"Hello there, pretty lady."
I looked up to see the blurry figure of a somewhat tall guy with short, brown hair. He looked familiar, in a strange way. Was he Greg, my controlling ex-boyfriend? No, Greg was shorter. Was he Isaac, the boy I fantasized about in 8th grade? Not at all, Isaac was blond with blue eyes and had exactly four freckles across his nose—I should know, he was all I ever paid attention to in history and math that year. Or could he be my dad-someone that abandoned me and my mom when I was just 4? No way, I always remembered my dad with a mustache and beard.
Whoever this guy was, I would never be able to figure out. After all, the Molly Hatchet concert hadn't even started yet and I had already downed 3 beers in the past hour and was unconsciously reaching for this strange man's half drunken one.
"Whoa, calm down." The man sat down next to me and tried to take his drink back. He pulled away when I practically barked like a dog. "By the way, I'm Michael Kelso.
"Well, Michael Kelso, why don't we go somewhere more... private." I advanced toward the guy, knowing no more than his name and that I was strangely attracted to him.
"But I don't even know your name." I could see the smile playing on his face, how he couldn't resist me and my extremely low top—something I only wore on special occasions. I would find out in the month's to come that he had known less about a girl and slept with her. He pulled back and fixed the button on his shirt that I had undone.
"Fine," I gave in. "I'm Brooke Rockwell."
Michael hesitated a bit. "Let's just wait until the concert starts."
I frowned, but slightly smiled. At least he hadn't exactly said no. In the next few minutes I found out more about him—some of which made me feel uneasy (which I first attributed to the beer running through my system). Michael was 19 (a little young by my standards), had 6 siblings, and had had numerous "relationships".
While Michael babbled on about girls named Jackie and Donna, I found myself falling in love with his eyes. What made me so attracted to him? Two minutes ago I had just found out he had almost failed English all four years of high school (which would normally make me nauseous being the Valedictorian of my high school class) and cheated on his first girlfriend with the town slut (also one of his best friend's older sister) and it bothered me the least bit. Was it because I was drunk? Or was I truly attracted to him? I pushed both thoughts to the back of mind and tried to concentrate on the moment. Slowly I found myself leaning in and kissing him—stopping Michael mid-sentence.
When the kiss ended, Michael leaned back in his chair, thinking about what should happen next. He drank what was left of his beer, stood up, grabbed my hand, and confidently said, "Let's do it in the men's room, it's more romantic." I could tell he was more drunk than me, as he fell just after he said this.
I giggled with anticipation, following his every lead. Normally my idea of romantic would be a walk through the park or dinner at some place other than Fatso Burger. But today my idea of romantic was having sex in the men's bathroom with a boy I had only known for, at the most, 10 minutes. How could I have stooped so low?
"The concert will start in two minutes. Two minutes until the start of the concert." The announcer's voice roared through the building, sending somewhat of a shockwave through my body.
"It's okay, babe," Michael's words were slurred. He pulled me closer as teenagers and adults charged toward their seats.
When we entered the bathroom the three boys in there paid no attention to me-a woman-entering the men's bathroom. Michael led me to the handicapped stall, tripping over every step, and pulled a 13 year old boy out of the way.
"Hey, you can't-" the boy tried to object, but just shook his head and retreated to the next stall.
"Come on, sweetie." Michael pulled me into the 4 by 5 foot stall, locking the latch on the door behind him.
There was no going back now.