So I Stayed

The people around me not so much sang as yelled lyrics at the top of their lungs. I could barely hear the vocalist over them, but I didn’t care. Standing there, in front of my favorite band, screaming all my favorite songs back at them, was magical.

In front of me, a pit opened up. Guys flooded in, pushing and shoving each other. I stayed as far back from the mayhem as I could.

The song reached its breakdown, and the pit raged. Bodies were flung at the crowd around the pit. I held my hands in front of me, bracing myself for the onslaught of sweaty people.

A couple guys stumbled my way. I deflected them back into the pit easily enough. The next person who came at me was another story.

He lost his footing and fell backwards. I caught his shoulders, and his weight dragged me down into a half-lunge, one foot out in front and bent at the knee, the other knee pressed to the ground.

“Help me up.”

I lifted with all my strength, and he moved an inch. He looked like a tattooed string bean, but I was about as strong as an overcooked piece of spaghetti.

The people behind me gave me a shove. I pushed the string bean back to his feet and got out of that awful half-lunge.

The string bean turned to look at me. A half smile curled one corner of his mouth. “I think I just fell for you.”

Somehow, I managed a sheepish smile instead of a slack-jawed stare. He was beautiful. I might even go so far as to say he was aesthetically perfect. Skinny as he was, it was the right look for him. The intricate designs on his sleeves were breath-taking. I could trace my fingers over them for hours.

The song ended, and the crowd erupted in cheers. The string bean leaned forward, putting a hand on my shoulder and letting his lips brush against my ear. “I’m Spencer.”

“Kate,” I yelled back.

His lips brushed against my ear again as the half smile returned. “I think I need to sit down. Would you mind escorting me?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He grabbed my hand and dragged me through the crowd to the back of the bar. He plopped down in a chair.

As the vocalist talked to the crowd, Spencer said, “I think I might have a concussion.”

I squatted in front of him and held up a finger. I moved it slowly from left to right. His eyes followed it just fine.

I straightened. “You’re probably fine.”

I turned to try to get back to my spot. Spencer grabbed my hand.

“The show’s better from back here.”

I looked over my shoulder at him. He cracked that half smile again.

“I might have a head injury. I shouldn’t be left alone.”

His half smile melted my resolve to be as close to the stage as possible, so I stayed.