Edgar was hungry and so was I, so we stopped at a hot dog vendor on the corner by the parking lot and the two of us bought a hot dog.
“I’ve never been to a concert before,” I said, slathering ketchup and mustard on my hot dog. I didn’t feel stupid telling him this, I felt completely comfortable.
“You’re going to love it,” he said.
We walked up the street and found ourselves at the end of a lineup for the concert. At the beginning of the line I could see the venue sign illuminated in neon: The Grey Room.
Craig waved to a few people he presumably knew who were ahead of us, and for a second I hoped he would go join them, but he stayed with us.
Most of the guys in the line had long hair, total heavy metal types, wearing band shirts. Pretty much everyone in line was dressed in black, and most of them had dyed hair. The girls all wore heavy makeup, and I noticed that some of the guys wore eyeliner too. I wondered if wearing a red dress made me look awkward, but then I realized that standing out was a good thing. People were looking at me too; I felt great, like I belonged, but at the same time, like I was slightly above it because I stood out. Wearing the red dress had been a good idea. Fern stood out too, gleaming in her silver outfit. Both of us were unique.
It was almost dreamlike that this many metal people existed. I sure hadn’t seen any of them back home.
Edgar was on edge, worried about the skinhead guys from the last show. He kept looking up the line and back down it as it continued forming behind us. I looked around too. The whole idea of these racist guys confused me.
“So you think these guys will show up?” I asked Edgar.
“I don’t know.” He eyed a group of guys with shaved heads who walked past us towards the back of the line. These were skinheads, I could tell. They were wearing bomber jackets and had their jeans tucked into their boots. But they nodded to Edgar as if they knew him, and he nodded back as they passed us.
“That wasn’t them?” I asked.
“Nah. I know those guys from around,” he said. “They aren’t dicks. Not all skinheads are all racist and shit,” he informed me. “Only some. There are assholes in every crowd, right?”
I laughed and nodded, thinking of Craig. I glanced at him. He was gazing sourly towards the front of the line.
“So you guys both go to Glen Park, right?” Fern said, addressing me and him.
“Yep,” Craig said, not looking at me.
I didn’t say anything, just lifted my chin and looked away. Fern gave me a quizzical look, and I shrugged and rolled my eyes.
The line started moving, and before too long we were inside the venue. I tried to play it cool, but I couldn’t help grasping Fern’s hand with excitement. She grinned at me.
It was a large room, with a bar along one side and couches along another. The stage took up one entire end of the room. Instruments were set up, but no one was onstage yet. It was pretty dark. There was a big, sparkling disco ball suspended from the ceiling and tea lights flickered on the small tables around the back. A few hundred people milled around. There was nowhere left to sit. Metal blasted from the speakers.
We secured ourselves a place in the crowd in front of the stage. “If we get separated,” Yvonne said loudly, “we’ll meet by the door after the show.”
Fern went to the bathroom and I stood with the others. Yvonne and Craig started talking to some people beside us, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. I stood beside Edgar and soaked up the atmosphere in the room, waiting for the concert to get started.
“I’ve seen Surgical Carnage a few times,” he said. “They’re fucking great.”
“I can’t wait,” I said.
“There’s supposed to be an opening band too,” he continued. “I’ve never heard of them.”