Punk and Zen by JD Glass

Author:JD Glass [Glass, JD]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2011-11-07T18:01:50+00:00

Chemistry

Love and laughter—

it’s what we’re all ABC after

Skin to skin—it’s all chemistry

“Chemistry”—Life Underwater

∗ ∗ ∗ ∗

You would think that being involved with Fran would force me to think about Samantha, and it did, sometimes: the realness of her was an occasional haze on my skin, and I rounded corners and expected to see her or looked up and expected to catch her eyes. Those times I was haunted at work, at home, even when I was with Fran.

On a few occasions we’d be in the middle of making out and I’d think “she and Samantha did this,” or we’d make love and I’d think of the two of them together, which kinda flipped me out. I didn’t know who I was more jealous of, and the thought of them together made me so fuckin’ hot I twitched. I didn’t think it made me a bad person. I chalked it up to being young, dumb, and full of, um, hormones, honestly.

After those first few days, when we were snowed in together, she must have thought about some of the same things, because the very next time I’d gone to her apartment, she’d changed the cover on the futon, rearranged her bedroom, and managed to mention that she’d bought a new mattress. I took the hint and broke it in with her. Yes, it was quite comfortable.

Life consisted of work, rehearsals, and Fran, who was amazingly supportive of my music. She’d never really heard it. I mean, I took my guitar over and played a bit, practicing lines over and over, writing lyrics and rehearsing melodies, but she’d never heard the band.

Something in me had changed—and not just the fact that my pseudo-virginity was now a myth. I got a brand-new pair of buzzers and retrimmed my hair, dyed it black, and with Stephie’s help placed a bloodred inch-wide stripe down the back center. Oh, the smell of Manic Panic hair dye in the morning—crayons and Play-Doh—who could ask for anything more?

Strangely, though, my pants felt different. Nothing sat right over my hips or thighs; everything just twisted and made me uncomfortable, and I abandoned anything but button flies and army pants. I also started to wear underwear because I was just too damn sensitive, but I wore only thongs. Besides, Fran liked them.

Things had changed a bit at work, too. Jen stopped calling me “kid” as much, and while women still came on to me with alarming frequency, I didn’t need her help quite as much. In fact, I’d been semi-promoted. I now backed Jen up at the door and occasionally filled in for her, while Dee Dee was showing me how the books worked. In fact, I’d been coming in some afternoons when we were closed so I could review the bar order and receive deliveries with Dee Dee.

“A head for business, that’s what you’ve got, Nina,” she’d tell me when I asked her questions. All that math with Attila the Nun hadn’t been in vain.

The night was quiet. I’d

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