01824: Metal Night at the Roller Kingdom

PHOTO: Skates on Flickr by flattop341 CC BY

Michael Silver was in love with Desiree Emerson, or at least that’s what he told himself. At fifteen, maybe he didn’t know exactly what love was—Matt was telling him as much over the phone right now—but he knew for sure that he felt something for Desiree.  He didn’t just have the hots for her; as his grandfather had so eloquently put it, at a Christmas party back in the day, back before his family’s Great Schism, back when friends and family crowded the halls of their Cape house on every possible occasion, Michael lit up like Rudolph’s nose at the mere sight of Desiree. And if that wasn’t love, then what the heck was it?

What was it about Desiree that made her so combustible? Well, you had to look at it this way: she was a senior, and a cheerleader, and far prettier than any cover girl he’d ever seen, and yet, despite all that, Desiree still said ‘hi’ to him in the hallways at school. She was Veronica’s best friend, and that meant she knew Michael by proxy, and kinda-sorta had to be cordial to him when they bumped into each other at parties and whatever. But she was under no obligation to acknowledge his existence within the hallowed halls of Chelmsford High. And even if she was so obligated, she surely wasn’t required to give him a smile on occasion, or a wave.

“...she’s a lesbian, Michael,” said Matt. “She might not know it yet, and Veronica is certainly too dim to notice, but Desiree is a certifiable rug-muncher.”

“I don’t believe you,” said Michael. “The way she smiles at me. There’s got to be something...”

“Michael, she smiles at you because you blush the moment she makes eye contact. She’s either getting some sort of perverted thrill out of watching you squirm in her presence, or she’s just embarrassed.”

“But you told me that she once… that, back in the day, at the Roller Kingdom...”

“Yes, Michael. Back in the day she was the handjob queen of the roller skating set. But she’s not anymore. I think she fancies herself like some kind of second mother to that alien growing in my sister’s abdomen. What you want, Michael, is...”

“I want Desiree,” said Michael. “And you were supposed to be help...”

“You want the next Desiree, Michael. That’s what you want.”

“What do you mean?”

“Believe me, Michael. What you’re in love with is not Desiree Emerson herself. What you’re in love with is the very idea that a hot girl even knows you’re alive. You’re in love with the picture of her in the yearbook, the one that you jerk off to...”

“I do not!” said Michael, wondering how Matt could know. He had never done that down the Cape. And he had only done it half a dozen times here at home.

“Michael, please,” said Matt. “I’ve been where you are now.”

“Except you were jerking off to a picture of the football team.”

Matt chuckled. “You got me there. But the difference isn’t that big. What you’re after, what you want now, is a quick physical fix. You don’t need love. And you certainly don’t need the bullshit baggage that comes with that word. You need a girl who’s willing to rub your dick under the table at a roller skating rink while you sit back and eat French fries. I’m telling you, Michael. You should listen to me.”

“And I suppose you know just the girl,” said Michael.

“As a matter of fact,” said Matt. “I do.”

*********

Michael had never been on a date before, blind or otherwise, so he wasn’t sure how this worked. Matt had made it sound so simple—‘Just ask your dad for a ride to the Roller Kingdom,’ he’d said. ‘You think he’s going to say no?’—but Michael knew it wouldn’t be that easy. He could imagine the look on his father’s face, that silly grin that Albert wore sometimes, and he didn’t want to deal with that. He wanted an answer without any stupid questions—‘A date huh? With a girl?’—and without any embarrassing pats on the back, or on the shoulder. He didn’t want Albert to be proud of him, to agree to drive him only after a thorough cross-examination. He wanted to present the facts of his situation all at once, and to receive a simple yes or a no, and then he wanted to be done with it. A year from now, when he had a license of his own, this would be so simple—‘Dad, I’m going out.’ ‘Where?’ ‘Roller Kingdom.’ ‘Be back before eleven.’—and he saw no reason why it shouldn’t be simple now.

So, Michael wrote a note. He wrote a note, explaining the whole situation, stuffed into an envelope addressed to Mom & Dad, knowing full-well that Mom would never have the time to read it, and he hung it on the refrigerator door with a magnet in the shape of Idaho, the only one of the fifty state magnets that had once adorned their fridge that Ashley hadn’t yet stolen for use in her room.

God, Michael thought to himself, what if Ashley reads it? He looked at himself in the mirror he’d hung on the wall in front of his drafting table, and sure enough, he was the color of a boiling lobster, about to shuffle off to crustacean heaven.

There was a knock at the door.

“What?” said Michael.

“It’s Dad,” said Albert, from behind the door. “When do you want to leave?”

Michael closed his eyes and breathed in deep. “Six?” he said.

“Okay,” said Albert. “Six it is.”

Michael listened to his father’s heavy footsteps descending the creaky staircase, and it wasn’t until he heard Albert reach the bottom that he leaped up onto his bed, and did a little dance.

Now, he thought. If only I knew what to wear.

According to Matt, Friday was metal night at the Roller Kingdom. And seeing as Michael didn’t listen to metal on a regular basis—Aerosmith was about the hardest rock he was into—there wasn’t exactly a surplus of black t-shirts and leather jackets in his closet. No, his closet was full of comic book boxes—four long, two short—a bin of old Transformers and Star Wars figures, and just enough clothes to keep him from wearing the same thing at school twice in one week. The ‘coolest’ ensemble he owned, at least in is opinion, was a pair of faded blue jeans that were frayed at the cuffs, and a white tee emblazoned with the image of the comic book character Wolverine eviscerating two ninjas while in the midst of a berserker rage. That was about it, and because it was cold out, and he had no other choice, he wore his maroon and white Chelmsford jacket on top. Perhaps he could’ve pulled that off as cool if he’d actually lettered in something, in band, or in some non-jocky sport like track, but he wasn’t sure. He calmed himself by repeating in his brain, ‘I’ll take it off the second I get in there. The very moment I get out of Dad’s car even...’

But he was nervous about something else, too. Say this girl, this Marnie that Matt had set him up with, really did rub him underneath the table on the first date. Say that happened, and say he got all the way there, just from that. Would anyone be able to tell through his blue jeans? Is that why guys wore black jeans in the first place, to hide the evidence of the hand jobs they got? Should he have brought an extra pair of underwear, just in case? Yeah, maybe he should have. But then, where would he have stored them? His jacket didn’t have an inside pocket, and he couldn’t risk them falling out of an outside pocket onto the floor. Maybe he should have just worn one pair over the other…

“Michael,” said Albert. “You look tense.”

“Well,” said Michael. “I, uh… I’ve never met this girl before.”

“But Matt knows her, right? And he says she’s alright.”

“Well, she’s his boyfriend’s younger sister,” said Michael. “Isn’t he, like, obligated to say nice things about her.”

Albert grinned, patted Michael on the shoulder. “I’m sure everything will be fine.”

“And I’ve never skated before either,” said Michael.

“Don’t worry about that,” said Albert. “Everyone looks like an ass on roller skates, even people who’ve been doing it for years.”

“Thanks, Dad,” said Michael, and he was thankful, thankful that a pat on the shoulder was all he got, that his father had stopped short of ruffling his hair.

*********

Albert dropped him off at a respectable distance from the front door, and told him to be back in the same spot by ten. Michael grunted his assent, gave Albert a wave, and began his long, lonely march toward the yellow glow of the front door. Underneath the awning, a guy in a jean jacket prodded a guy in a leather jacket and pointed toward Michael.

“Terry, lookit what we have here,” said the guy in the jean jacket.

Terry chuckled. “It appears to be one of Chelmsford’s finest, Brooks.”

Michael let loose a heavy sigh, and ducked his head.

“Is that your boyfriend’s jacket?” asked Brooks.

Michael pushed past him toward the door, ignoring the remark.

“It’s got to be,” said Terry, slapping a hand against the door, holding it closed. “Because the only sport this guy could letter in is...”

“It’s the only jacket I own,” said Michael, raising his gaze to meet theirs for the first time. “Okay? And it was a gift.”

Terry moved his hand. “A gift from your boyfriend,” he said.

Michael stormed inside, but he could hear their footsteps behind him. Brooks threw an arm around Michael’s shoulders. “We’re just fucking with you,” he said with a laugh.

“Yeah,” said Terry. “Unless you want us to, you know, fuck with you...”

“In which case, we’re going to have to refer you to our good friend Marnie over there by the snack bar.”

“Marnie?” said Michael.

His two antagonists exchanged dumbfounded stares.

“What?” said Michael.

“You’re the blind date?” said Terry.

“Matty Silver’s cousin? Vern Silver’s cousin?” said Brooks.

“You know my cousins?” said Michael.

“Why didn’t you say something?” said Terry.

“We totally would have laid off,” said Brooks.

“Well, you didn’t give me much of a chance,” said Michael, eyeing the giantess making her way across the room. “Is that Marnie?” asked Michael in a whisper.

“She only looks that tall from a distance,” said Brooks.

“Yeah,” said Terry. “Up close, she’s like a veritable midget.”

Marnie was tall and full-bodied. Not fat, just substantial. Michael imagined she was a basketball player on non-Metal nights, or a volleyball player. The arms that filled her tight leather coat were not the twigs Michael saw as he glanced around the rest of the room; they were thick branches. And though her body was imposing, the sheer size of her, the warm smiling face she presented to him from way up high was comforting enough to make up for it. Her round glasses softened her, as did the shoulder-length halo of golden hair that surrounded her smooth face.

“You’re like the perfect height,” said Marnie, with a wink.

“For what?” said Michael, not sure whether to stare directly at her breasts, which were at eye level, and which seemed to curve just the slightest bit upward, like an outstretched finger inviting him to come closer, to have a look, or if he was supposed to look up, towards her face, and do his best not to fixate on the insides of her nostrils.

Marnie laughed. “So innocent, too,” she said.

Michael smiled. Brooks and Terry each gave him a slap on the back. Terry spoke first. “Well, Mister Silver, we’re off. We’ve got to speak to the DJ about this black album bullshit he’s pulling on us tonight.”

“Yeah,” Brooks groaned, as they walked away. “If you’re gonna force Metallica down our throats, at least play something from Puppets, or And Justice For All even...”

Marnie took Michael’s hand. Her grip was strong, perhaps a little too strong.

“C’mon,” she said. “Buy me some fries and a drink, and I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

Michael nodded his head, and let her lead him towards the snack bar, and toward whatever came next.

*********

“Stop laughing,” Michael told Matt when he got him on the phone the next day, when it seemed like there was a hyena on the other end of the line instead of his cousin.

“Hey,” Matt said, trying to catch his breath between chortles. “You got what you were after, didn’t you?”

“She tugged at my dick like it was a fucking joystick,” said Michael. “I’m afraid to even take a piss this morning because of how much it aches.”

Matt kept on laughing. “I’ve always appreciated a firm grip,” he said.

“Of course you have!” said Michael. “You’re fucking gay!”

“She’s the only girl who ever got me off,” said Matt, who sounded like he was crying now.

Michael grunted, then hung up. He let himself fall backwards onto his bed and reached for the open yearbook on the floor. He gave Desiree one last look, then closed the book.

Next on 01824: After the Prom