Rhys and Lucy enter the record store and are greeted by Francine, the flamboyant, cheerful cashier nearing fifty. As a long-standing Middlehazy native and owner of the store, she quite well-known by the locals and vice-versa. A staunch music nerd, she knew most of her customers tastes in music and wouldn't hesitate to recommend something new.
"Rhys, How are ya? And who's this here? You finally got yourself a gal, huh?" She joked, likely trying to freshen up her own night.
He nervously ran his hand through his bedhead and had a laugh to boot, Lucy's cheeks flushed in the corner of his eye. "This is Lucy. She just moved to these parts recently."
"How are ya, dear?" Francine said to Lucy.
"I'm fine," Lucy said timidly, like a young bride would.
"Does your father still listen to Megadeth? We have new limited edition vinyls," Francine emphasized.
"He's a diehard. Always grumbling about 'the nu-metal, grunge kids'. Says they should go to college instead," he recalled.
"What are you lovebirds looking for today?"
Francine was loving every second of making them uncomfortable.
"We're just looking to find something new, I guess," Rhys said, shrugging. A large smile was threatening Lucy's features. She held on.
"Need any help?"
"We're good, ma'am, thanks." Lucy butted in.
"Okay then. If y'all need any help, I'll be right over here waitin'."
The teens turned their attention to the tall, album-bedazzled shelves.
"For a second, I thought your dad was cool. Then he decided to shit on nu-metal," Lucy said, "That's almost all I listen to these days."
"Really? I'm surprised." They absently browsed the shelves, walking slowly.
"What did you think I listen to?" she asked.
"I don't know, but I definitely wasn't expecting nu-metal. You listen to punk, too?"
She made the symbol of the horns and stuck her tongue out like a rockstar. "You bet. I live and breathe punk!"
He facepalmed. "Right, I should have guessed earlier. You'd fit right into a concert crowd in your clothes. Do you always dress like that?"
"No, but I love it. Have you listened to any punk?" she asked.
"I've heard The Futureheads album from like, 2 years ago. Does that count?"
"Not really. That's post-punk. Close enough though."
"What is the difference?" Rhys said, flipping through the jazz section. Duke Ellington, Louis Armstrong, Chaka Khan, Sade.
"Punk lyricists say 'fuck the system, fuck consumerism, fuck the government and fuck you'. They do their own thing and have a distinct sound. If a punk band says 'fuck you' a post-punk band might say 'I'm fucked'. Post-punk also sound more calm and sombre, it isn't rock all the way." Lucy picked up a Rage Against The Machine CD from the shelf parallel the more reserved sounding one Rhys looked through. She peered in Francine's general direction, who was busy with a crossword. She ambled towards Rhys.
"Kenny G, huh?" she admired. "Duotones," she mouthed aloud.
"His songs are beautiful, they make soul my scream and my eyes flow like a river. They also help me relax after I go through one of my episodes. One of the greatest geniuses ever in my opinion." He placed the CD in between the stacks of others. "This one time, I watched Titanic for maybe the dozenth time, listened to Kenny making sweet love to that sax of his and couldn't help but cry."
"We're like on completely different ends of the music." Lucy commented.
"Yes." Rhys scratched his head. "How 'bout this; we find something completely out of the way and obscure, some sort of musical neutral ground. How does that sound?"
"Awesome! Meet you here in a few."
With that, Rhys and Lucy separated to find the most obscure record they could. They encountered Latin pop with the most amateurish of covers, 70s Nigerian calypso, Norwegian quiet storm, hip-hop CDs by small time rappers hoping to make it big, Shoegaze, experimental noise pop by a teen somewhere out there, bedroom pop, and genres they hadn't even heard of. After looking high and low, they eventually decided on a dejected cd that didn't even have a cover photo. Karaoke at the slagheap by Bianca scout, scrawled in a scribbly, rushed attempt at cursive. Obscure enough for their taste. There was after all, only one copy of it. They could have easily been owners of the only copy of the album.
Lucy opened the translucent plastic CD casing and out fell a note, which happened to be the tracklist. The song titles were eccentric, to say the least. 'neva neva' '444' 'This non stop atmospheric sparticle' 'Demon Body, Ecology + Future' were a few of the 18 songs. A polaroid was stuck to the note, featuring a girl, maybe 20 years old wearing a school uniform dress in a half embrace with an upright skeleton whose clavicle she held and looked over into the camera. She had long back-length hair, and wore an expression that was apprehensive, passionate and pleading all at once.
"I wonder where our poor little girl scout is right now," Lucy said with a sigh.
"Probably still making her art. I hope she is," Rhys murmured.
They took the CD to Francine, who busied herself with a crossword and still looked bored. Having no idea why or how she got hold of Karaoke at the slagheap, she just let them take it free of charge. It was past 9 p.m. by the time Rhys and Lucy walked out of the store, there were slightly fewer people in the streets. Car headlights illuminated the sidewalk better than the scattered streetlights did for the roads.
"Look what I got," Lucy said, sounding proud of herself. From behind her, she pulled healthy a collection of CDs as if from thin air. 2 Rage Against The Machine CDs, an L7 CD, Air's Moon Safari and something by Aaliyah. She showed them like a hand-winning royal flush at a tense table.
"I didn't steal them, I took them," she continued.
"Pretty sure that's stealing," Rhys said.
"You know what stealing is better than me." She raised her arms in self defence. "Don't even think about playing the saint, Ree Porcher. I know." Her sideward glance accusing him.
"You're kidding, right? It can't be that obvious that I do. How do you know?"
"You don't have a job, as far as I know. You sell stuff at school for prices you fucking shouldn't. The list goes on."
"What if my parents give me money?" he countered.
She laughed. "I know that isn't true. I know a lot of things, things I don't concern me even. Things I wish I didn't."
"You can never know enough, sadly," Rhys said matter-of-factly. The statement seemed to ground thieving Lucy, and they walked on.
The two teens went back to a now a deserted community park. They conversed, joked and flirted to their hearts content. They couldn't seem to run out of things to say or stories to tell. Long lingering glances into the other's eyes increased the romantic tension between them. All they wanted was affirmation to kiss. After their eventful evening they finally did.
Rhys and Lucy laid on a park bench, sharing warmth. The sky was cloudless and leaden, not a single star shown bright enough for their eyes to ponder on. Rhys had started to feel a bit sleepy with Lucy/Leah's form pressed against him. The scent of her smothering hair intoxicated him, or was it just her raw essence that was penetrating his senses? His psyche. Her eyes, oh, those eyes. They held him in place, everything melted away in the magical orbs to her soul. She gazed intently at him, her empty eyes were filled with nothing but passion. 'Take me, take me now, please!' They seemed to tell him, and he did. Their bodies writhed in time with their tongues, her heartbeat thudded against his chest as they went on. When they finally separated, he held her now cold form against his and noticed how pale she looked.
"Are you okay, Lucy? You're pale," he remarked feeling her forehead.
"I'm okay, no need to worry." She gave him the best smile she could in that moment.
Slowly, he fell asleep, her soft features the last thing he saw.