Atlas and Alice, Issue 16
Alexandra M. Matthews
Clare Clare was all teeth and giggles, biting the edge of her cup. Ethan was coming to the concert. They had been texting for weeks. She tore the bottom away from the cup. It looked like a small paper crown. “What if I give this to him?” She placed it on my head, laughing. We went straight to the mezzanine, where we could feel the energy of the throbbing mass and still have enough room for our bodies to channel the ambient pop. There she could look for Ethan from above. She left me to find him. “One song,” she said. I danced with my eyes closed so I wouldn’t search for her in the crowd. The night I met Clare, I knocked on her open door and guessed the name of the band playing on her laptop. We ended up cross-legged in the hallway, comparing playlists until an RA shushed us. We went to nearly every free concert on campus. We moshed to death ska and skipped to accordion techno. The more obscure or niche the band, the better. We were after the release more than the music—to sway together until the lights went on, to dance until we couldn’t breathe. Soon I needed to see the music pulsing through her body before I could enjoy it. I found her alone. Her face shined wet under the strobe lights. Ethan was half of a drunk couple, mid-make out, that I had pushed past on my way to her. I put my arms around Clare from behind. I nestled my head on her shoulder, her red flyaways sticking to my cheek. She leaned into me. I let go and began to yell. She startled but followed my lead. It was a game we played during loud songs. We each screamed a secret into the noise and had to figure out what the other was saying. It was thrilling. 10
