Glass (Crank 2)

him I’m here. He says to come

around back. He’ll let me in.

Glad you could make it. Quade

gives me another hug, and this

time it’s longer, warmer. Come

on. It’s just about showtime.

I follow him backstage. Three

guys, all dressed in personalized

leather and piercings, give Quade

a nod. You can hang here, okay?

“No problem.” I grab a stool

as the band takes the stage,

launches a hard metal song

guaranteed to blow eardrums.

Not my favorite music,

but they play it well, one

song crashing into the next,

Quade leading the charge

with his bass. By the time

they take a break, my ears

pound and my throat is parched.

Quade comes up, puts his arm

around my shoulder. Thirsty?

The best I can do is nod.

Me, too. I’ll get us drinks.

What’s your pleasure?

[Dangerous question.] “Um…” I’ve

never been much of a drinker,

and I’m not even sure if he’s offering

alcohol. “Whatever you’re having.”