Saturday October 6, 1990, 10:47 p.m.

"Guuuuuuuuuuuuet out!" Oren, the lead singer of Mandrake emitted his usual guttural growl solo before the usual thrash of guitars and drums kicked in.

The walls seemed to bulge out and cave in like speakers about to blow out. Phil knew that the theater was painted in a red and gold sort of scheme, but during the show, all he could see around him was black. From the floor to the ceiling and all around the wall, it seemed like everything was black, or at least a really dark shade of gray. Even most of the people around him were wearing all or mostly black. It was enough for him just to be there and get into the music as best as he can, despite not playing an instrument or really knowing all that much about music. It wasn't like going to church where you had to get dressed up and act a certain way, performing certain rituals. In fact, that was what he liked about it in the first place. Even if he didn't dress like those around him, they didn't give him funny looks or even approach him. They all just stood in mutual silence more or less. It was like some sort of unspoken neutrality agreement on the otherwise complicated high school battlefield. All everyone was expected to do was just face the stage and lose themselves in the darkness.

Maybe this was what it was like to be inside the guitar and bass amps, this constant surrounding by sound, circulating the air like an indoor whirlwind. Rafe thundered as usual on the bass, fingers almost as blur-paced as the guitarists during the song "Escape." Phil loved this song. He usually knew it to be one of the next-to-last on their usual setlist. It was a nice touch that all the doors got propped open as soon as the song started.

The gust of air blowing into the Phoenix Theater called attention to the fact that as soon as the final act winded down its last chords and feedback, everybody would be swept out as the autumn leaves would be blown in. Of course, these leaves would be swept out by the next show along with empty bottles and cigarette butts, but nobody really seemed to notice. Phil was still glad that the door was open. Even if he liked the local venue for its cheap shows and outlets for whatever aggression he imagined that he had, he had little appreciation for the venue's typical atmosphere of cheap beer and even cheaper cigarette smoke. On occasion, he looked over to Cindy and her platinum-blonde hair with minor disapproval as she lit her cigarette and took a drag from it. She had managed to get it from the guy on the other side of her who seemed to only give it to her so she'd leave him alone.

Phil couldn't help but laugh as Cindy coughed and made a face before nonchalantly dropping it to the floor. Who did she think she was kidding anyway? She certainly knew that she wasn't a smoker, and it was all too obvious to Phil that she wasn't as well. On the rare occasions he could get conversation outside of the usual "fuck off" or even the more toned-down on school grounds "buzz off" out of her, she seemed pretty cool. Just the fact that she toned down her language at school proved that this whole "bad girl" thing was just an act, but for whom? Even the actually "bad" kids seemed to pay little attention to her. Then again, when it came to their own circle, it often seemed like if one of them got torn apart by rabid wolves, the rest would stare on blankly and light up their cigarettes by the dumpster after school.

By the middle of the set, a crowd had formed in the center of the floor. Some guys started moshing, but not like Phil had seen at the city shows in the sports arena. This was more like disaffected pushing each other around with no real release of anger or tension. There wasn't even a rhythm to it, let alone a rhythm matching the beat of the music. Naturally feeling protective, Phil had tried to pull Cindy to the side so she wouldn't get hurt. Not to mention that if she moved too much, her skirt would have fallen off. Whenever it nearly did, Phil instinctively looked away.

Usually when Phil would take her by the arm and subtly nudge her to the side, she would glare at him as if he were depriving her of something great. Once, he actually let her get in the circle. She held her own for a good few moments before tripping in her large boots and falling over, giving everyone around her a clear shot of her white panties after her skirt slid off. As Phil helped her up, Cindy pushed his hand away as soon as she stood up, continuing to give him the glare of death. If anyone could hear anything against Mandrake's roar of gut-vocals and guitars, it would have been Phil's continual sighing. There was just no pleasing some people.

Phil had tried to help Cindy by keeping her out of harm's, or more likely, embarassment's way. He even let her in just so she'd learn for herself not to bother. He had even paid her way in. Then again, it wasn't like he was expecting anything in return. He shuddered to think of the sort Cindy would have ended up with if he hadn't come along. Granted, she probably had her own fare, but the way she was looking at the lead singer of the opening band put Phil ill at ease. He wasn't exactly sure why it bothered him so much. It wasn't just because the band was so damned awful. Or maybe the band as a whole wasn't awful. It seemed more like the lead singer was just a guitar player trying to get used to singing lead and playing guitar at the same time.

Still that wasn't entirely bad considering that he liked the other two band who played. In his mind, putting together a punk/hardcore show was never easy since it was rare that either party would be happy, let alone both. Then again, he knew full well that people didn't really go to these shows to be entertained. All the kids in this town, like himself to a certain extent, just went because there really wasn't much to do in the town if you just had five bucks in your pocket. Then again, even if you did have money, like he did, the town wasn't that much more alive in comparison. His parents were by no means millionaires, but he was brought up with the idea that he would go to college and eventually get out of this place. A lot of the kids he knew were of the mindset that they'd probably just graduate from high school and take a job at the factory like their parents did.

After wandering around in his own head for awhile, Phil almost failed to notice that Mandrake was closing their set. This meant that the night would be over and he'd pretty much have a week of church and school to look forward to until the next all-ages show on Saturday.

"So, what did you think?" Phil shouted, right as the final guitar chord rang out in the amps mixed in with an ample side of feedback.

"It was certainly loud." He could see Cindy's nervous smile shine in the dark beneath the ray of spotlight from the back leading to the stage.

Phil knew that look. The last girl he had taken to a show had that same look. It was a look that asked "What am I doing with this guy? How could he enjoy this dreck?"

Nonetheless, he played it off, giving her a playful shove. "I thought you were into this sort of thing, Snakebite."

Cindy rolled her eyes. "Please don't call me that."

"Why? I thought all your friends called you that." He poked her again.

"You know, you really are an obnoxious little shit." She tried to frown despite laughing.

"Well in that case, you must be an obnoxious tiny shit, considering how much taller I am than you." To prove his point, he stood up straight out of his slouch.

"Fuck you."

"Why miss, I would have never thought you to be so forward." Phil's eyes widened in mock shock.

"I bet you would have never expected me to do this either." Before he could say anything, Cindy kissed him. He could taste the little bit of cigarette she had as he felt the tip of her tongue glide along the roof of his mouth, but he sure as hell didn't mind.

"Thanks for the fun night." Cindy started walking away toward the back. "I'll see you in class, 'k?"

"I-" Phil could barely get that out, let alone a suggestion to go pick up some coffee or early breakfast at the 24-hour diner. So, he figured it would be best to close the evening there.

All he could do was just stand there and watch as Cindy and her too-large skirt and boots walked out the open emergency exit to the back alley. All he could do was watch as the other kids left too, along with the guys loading up their equipment in the vans and trucks out back. His ears were still ringing and he probably smelled something awful, but he didn't give a rat's ass. It didn't matter that everyone was gone or that the bands turned in an almost mediocre show that evening. It didn't even matter that he was stepping in what appeared to be someone else's vomit. He wasn't even sure what mattered about that night, but he was sure it was something important if he couldn't even move from the spot he was standing in.

Maybe rock music really did have a hypnotic, aphrodesiac effect on impressionable young, hormonal minds. Maybe Cindy was done with the "bad girl" act and really liked him. Or, for all he knew, this was just part of the image, a game to confuse and frustrate the ever-living hell out of him.

Well, by God, it sure as hell was working.