Hippest

In the year since I wrote the first draft of this story- for a Valentines event hosted by my writing group. Since then the bar this story is set in was closed due to limited revenue during Covid 19 closures., along with many other venues I went to around the same time. This piece was always set in a vague, 2013-ish time, but now it seems even more like a bygone age. It serves as a memorial to not just a specific moment in Milwaukee’s music scene, but a specific and slightly terrible version of myself. Hope you enjoy it.

Chrys had been practicing for 2 hours already. She hadn’t noticed until she glanced at her cracked Iphone screen and realized she had only 7 minutes until her bus came. If she was lucky it wouldn’t be early like last week.

She sighed. It was like this every week.

She closed her beat up notebook, tossed it into the front pocket of her guitar case, and tossed her guitar into the case. Once she had shimmied herself into her too-tight leather jacket, strapped herself into her new Lita boots, she was out the door with three minutes to spare. Which was for the best. She’d need a little time to clippity clop along in her litas. 

She had moved out of her parent’s house only a few months ago, and so was still really enjoying the freedom. Her apartment was big, if a little out of the way, and in an old building that used to be a church.

The building had obviously taken on many different duties in 100 years. It was now home to a bar downstairs, with apartments in it’s domed top floor. Chrys had gotten the apartment right under the big copper dome, and as a result her apartment was very awkwardly shaped. 

Chrys had loved it instantly.

She’d already fallen into a routine, which made her feel like a real person who did things. She worked odd hours at a vintage boutique across town. When she came home she made the same dinner, rice, and frozen dumplings from a monthly voyage to the good Traders Joes, and sat on Tumblr for a while. Then she sat down to learn one new cover and write one new song a week. She’d play them at the same open mic she went to every thursday night and treat it as her weekend. It was her night to have fun and drink alcohol with the pretense of being around people.

She she’d been going to the Up and Under long enough to know the regulars. It was comfortable She liked casually ordering a PBR and she liked knowing what other drinks to get if she felt fancy. She’d learned how to walk around downtown with a guitar like it’s normal, and how to drop her guitar casually by the stage right when she walked in.

Dressed up, her guitar by the stage, the lights low and a drink in her hand made her feel like a real musician. Recently deposited by her bus she settled into her chair and took in the glow.

Sebastian still found walking in the door of the Up and Under to be terrifying.In fact, just walking up[ to the sticker covered door made him want to turn around and make a mad dash back to his apartment. In fact, the first time he tried he’d done just that, kicking himself the whole way home.

He’d tried again the next week and had shaken his way through two songs to an indifferent audience. Somehow he was hooked, despite it all.

Sebastian didn’t even really like the bar. It was the kind of place that seemed to be trying to cover up never cleaning by turning off all the lights, not realizing the smell gave it away. The house band was always rude to him, and he couldn’t help but feel self-conscious playing acoustic to a crowd who was mostly drunk and playing pool oddly loud.

Like seriously, pool isn’t that exciting. Stop shouting.

Still, he loved playing guitar and so going to open mics seemed like something he would have to learn to do. He was starting to almost get used to it. He always ordered a spotted cow and sat near the stage where he didn’t have to interact with anyone in anyway. He could just watch people play their instruments. When he really liked the music it was totally transporting. Suddenbly there was nothing else in the room, just music and a stage connecting directly with something deep inside you that people used to call god.

It was what made it worth it.

This is how he knew Chrys. She was the only other regular with music taste he really connected with. Plus, she was pretty. He had that kind of crush you get when you only know someone’s stage persona, and don’t realize what that means yet.

He loved her presence. She could play a song without ever even glancing at the audience, just gazing at her guitar like she and it were in a soft kind of love that you were lucky to get to witness. She tended to just smile when spoken to onstage. Half the time she didn’t even introduce what she was playing.

To watch someone so connected to music you also love can convince you that you have a powerful bond. It’s as if you have had a premonition that you’re perfect together and just need to connect and discover it.Like you’ve seen something deep inside their souls they might not even be aware of.

He couldn’t quite put it into words, he just knew he needed to talk to her despite doubting she’d give him the time of day. They’d never actually spoken per sey, but he’d once seen her get drunk on PBR and then eat a plastic cup full of cherries she’d convinced the bartender to give her. She seemed fun.

So today he was actually going to speak to her. At least say hi. To find out for sure that she’d look right through him.

Ten steps was a thousand. The wood floors warped and lengthened. It felt like that first step through the sticker bombed front door all over again.

Finally he was there taking the stool next to her instead of the one facing no one but the music. He tried to look casual. As if he had just picked a place to sit at random, and didn’t care about making conversation. Chrys could tell he had a chrys on her without looking up from tuning.

She set her telecaster in her lap and sipped her PBR. It was his chance.

“So, you like PBR? I can’t drink it. It tastes like watery bread.” He started. He had meant to compliment her teal guitar. It looked like real vintage, and how cool was that?

Damnit. 

Chrys blinked. She pondered this statement. Who admits they can’t drink Pabst? She answered after a moment.

“No. It’s crap.” She said, returning to tuning to give them both a moment to let the awkwardness hanging in the air dissipate into the beer smell a little.

He nodded and wondered if he should offer to buy her a beer that doesn’t taste like old bread and sadness. The moment streatched painfull until the first performer took the stage. He was a gorwn man with a full beard, who proceeded to whistle and clap out the Lumineers with an earnestly Chrys found very off-putting.  

Once he started adding the stomp she couldn’t take it anymore.

“Oh my god.” She said, finally fulling looking at Sebastian. She’d always thought of him as just that skinny kid who played a lot of Wilco and didn’t talk to anyone, but he was kind of cute. She liked his little sweater. It was argyle and gave off the vibe of a movie character who got left for a guy on a motorcycle. In a good way.

“This is so bad.” she whispered to him conspiratorially during both the “Ho!” and the “Hey!” “Want to get some air?”  

Chrys was always dodging to the smoking section despite not actually smoking, even when she didn’t have her smoking friends around. It was a great way to talk smack in semi privacy. Plus, it looked cool to lurk around with the edgy kids.

Sebastian nodded in a way he hoped was cool. It wasn’t. Chrys hopped unsteadily off the barstool onto her 5-inch heels, and motioned for Sebastian to leave his guitars in the guitar pile. Sebastian hated to leave his instrument out of his sight, but this was no time to be neurotic. 

Out on Brady street, the crusty punks slowly drifting by like buffalo on the plains. Chys smoothed her skirt to sit on a step and realized she should introduce herself.

“Chrys.” She said, putting out her hand. She was touching him. Amazing.

It didn’t even matter that he knew her name already.

“Sebastian. What’s Chrys short for?” 

“Chrysanthemum” Since moving out on her own she’d been telling everyone it was short for Chrysanthemum. It was not. It was short for Christina. He suspected it was a lie but left it alone. 

She zipped her jacket and gazed into the empty sky. The guy playing Ho Hey had moved on to playing MGMT’s Kids, his voice following them onto the steps like a trend chasing ghost.

“I’m not playing till midnight. The house band is taking all the good slots again.” offered Chys.  “ I feel like my voice at midnight is not there.”

Sebastian laughed. 

“I got the very last slot even though I was here first. Pretty sure they hate me.” 

“Fuck them!” She said with enthusiasm. “ The lead guitarist acts like he’s so cool, but he is always playing endless guitar solos while his band is stuck vamping for ten minutes. Like he’s impressing anyone. It’s Milwaukee. No one is going to bow down to your rock god prowess in a small town dive bar. If you were actually good you’d be in LA, not the house band at the fucking Up and Under. Like honestly you’re playing an open mic gig on a Thursday night. They probably pay you in beer. You can let new musicians have a chance to play.” 

Sebastian had always thought they were talented, but they also called him dweeb to his face, so he nodded in agreement. It felt good to see Chrys so unimpressed by people that intimidated him.

“I liked it when they played the Godzilla theme song though.” He added

She grinned. 

“Ok fine, that was awesome. Also, the rest of that band is cool. Just not mister ego MC.” 

They all seemed like dicks, they just wanted to get in Chrys pants except the lead. But hey.

She got up like someone who couldn’t remember why she’d sat down, abrupt and a little unsteady because of her boots. She brushed past the little entry full of band posters for jam bands no ones ever heard of and back to her barstool while Sebastian followed her in. Ho Ehy guy was just finishing and she clapped politely while returning to her warm Pabst. 

Which leads us to an important question. Have you ever listened to a grown man make a trumpet noise for 4 minutes? Would you like to? How many times?

Mouth Trumpet Guy was a bit of a local celebrity. He was at least 50 and seemingly had nothing but time to go to open mics to imitate a trumpet, play the tambourine, and start drama. If you went out to play the music you would meet Mouth Trumpet guy and he would start drama with you. It was like a rule of physics.

Chrys and Sebastian had both had their run-ins with mouth trumpet guy and exchange looks that meant as much. He then began to fight with the lead singer of the house band about turning up his mic.

“I know you don’t like me but have some respect cocksuckers!” He shouted at the soundboard in front of everyone. He had not seen them yet. 

“If we bail on this we could get a pizza!” she said, her eyes sparkle in the dim light. If someone you’re crushing on wants pizza it becomes your life’s mission to get them pizza. He was in, music be damned. It could wait a week.

 “Sure,” said Sebastian. He wondered if this was a date, or if he was just lucky to be caught her orbit as she spun through life. Either way seemed fun.

She had already decided she wanted him. She liked the way he looked at her. He seemed so excited. It was cute.

Walking down Brady street towards pizza shuttle, guitars in hand, felt cool to both of them. Onlookers would see them as just two musicians, out  to do something cool, instead of two awkward kids fleeing conflict with a guy who imitated an instrument. It felt nice to be in the open air together.

They had one of those dinners where both parties are actually just thinking about getting each other naked and no one has any idea what was said when looking back on it later. Pizza slices were eaten, they made little jokes about the people passing by, and their legs touched. That was all either would remember. Hell, the fact that pizza was eaten is more of a deduction then a memory.

Eventually, they ended up at the bus stop back to her house for reasons lost to time, probably incited by a fake reason. Perhaps she’d said that she wanted to hear the song Sebastian didn’t get to play, or that she needed to get her guitar to bed since it was up past it’s bedtime and would be cranky tomorrow.

As they watched the lights drift by on the bus 22, Chyrs felt a little awkward about how obvious it was that they were going to have sex soon. I mean, damn, way to give herself away.

Sebastian was actually still wondering if they were going to. Chrys was hard to read. She was very seldom sincere and might be joking at any time. He was trying not to let on that he had no idea what she wanted from him.

The bus dumped them off in front of a boarded-up storefront with a crushed 40 in front of it, and Chrys pondered where he would follow her. On a bus to the bad part of the west side, apparently. Probably Into a sketchy walkup above a bar. Where was the limit? Walnut street? Hell?

Watching her in her tiny dress and leather jacket, hair blowing in the night, looking confident on the scary street, Sebastian was still pretty sure she was magic. He would definitely follow her into hell.

They dropped their guitars i next to the crumbling velvet couch that was the only piece of furniture in her little living room. She took off her jacket it on a hook by the door. she had to sit on the floor to take off her boots, standing up once she was free to walk normally again. She suddenly seemed so small. 

He was going to offer to play Jesus ETC for her, sitting on the couch and pulling the guitar on top of him. Chrys told him to put his guitar next to hers in a very forceful manner. 

None of that. Not tonight. 

“Do you want any food?” She offered instead. “ There’s…. um, “ She walked out of the empty living room into the empty kitchen. “There’s some apples and a lot of rosemary. And one beer. And a bottle of whiskey.” 

He had water and she had whiskey with a chuck of rosemary dropped in it. 

Sipping her terrible drink, Chrys started flipping through her record crate balanced on the windowsill. Sebastian joined her quickly, staring at the records with an intensity she wasn’t sure she liked. Like he was fetishizing them.

It was in the moment she realized she’d never really had anyone else spend time in her apartment. It suddenly felt strange to see things in her apartment being animated by someone who wasn’t her, her records flipping at someone else’s hands. She glared at them as if they were being somehow disloyal. 

He pulled out the glory that is the album art of Bat out of Hell. Meatloaf shirtless, his bike flying, a dragon just behind him. He wasn’t that familiar with Meatloaf, but that album art has a way of drawing you in.

“I’ve always wanted to have sex to Meatloaf. It seems like it’d be so rad.” She said. He nodded. He still had no idea how sincere she was. Did she want to bang, or did she just bring up sex because she, unlike him, was comfortable with her sexuality.

“Yeah.” he managed. “Rad.” 

Then they were making out. It’s funny how time seems to skip seconds like that. Its as if the time that suddenly stretched out when you start the scary first move is taken right out of when you first make contact.

One minute you’re standing and the next minute you’re pinned up against the couch, someone’s hands up your skirt.

Since Sebastian had seemed shy she was surprised at how fast he went for the vag. Not in a bad way, it was fine. She just hadn’t quite expected to have fingers inside her yet. 

“Jesus let me get my tights off at least,” she said.

 She always felt weird wriggling out of tights in front of anyone. He watched her struggle for a while. It wasn’t a judgmental stare but sometimes you just don’t want to be watched, you know? But when you’re the girl sometimes you’re stuck being the main event. 

Once she was finally out of her tights she figured fuck it and dropped her dress to the floor. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Suddenly naked, making out, meatloaf screaming from the record player, she felt kind of awesome. 

She had not actually had casual sex before. It had been on her to do list, but college was lame and she’d been busy with music recently, you know?

“Wait” Said Sebastian who just assumed she was much more experienced than him. “Should I take my shirt off?” He said, his fingers were halfway into her vagina. So yes. Yup. Yes indeed.

She watched him take off his shirt and jeans and briefs. He sat back down and she traced his thin stomach with her fingers. Black hair on pale skin. She hadn’t expected to go home with anyone tonight. It made it sexy and exciting and sudden. One moment she’s alone and the next she gets full access to another body in a way she normally only has access to her instrument.

Finally they both noticed that Meatloaf and stopped bellowing about his feals. The room was just sex sounds and record static now. Which is also a mood. She went back to making out. 

“You can’t just let it go. It’s bad for your needle. Even if it is just a shitty crosley.” He warned her. She jumped off him and turned the player off. Slightly mad about the dig, she walked into the bedroom. He followed her in silence. 

Is there anything more disappointing then first-time sex with a stranger? You’ve got all that exciting build-up, the flirting, and the almost touching. Then you’re all amped up because you’re half-naked for the first time and Meatloaf is on. Fingering is hot. You’re hoping he goes down on you, then bam he’s asking for condoms and you feel too awkward to point out that penetrative sex is overrated and you’d kind of rather skip it? 

Is there anything worse than thinking all that while someone is inside you? 

Yes. That thought is-

 “Damn. He seems like he’s having so much fun.” Observed cooly, while your head gets knocked into the bedframe over and over and you avoid eye contact. 

It’s not that it felt bad, It just so obviously felt so much better for him. It killed her buzz. She was suddenly over it.

Sebastian, excited by everything going on right now, was too distracted by nudity and thrusting to notice her mood switch. 

So by the time Sebastian finished, took the condom off, and ran to the bathroom to throw away the evidence, it was pretty far past when Chrys had lost enthusiasm for the whole endeavor. 

He came back, happy if a little awkward, to a miserable looking lump curled into a fuzzy blanket. Chrys wanted him to leave but wasn’t quite up for kicking anyone out of her apartment. She just wanted to lay around alone until the weird misery passed. She hoped silence would pass on that message. 

This was not what his post-orgasm with a cute new partner buzz was expecting. Instead of reading silence as “leave now!” He decided she just felt a bit awkward and needed cuddles.

He curled up around her, long limbs wrapped around her small ones. Sebastion felt great. Chrys felt…fine. She normally wouldn’t cuddle this early, but it was ok. She wouldn’t kick him out yet.

“Its always a little weird the first time, right?” He smiled at the back of her head. 

she jumped right on this explanation for her obvious change of moods. She was not one to talk about her feelings.

“I guess.” she agreed without looking at him.

“But hey, it could be worse. At least we avoided mouth trumpet guy.” he said

“Ug yeah this is way better. At least I get to say I got laid for once,” she said

“I’ll vouch that you did if you need to brag to the house band” he said

“Please no.” she laughed.

They lay in the ambient vagueness of algorithm pleasing indie rock until Chrys relaxed enough to get sleepy. Sebastian realized it was late enough that he needed to catch the last bus. He told her so, hoping that she’d offer for him to stay the night. 

“Oh shit, you better go then,” she said, opening only one eye and not offering to get up.

He left her to pretend to sleep while he found his guitar, pants, boxers, and only one of his socks. 

Chasing down the last bus out of Chrys’ scary neighborhood, he watched as the old church’s green dome faded out of view and the city lights became a suggestion on the horizon. The bus was empty except for the driver, making it all a bit cozy. He wondered if the bus driver guessed what he’d been up to.

Slowly realized he’d never actually gotten her number. 

Chrys, unable to actually sleep, would return to the kitchen to grab her still full glass of rosemary whiskey. sitting back down by her guitar she realized she wanted to learn Bat Out of Hell for next week. She looked up the tabs for the opening riff, plotting to turn the reverb up and really belt it. Give the house band a run for their money.

It was going to be so rad.