Page 6 of This I Promise You
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We arrive at Uptown Slam just before the show starts at ten and it’s already packed. I let Huxley dress me because I figured it would just be easier than trying to fight it. I’m wearing a white button-down with tan, navy, and cream stripes on it—silk, I think, and it probably cost more than my car—with the top three buttons undone, my black slim-fit jeans, a light-brown suede Chelsea boot that I already owned, and my black leather jacket. My closet isn’t terrible, I just don’t have anywhere to wear anything.
It’s cold as shit, but according to Huxley these lightweight clothes are “my brand”—I swear she is just like Alexis fromSchitt’s Creekand I love it—so I’m suffering through the January chill. She also lent me some necklaces and a ring that only fits on my pinky finger. My tattoos are on full display.
Oof! I haven’t been around this many people in a long-ass time. It is a quaint little place. Totally a Seattle hipster boho vibe. There are a shit ton of plants. The bar sits off to the left and a small stage to the right with an eclectic range of seating that centers around a large leather sofa.
Huxley beelines to the bar where she seems to know a few people. She introduces me as her new BFF. Honestly, it kind of makes me uncomfortable, but I push through my social anxiety. She drove, so I can’t just hop in my car and leave whenever I want.I can do this. It’s just a few hours of pretending with a smile. If I’m good, then maybe we can just go home after this without Huxley dragging me to do something else.
Huxley mentions she's going to the restroom and I crack a joke about her not using the potty before we left. She flips me off, smiling, and she and one of her friends leave. I already forgot that person’s name. Maybe I can’t do this.
“So, you’re Paul, right?” says the other guy Huxley left me with. This better not be on purpose.
“Yep.” I could be nicer, but I don’t care.
“I’m Pablo.” We shake hands. I don’t say anything else. It’s awkward for a second before he speaks again. “How long have you known Huxley?”
“Two days.” Maybe I could lie and say I need to use the bathroom. But he might follow me. Shit.
“No shit? Y’all hookin’ up?”
“What the fuck, dude? No.”
“Just askin’.” He shrugs. Why the hell did I agree to come to this again? “You goin’ to perform tonight?”
That piques my interest. “I can do that?”
“Sure. Anyone can. Sign up sheet’s at the end of the bar.”
I knew it was an open mic, but I didn’t know they’d let anyone perform. I feign excitement and leave him because I cannot get away fast enough. My mind is on one-track overload now.
Should I perform one of my poems?
I write. I dabble. I’m an English major because it’s the only thing I could even damn well tolerate doing after high school. And it’s easy. I haven't picked my emphasis yet, but I do write. This seems like the place to do something like this. It’s totally that crowd.
I don’t have my notebook, but I have a couple things on my phone. There’s this witty one I wrote a while back. It’s fun and lighthearted but also complex because it makes no sense. That’s something I could do. I should do it. I will. I can do this. I think I’ll do it. Should I do it? Oh my holy hell. I don’t know why the fuck I’m doing this. Why am I here?
Huxley still isn’t back yet, so after I sign up I walk away before I bitch out. People are still conversing, so it isn’t hard to find seats. I scroll through my iPhone, and find the piece again. I read through it a couple times and, for the most part, memorize it.
When I look up from my phone I make eye contact with the cutest freckle-faced guy at the bar. He’s kinda short—not Huxley short, though, but most everyone is short when you’re six-one like me—with a darker olive complexion. His skin looks so smooth. He doesn’t seem to be with anyone and he definitely doesn’t look old enough to drink. I don’t drink, but maybe I could buy him one. He smiles and looks away just as Huxley sits down.
Never mind.
“You good?”
She seems to ask me that a lot. “Do I look like I’m not good?”
“You look flustered and tense. Do you want me to have Pablo give you a neck massage?” I don’t like the look of her smile. She definitely left me alone with that prick on purpose. I mean, I’m sure he’s fine, but I don’t know him. I don’t know anyone. I almost tell her what he asked me, but I don’t.
“Fuck that guy.”
“Alright, well if you really want to I’m sure there’s a back room y’all could do it in right quick.” She has no filter, and it doesn’t stop there. “Everyone loves a good quickie. We stan.”
“Huxley,” I bite.
“Listen, I saw your name on the sign-up sheet. What are you going to perform?”
“It’s…uh.” I stop. She’ll have to wait like the rest. “A surprise.”
