when someone reads your work

and they are not a writer, it can be quite entertaining.

thankfully my friend Walter wasn't as bad as some people are and he pointed out a crucial pivot that I had not considered highlighting more than I had. He pointed out some other things, awkward phrasing and some grammatical issues (of which I have plenty), but as a whole, he suggested I up the tragic comedy tone. And I think I will.

miska's goth girl finale (with some minor corrections based on Walter's suggestions):

He never came back to Miska’s, Andrew, the decently cute goth boy, the guy who fucked with me about the cigarettes. I didn’t see him again until long after I worked at Miska’s. Rachel, Leon and I were at Neo on a Saturday night. They were sitting on one of the benches that lined the dance floor, stoned out on the mixture of pot, alcohol, and nitrous. We were feeling the music. The music thronged so much, it shook everything in the place. I could feel the music in my chest, pulsating, making my heart beat to it, as I leaned against the railing that guided people off the dance floor and up to the bar. I could feel the music tickling my fingertips.

Suddenly, I saw Andrew’s head far off in the crowd, bobbing slightly to the droning music. I didn’t even see him come in. I stopped looking for him at Neo a long time ago, even stopped paying any attention to guys that looked like him. He looked happy, well, as happy as a goth can look. He caught my eye and for a second, he stopped, noticing me watching him, maybe remembering me.

Leon and Rachel were just staring into the air without focus, watching the hypnotic movements of the dancing, their hands clutched together in a knot in Leon’s lap. The dance floor was full of Goths and last call was rising. People danced in a slow subtle orgy to the music, some in pairs, some in groups, with arms crawling up into the air, bodies twisting around each other, all in time to the beating drum of the music. If you were sober, I bet it would be kind of gross.

Anyway, Leon and Rachel didn’t really know what Andrew looked like, no matter how much I talked about him and tried to describe him. Leon was so tired of me talking about Andrew that he didn’t even sass me anymore about my unrequited love, every time I said the word ‘cute’ he would shoot me a look of warning. I didn't even bother telling them that he was actually there. I just stared.

Andrew was looking right at me. I felt a sway underneath me, and it took me a while to realize it was me, actually swooning, which later, Leon thought that was the funniest part, “Now she’s swooning like a Southern Belle at the Ball!”

Everything went silent except for the space between my ears. All I could hear was the thudding of my heart and the flash of thoughts in my head. Do I look good? What am I wearing again? I don't remember?! What about my makeup? It’s probably all worn off! Is he really looking at me? Who else could he be staring at?

When I turned around to look, it was as if the sound turned back on, but from inside me, like it emanated from my chest and worked its way outward. No one was behind me. I turned back to look for him and his pale face was gone from the limbs draped in black and the writhing bodies.

I stared out at the dance floor and felt Rachel’s clenched hand bump into my forearm. She nudged the balloon of nitrous my way. Her eyes were bleary and half open, but she still asked, “You okay?”

I shook my head and continued scanning the dance floor. There he was, taller than some of the rest, his pale face made pale with makeup, his lips reddened complete with a few trailing dots along his chin. He was Dracula tonight. (His favorite character.)

I was so startled by his sudden reappearance that I leaned onto the railing and held Rachel’s fist for support. Rachel’s fist opened and the balloon of nitrous sputtered away so she could hold my hand. I gathered myself up and took a deep breath.

I stepped out onto the dance floor. I was wearing this long house robe that I had found at a thrift store that went all the way down to the floor. It was like a forest green velour and I belted it with a black leather belt to make it less housewifey. I opened the belt and shook it off my naked shoulders to reveal what Leon and Rachel had wondered about all night. What are you wearing under that godforsaken thing? they’d asked repeatedly.

A strapless dark green vinyl minidress, that was so damn tight and so damn short I knew I wouldn’t make it longer than ten minutes dancing in it, and I’d flash the entire Neo crowd my ass if I dared sit down. I had green highlights put into my black hair about a week before, green eye shadow that matched perfectly (of course), and even though I know I looked good, I was so self conscious that I couldn’t prance around in it. Andrew was staring at me.

He was gliding my way. Gliding was an effect I heard he practiced all the time. His face blinked off and on under the roving spotlight. I still couldn’t see his body through the thick crowd of dancers. As I waited for him to approach me, I wondered all sorts of things, Where had he been? What did he want? Was he actually going to talk to me this time?

When he reached me, he pulled my waist and hurtled me toward his body, covered in an all black tuxedo, which was partially hidden by a long soft velvet cloak. I thought he looked absolutely dreamy.

We twirled into the dance floor, me like Silly Putty in his arms. He wasn’t staring at me anymore, his head was bent towards me, hiding in the crook of my neck and shoulder and when I felt his breath on my back, as he whispered in my ear, I thought I was going to die and go to heaven.

“Hey baby bat,” he breathed.

I pulled away.

“How dare you call me that?!” I shrieked, way too loudly. All the Goths near us turned their chins along their shoulders to discreetly stare.

A smile was on his lips. Ugh. Like most goth boys, he happened to look better when he brooded.

What the fuck was so funny? I crossed my arms and stood there, feeling the warmth of the other dancers creeping along my thighs. I glared at him. The rest of the Goths had gone back to their slithery dancing and finally, Andrew held his arms out to me.

“I was merely testing you, dear one.” He encircled my body, holding me closer.

“Seeing what you are made of, so to speak.”

What the fuck? See, that right there is the thing I hate about the goth culture. As accepting as they can be, some of them just downright refuse to believe that anyone would choose to be Goth. They are so suspicious of any newcomers or anyone who doesn’t totally embrace every black sadist aspect of the culture. I bet they feel like Goths aren’t made, they’re born. Whatever. Some people didn’t grow up with The Addams Family alright? Some people take a while to figure out what they’re into. How is that not okay?

I danced with him for a few minutes, unsure of what to do. I felt the music throbbing at my back, his hands lingering on my shoulderblades and the line of my dress, and his breath on my skin. Neo was still pulsating. Leon and Rachel were still spaced out on the bench. I tried to make eye contact, but neither of them could see me. The walls of Neo, the bar, the crowd, everything looked so small from Andrew’s arms. It all seemed so useless, so dumb. The black, the glamour, the bullshit.

And, to call someone a baby bat was not a very nice thing. It meant that I was a wannabe Goth and going through a phase. It meant that the way I dressed was not Gothic enough. It meant that the last three years of my life that I had devoted solely to learning the lingo, people, places and ways of Goth life in Chicago was a waste. It meant that Andrew, decently cute goth boy, the guy who fucked with me about the cigarettes, hadn’t changed at all since that first time I met him and he asked me for a cigarette near Belmont and Clark. He still had the most obscene attitude that reeked of more gothic than thou.

“You know,” I started, at the same time, rubbing my body against his. “You are one decently cute goth boy. There just aren’t so many good looking guys in the Goth world, but you, oh, you are definitely the most good-looking Goth guy I’ve ever seen.”

His teeth lightly nibbled at my skin.

“The thing is,” I said, pulling myself away and then leaning my back into his chest, “I like a guy I can talk to. I like a guy who’s nice to other people. I like a guy who’s nice to me.”

I slinked around him, twisting and writhing into him, enjoying the feel of his body next to mine, his hands on me, the music bleating inside me.

“The thing is,” I said, placing my hand on his chest and pushing myself away from him, “You can be a real dick.”

I turned and took a step and then looked back at him over my shoulder, him, frozen in this look of utter surprise, not moving, and I said, “You don’t even make a good Dracula.”

Then I walked back towards my green velour robe, bending over from the hips, making sure my ass was facing Andrew. I lingered there for a beat so he could take a good look. I reached down to pick up my robe and looked at Leon and Rachel.

“Let’s go,” I said, to their gaping mouths.

It didn’t take me long after that night to realize I was done with Goth. I miss Leon and Rachel the most, especially Leon, but they won’t talk to me anymore since I’m no longer Goth. Whatever. Being a perkygoth was never really my thing anyway.

stine