If There Ever Was a Vibe Killer…
I almost didn’t go. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I hadn’t earned it.
Job search? Dry. Finances? Shambles. Mom? Dead. (Though, not sure what I could’ve done about that one). Just yet another week where the most I accomplished was stirring myself into a state of anxiety about how little I had accomplished. Fuck this.
I peeled myself off the couch and headed to my closet. I already knew what I wanted to wear: my light pink button up covered in neon pink kisses. Comfy, flirty, and fun. I slid on my black skinny jeans (you can pry them from my dead cold fingers) and a black tank. Then, in typical black person fashion, I walked on my porch to check the weather. I shivered and gasped audibly.
Annoyed, I went back inside. I truly didn’t want to sacrifice the fit, but I also couldn’t deny the cold warranted more. I stubbornly buttoned up my cute top and was hit with a genius idea: thick socks. Excitement renewed, I slid on my fuzzy purple and white socks and my standard black boots. Now I was ready for the Just Cos Cosplay Pop Punk Dance Party at Reboot (what a mouthful).
The sweet pop punk sounds of my teen-hood hit me before I reached the door. Once inside, I headed to the bar and ordered my new usual – soda water with two limes. I then shimmied to the front of the bar and greeted my friend DJ B3.
“Hey!” I shouted. “Is Lanna here, yet?”
B3 looked at me in confusion. “What?”
“Lanna! Isn’t Krolick performing tonight?”
B3 looked shocked and offended. “Wow. I just started.” He shook his head.
“Oh! No! Maybe I misunderstood the Facebook post? I thought –”
He laughed. “Nah, I got you. She’ll be here, later.”
Mildly embarrassed, I took a window seat next to the DJ “booth” squeezed in the corner. I people watched for a while, feeling my VIP fantasy. Some folks looked in our direction with interest, others with annoyance. Most ignored us altogether, like there was something else to do at an arcade bar.
I sipped my fizzy concoction, lamenting the particular “unlimeyness” of this batch of limes. My disappointment was quickly interrupted by the familiar baseline of one of my all time favs: “Dance, Dance” by Fall Out Boy.
Before I knew it, I was on my feet moving like I wasn’t staring down the barrel of 40. Spiderman joins in, and even though we share the same small dance space (why did you put the DJ at the front, Reboot??) we grooved in our own little worlds. A curly haired woman with gorgeous brown skin squeezed through and smiled. “I love you,” she said, motioning at the gyration of limbs akin to wacky inflatable arm flailing tube man. I managed a “thanks,” already so sweaty and out of breath. But I had little time to recover before another early aughts hit dropped requiring my epic dance moves.
Suddenly I sensed a presence beside me. It was Willie D, owner of Fresh Produce Records and another fav DJ. We hugged and exchanged hellos. I asked how things were at the store and we chitchatted about business and how it shouldn’t take events like Cherry Blossom to bring folks out to support. I shared how I’d been holding down the dance floor and how someone even said they “loved me.” Willie shared how he always responds to that with, “Well, why don’t you ever call?” I laughed, enjoying this exchange of corny adult-isms.
And then I saw him. Joe. (Quick lore drop: Joe and I were once close. The friendship ended when I realized he was a manipulative boundary-pusher. Since then, I let him know as many ways as I could think of I had no interest in rekindling – including a post about a similar dance party encounter). We locked eyes briefly as he approached Willie. I turned away, refusing to engage. He seemed to take the hint, only chatting with Willie before walking off. If only that lasted.
After a few more respectable head bobs to some pop punk bangers, I decided to give my basic special another try. And just my luck, I ended up squeezing past Joe on the way to the bar. We locked eyes again as I gave the stiff smile of acknowledgment expected in such a situation. Mistake number one.
I ordered my drink, weirdly hoping the limes improved from last time. I took a sip. Definitely not. Sipping and blanching simultaneously, I headed back to dance floor. And somehow, yet again, I found myself face to face with Joe. This time, he gave me a nod which I reluctantly reciprocated. Mistake number two.
Hot and thoroughly annoyed, I went outside for some air. I unbuttoned my top and basked in the night air that once chilled me. I was sweating in places I didn’t know were possible.Why am I so damn hot? I wasn’t even dancing!
“Hey! How are you?” I groaned. No. This can’t be happening. Does he have a fucking lojack on me??
Ignoring Joe, I continued a desperate bid to cool off. In the midst of my arm flailing, Krolick arrived with her bunnies in tow. Per usual, Svetlanna looked amazing in a black corseted outfit covered in buckles. The bunnies were also in all black with bunny-eared facekinis. I squealed like a true fan girl, excited to see the raptress of the hour.
“Oh my God, you’re here!” I yelled, fully embracing my future hoarseness. “And you look amazing!” We all exchanged pleasantries and compliments. I greeted everyone and embraced my new tiny bestie, Abigail, before heading inside.
My return was instantly rewarded. The dance-o-sphere had expanded with more characters from shows and movies I had not clue about. And “My Own Worst Enemy” by Lit was blasting on the speakers. I practically leaped back on the dance floor to join the screaming rendition of a 90s classic.
After this magic moment, I ended up in a dance battle with a muscled, afro-puffed cutie in a tiny schoolgirl outfit for several more rock songs. I found myself overheated yet again. Oh my God, what is this?? Back outside I went.
At this point, I decided the button-up had to come off. I started to strip down.
“Do you want some water?” Jesus. This guy.
“No.” I replied curtly.
“Do you want a beer?” asked a man sitting next to Joe, holding up a tall boy.
I shook my head.
“Tequila?”
“I’m just hot, guys,” I said, exasperated. I truly didn’t understand what I had to do to get Joe to stop engaging with me. So I just went back inside.
Perfect timing. Krolick and her bunnies had finally taken the stage…if you could call it that (seriously Reboot, what was the deal??) Anyway, they did not let the size of the space stop them from delivering an explosive show. Krolick rapped some original songs including “Mad About The Cookie” and “Try It,” with the bunnies hitting every beat like rent was due. I screamed out what was left of my voice, elated I got to witness such excellence.
Following the best mini-concert I had ever attended, B3 dropped another original track by the illustrious Yutoya Avaze Leon, “Molly.” I grooved and moved to the throbbing beat, blown away by the fact I know so many talented people. I was hot, yet again, chugging the free water Reboot had up front (now THAT made sense) in between songs.
After a while, the hydration caught up with me. I headed to the bathroom, practically floating off the good vibes. I checked both doors and wait impatiently for one to open. And who then saddled up beside me? You guessed it.
“Hey. I appreciate you,” Joe said, completely unprompted.
I scrunched my face, confused. “What?”
“I appreciate you,” he repeated. “You were there for me during a dark season of my life. But I always believed in you.” (Mind you, I had heard some version of this multiple times over the past four years).
Baffled, I was unable to respond. I mean, what exactly do you say to someone you have been actively avoiding all night after several years of open disdain who absolutely REFUSES to respect your boundaries? I could not piss soon enough.
After relieving myself, I decided to head back outside since I remained hot. I sat down, irritated all around. I guess this is just my life now? Then, epiphany. Thick socks. I took off my boots and the fuzzy offenders. I exhaled a sigh of relief. In that moment, I saw my friend Brooks.
“Hey, dude! How are you?”
“Good! How you doing?”
“Well, I discovered I’ve been sweating all night because of some thick ass socks!”
Brooks nodded. “Yeah, that will do it. Your hands and feet definitely regulate your body temperature.”
“Science, man. It’s crazy.”
We continued to chat, catching up and swapping jokes. I regaled him with my dance highlights and complained about my less than stellar knees. And just as I started to feel cozy in the warmth of good company and the coolness of night air, the apparition of bad vibes materializes. He offered his fist, inserting his presence yet again where it did not belong nor was requested.
Deep sigh. I shook my head. “Nah, I’m really good.” Joe turned on his heel and finally FINALLY walked away. I watched his back recede down the street.
“What was that?” Brooks asked.
“An asshole who can’t take a hint.” I shared how Joe had bothered me relentlessly throughout the night. “Next time I see him? If he approaches, I swear to God I’m causing a scene.”
Then like a balm to a vibe killer, “Heads Will Roll” by Yeah Yeah Yeahs thumped into the street. I screamed, elated to hear my ’tism track of 2009-2011 (seriously, I used to just play this song on repeat for HOURS at a time). Time to throw the fuck down.
I opened my phone to check the time. “Is this still your number Noelle?” Goddammit. I hit block and reported Joe’s number as spam before heading inside to reclaim my vibe.
Editors Note: Joe reached out to me days later via the only avenue still available: my business Facebook page. He left a comment regurgitating the same tired ish about “believing in me.” Nigga, fuck your belief. Move around and DO BETTER!!!
