they are. Tonight is a real happening. We find a good spot against the wall, to the right of the stage. It’s important to be on the right, since I lost some of my hearing in that ear when I was eleven. My best friend, Gabe, tried to drown me at the pool. I kicked him in the stomach so he smashed my head against the concrete. They evacuated everyone from the pool, and the blood in blue and white reminded me of a rocket pop I had before I went in. Afterward, everything sounded as if I was underwater.

I was never mad at Gabe for what he did. He was trying his hand at bigger things, and would go back to what he knew best, torturing smaller, defenseless creatures. I figured, the worst is over, and invited him to a sleepover. After some pleading, my mom consented. She made popcorn and Rice Krispie treats but refused any to him. He didn’t complain. Out of fear, I guess. I was terrified of my mother, who divorced my father a year later.

When Larry’s pissed off, he’ll talk in my bad ear, or move his lips as if he’s speaking. But I know there’s no sound coming out. I have gotten so used to not being able to hear, it took me a while to realize that sometimes I can hear like everyone else. Like P.J. Harvey, who is famous for whispering and going so quiet it’s impossible to understand. She treats her music as if it’s a secret she’s reluctant to share.

My father hands me a beer before the show, and turns his attention to the plethora of young women around him. Doesn’t he know this makes me uncomfortable? Of course all the hetero boys are doing the same, and the girls go by with grim faces and stiff necks. Not seeing but seeing. The youngest ones laugh too loudly, and sprint down the aisles. The boys fall for this act, willing to see mystery where there is none. <