in who has been casually dating one of my good friends, a light tech from the club, who wasn’t in tonight.  The Boy is very sweet, if not slightly below my friend’s potential league, and I swung by to say hello and chat him up a bit.

“Where is Josh tonight?” the Boy asked.

“Oh, he’s off yesterday and today,” I answered, jovially.

“Really?”

“Yeah, we went to see The Dark Knight, yesterday.  It was amazing.”

“…  Well, then apparently I’ve been repeatedly lied to.  Because, he told me he had to work every day for the past two weeks, and was booked solid for the weekend.”

“… oh … um … oh …”

Now, honestly, what was I supposed to do?  I immediately told the other working light tech, and we texted him to warn him, but never got responses.  I now have a slip of receipt paper in my apron that says, “Tell Josh I’ll miss him.”

I feel responsible.  But, honestly!  

How was I to know?

Anyway, so, around the time we were texting Josh about me completely screwing up his romantic venture, I noticed this very petite woman dressed like a cheap stripper near the sound booth.  I knew immediately that this was the Girlfriend.

Physically, she’s polar opposite of me.  I’m reasonably tall (5′6″), curvy, blonde, and I look my age, which is 22.  This girl looked OLD, but I guess hot in a far-away sort of manner.  She was kinda-Asian, super small, and boy-shaped.

It honestly astounds me that the same man would find both of us attractive.  

I should also mention that the other time I’ve seen her, she didn’t look Asian.  Just tonight.  Maybe it was the caked on eye makeup.

I passed by her, with my eyes still locked on his, and looked at her next to me, then back to him.  He didn’t even realize who I’d looked at for another few minutes.  So, even if she didn’t know who I was before that point, she knew now.

She spent the rest of the evening glaring at me.  I suppose this was warranted, but I’m pretty sure she knew who I was before she even got there, since it was in front of one of her friends/co-workers that I found out about her existence.

He came down after the next set, and I brought him a shot the door host had bought him.  I did this quickly so to not be forced to meet her, but he hadn’t even made time for her yet.  When he did, they stood a polite distance apart and conversed.

The Light Tech for this evening went on and on about how much closer he stands to me when we talk.  It’s true.  There’s chemistry between us, even if there’s comfort between them.  Comfort relationships depress me.  

As she talked to him, she continued to glare at me.  This, for some reason, put me in a better mood, and I continued to flounce about, making obscene amounts of money off of my tables.

So, since nothing aside from continued eye contact (right in front of her!) happened for the next set, we’re going to skip ahead to the next break, where he and she go outside and have a giant blow-out argument.  I wonder if I was part of it.

She stormed back in, tears running down her face, which seemed to put everyone in the club into a morbidly good mood, and he just didn’t seem to care in the least.  He went back on stage, and had a great time.  

We even had some close proximity eye contact after that, including a booth leaving and me cleaning it in the most inappropriate way possible.  I climbed into it, sitting up on my knees and wiped it down in un-necessarily slow, wide circles, with my eyes on him.  

He liked it.

The table probably never got all the way clean.

And I found out afterward that all the while, she was upstairs leaning over the balcony, right in his line of view, with big crocodile tears and a pout, and he just ignored her, and watched me clean a table.

Unfortunately, she never just left, which I was counting on, since this would be the probable last time I’d ever see him.  

So, when the night ended, and she was still following him around like the Super Nintendo version of Zelda, I weaved my way through the tables toward him as he was waving goodbye.

“You know I’ll never see you again, right?” I said, loudly, drawing his attention as I got closer.

“Right.  Never again,” he said, as though we’re destined to see each other over and over for the rest of our lives.

“You have to say goodbye,” I said, and went to give him a light hug, since she was standing right there, but he scooped me into his arms hard, and held me very tight.

After a moment’s hesitation, I threw my arms around his neck and sank into it myself.  ”I’m going to miss you, you know.  I really am.”

“I know,” he said.

“I know that you know,” I responded, tearfully, and he leaned his head against mine.  If she hadn’t been standing there, we would’ve kissed.  We both felt it.

Apparently, she just stood there with her jaw on the ground, staring at us, then grabbed his guitar and made a huffy beeline for the door.

So, while not ideal, the night was kind of awesome.  However, it should’ve been awesome of its own accord, not as the Last Night We’d Ever See Each Other.  What shit timing, seriously.

So, a few minutes ago, I added him on facebook.  As soon as he approves me, I’m sending him a message letting him know that I never got to say goodbye like I wanted to, my phone number, and an invitation for “coffee or something.”

He may be out of town until I move.  Gone.  

It may be over now.  But, it shouldn’t be.  It was never supposed to end like this. 

Maybe it hasn’t.

 

~ by Shannon on July 27, 2008.