Pissing in a River

by Lorrie Sprecher

  We went upstairs to Melissa’s big bed, and I sang “Because You’re Frightened” by Magazine. I fell asleep to the metallic sound of rain on the roof and against the window and dreamed I was in junior high school again. I heard Kurt Cobain in the background screaming, “You’re in high school again. / NO RECESS!” from his song “School.” I had a crush on my Spanish teacher, Miss Digame-en-Español, but she made the class sing “My Country ’Tis of Thee” and I sang “God Save the Queen” instead. Then I sang the Sex Pistols’ version of “God Save the Queen.” I woke up knowing how disappointed she was in me, one of her special students, and thinking, my mind is my refuge, the only lit café on a very dark road. In real life, my former Spanish teacher had turned me down when I asked for her support in defeating a proposition on the ballot that would have fired all gay and lesbian teachers from the California public school system. It’s stupid, I know, but I guess it really hurt me if I was still dreaming about it.

  TRACK 48 The Seeker

  We didn’t get up until early afternoon. As we hung around the kitchen drinking cups of tea, Melissa decided Nick needed cheering up. It was such a lovely Saturday, she suggested we go to a pub by the river and said to Nick, “We’ll deal with everything tomorrow.” We drove out to a pleasant country pub and relaxed by the water, ate a ploughman’s lunch, and watched the swans. The world was starting to blossom. I devoured my last bite of bread, cheese, and pickle.

  Since the weather was warm, when we got back into the city we went to Maida Vale to have tea on one of the many brightly painted boats on the canal. The boats were covered with overflowing pots of brilliant flowers and hanging plants. I was wearing an extremely tasteful T-shirt that screamed “Nazi Punks Fuck Off” in lurid red letters. I got a disgruntled look from an older couple and said, “I’m thinking of changing my name to Vivid Unpleasantness.”

  That night we went to a party in North London given by Melissa’s friend Kate and her flatmates. The Victorian terrace was packed with sweaty people drinking and dancing on every floor and landing. While Melissa greeted mates in the kitchen, Nick and I went upstairs to the bedroom where Kate had told us to leave our coats.

  The bedroom faced the street. We looked out at the yellow streetlight. I laid Melissa’s dark-gray coat on a pile of outer garments on top of the bed. I unzipped and shed my black hooded sweatshirt with the white thermal-underwear lining. Underneath I was wearing a bright green T-shirt that said “ASBO” across it in big white letters. Melissa said it suited me, that I was a walking Anti-Social Behavior Order. Nick took off her black leather jacket. She was wearing a black T-shirt with a picture of Ian Dury in a green shirt and braces and “There Ain’t Half Been Some Clever Bastards” written across the front. She had a badge that said “I’m Not A Weekend Punk.”

  Nick ran into some mates on the landing. I joined Melissa in the kitchen. She was drinking lager from a plastic cup and talking to Kate. I thought she looked dead sexy in black creepers, white bondage trousers with black zippers running diagonally across the legs, and a white T-shirt with the cover of the 101ers album Elgin Avenue Breakdown in black. She had told me that the geezer pictured on the front was called “Metal Man” on account of he covered himself with metal. In return for his photograph, he had wanted a piece of chicken.

  I walked toward Melissa, so proud to be with her I could barely stand myself. I helped myself to a fizzy drink from a tub on the floor filled with ice, and Melissa rested her arm casually across my shoulders. It was the first time we’d attended an event with Melissa’s friends as a couple. I’d met Kate and quite a few of Melissa’s other mates before but not as “the girlfriend.”

  The DJ had a crate full of vinyl and was spinning an interesting mix of mostly late-seventies, early-eighties music. Melissa pulled me into the crowded front room to dance as the Beat’s “Mirror in the Bathroom” played. We crammed into a small space by the window. Melissa swiveled her hips and held her arms over her head. “God, you’re sexy when you dance,” I said. “I’m crawling out of my skin.”

  Melissa grabbed my hands and pulled me into her rhythm. After the fast song “I Need to Know” by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, the DJ put on the slower “Refugee.” That song had always depressed the hell out of me but not tonight. Not now that I didn’t feel like I was living in exile from my own life anymore. I moved Melissa into me and put my hands on the back pockets of her trousers. With my head on her shoulder, I could see a few of her mates staring at us.

  During “Needles” by Dead Man’s Shadow, Melissa held me in her arms and gave me a gorgeous, lingering kiss. A woman came up and hugged her. “No Martin tonight?” she asked slyly.

  Melissa laughed. “Not tonight. Not ever. Emma, this is Amanda.”

  “Bless you, darlin’.” Emma hugged me. “It’s surprising to meet you.”

  I laughed. “I’m as surprised as you are.”

  “You look happy,” she said to Melissa. “Ring us.” And she disappeared into the crush of bodies dancing. “Demolition Dancing” by the Ruts came on.

  “Did you warn anybody that you switched sides?” I asked.

  Melissa smiled at me. “Just a few.”

  “Aren’t you worried about how your mates will react?”

  Melissa spun me. “No.”

  “Jesus Christ. Could you possibly ‘come out’ any more gracefully? Couldn’t you stammer just once?”

  She laughed, shaking her head, tossing her hair about her face.

  “Couldn’t you try and hide me just a little?”

  “Nope.” We danced to “Roxanne” by the Police. “Is it just me, or is it getting hotter in here?” Melissa rested her head on my shoulder and kept her arms around me as the song ended.

  “It’s got a lot hotter,” I said, breathing more rapidly.

  We danced wildly to Romeo Void’s “Never Say Never,” jumping about with our arms flailing, taking up more space. “I haven’t seen Nick in a while,” Melissa said.

  “She should be dancing with us,” I said. “I’m gonna find her.”

  “I’ll get some air.” Melissa pushed her way slowly toward the open front door.

  I got another fizzy drink from the kitchen and looked around for Nick but couldn’t find her. The stairs were crammed with people talking, drinking, and smoking fags. “Sorry, cheers, sorry.” I moved people out of my way. I searched all the rooms where people had gathered as the sounds of Graham Parker and the Rumour floated up. Finally I opened the door to the bedroom where we’d stashed our gear. It was dark inside. Nick was sitting on the heap of coats and scarves that lay on the bed. “There you are, mate.” I sat down next to her, and she passed me her cup of lager. I took a sip. “I’ve been looking for ya. Come down and dance.” I heard the Clash’s “Safe European Home” playing now. “What’s wrong?” I asked when she didn’t say anything.

  “Just leave me be, mate,” Nick said. “I’m feeling evil, me.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “My insides are all churning up, aren’t they?”

  “You’re worried about Atom waiting outside your flat?”

  “Yeah, well. Being stalked is lovely on the nerves.”

  “Come on. Let’s find Melissa. She’ll cheer you up.”

  “No, mate. I can’t face all those people.”

  She wouldn’t budge, so I went to get Melissa. She was still outside, drinking lager and talking to her mate Jane. “There’s the girl,” Jane said, meaning me. “Hiya, ’manda.” She gave me a hug and an extra squeeze that I could tell was filled with meaning.

  Melissa and I politely shoved our way upstairs with three cups of lager. I closed the bedroom door behind me, and Melissa joined Nick on the pile of coats. “Cheers,” Nick said as Melissa handed her a cup.

  “Dry your eyes now, love.” Melissa picked up someone’s scarf and mopped Nick’s face with it until Nick laughed in protest, squirming a
nd holding up her hands.

  The DJ was doing a tribute to Mrs. Thatcher. First the Newtown Neurotics song “Kick Out the Tories” then the Beat’s “Stand Down Margaret.” We automatically sang along then got up and danced to the Redskins song “Kick Over the Statues.” I laid my head on Melissa’s chest and felt her sweaty T-shirt cling to her body.

  After “Rock Lobster” by the B52s, the DJ took a break, leaving the B side of first Pretenders album spinning on the turntable. Of course we danced like our lives depended on it. I was looking out the bedroom window, giving it my all, becoming one with the Pretenders music. I felt the sweat running down my face and closed my eyes to the melodic guitar of “Private Life.”

  The Pretenders record was followed by “Did You No Wrong” and “Submission” by the Sex Pistols. I smiled and watched Melissa and Nick dancing close together, deep in conversation. Melissa had one hand on Nick’s back and was holding Nick’s hand with the other. I thought they moved together like two glorious punk angels, and I was filled with a love for them so huge I thought I would crack open. I went and put my arms around both of them.

  “Tainted Love” by Soft Cell started playing, and I emitted a small cry of nostalgic excitement. “I remember dancing to that in clubs all over England with my mates. That and the Human League’s ‘Don’t You Want Me.’ During my third term at Exeter, I attended exactly one lecture and posted in my papers from places like Edinburgh, Lake Windemere, and the Brontë house on the Haworth moors.” I had loved the maroon buses of Edinburgh and the purplish moors.

  Parched from dancing and out of beer, we trooped downstairs. Melissa switched to non-alcoholic refreshment because she was driving us home, but Nick and I continued drinking lager. “You know what you’re doing, right?” Melissa whispered as she handed me a cup, concerned that I would make myself ill.

  “I won’t have too much,” I said, already dizzy from the effects of medication-enhanced alcohol.

  We left the party after two in the morning. We passed a kebab shop on our way to the car. I stopped and looked through the window at the spinning column of fat-dripping meat. “I’ll just get chips,” I said.

  Melissa knew all about my love affair with greasy English food. She caught my eye and said, “If you behave yourself, I’ll make you both my special bangers and mash when we get home.”

  “Special means healthy.” I swatted Melissa’s bum.

  Melissa slid her finger through the belt loop of my bright-red jeans. She tugged on it, and I clomped backward in my heavy black shoes, leaning into her open coat and feeling her T-shirt still damp with sweat. “I can make you all the things you love without meat. Well, except for doner kebab. I haven’t yet learned how to approximate tortured lamb meat that’s been on a spit all day with flies landing on it.”

  Nick choked with laughter.

  “Spiced meat, salad, and dressing stuffed in a pita so inebriated punters can eat it as they wobble home. What could be better?” I asked, my speech slurred.

  “Did you know the doner kebab is named after the Turkish word ‘dondurmek’ meaning rotating roast? Mmm,” Melissa said. “It was invented by a Turk called Mr. Aygun. In the UK, it’s often a mass-produced elephant leg of indeterminate meat. Yummy. Some even contain pork. Definitely not Halal. Huge amounts of salt and saturated fat and animal species that don’t appear on the label. What could be better?”

  “Stop it, Melissa. You’re making me hungrier.”

  “It’s still haram for you,” Melissa laughed. She took hold of one of my arms and Nick grabbed the other, walking me between them in the cold night air.

  “Pork pie, shepherd’s pie, steak-and-kidney pie,” I chanted.

  “I can make you all those without meat,” Melissa said. They shoved me into the back seat of the car.

  I leaned over the seats as Melissa drove. “Once my mate at Exeter wrote a letter to the pork-pie company complaining about a bad pork pie.”

  “How could she tell the pie was bad?” Melissa asked. “They’re supposed to be rancid.”

  “And one day this lorry from the pork-pie people pulled up in front of our residence hall, and some blokes carried up a half-dozen crates of pork pies. We had to stack them in the hall because they wouldn’t all fit in her room.” I started singing “Bargain” by the Who: “‘I’d gladly lose me to find you. / I’d gladly give up all I had. / To find you I’d suffer anything and be glad. / I’d pay any price just to get you / I’d work all my life and I will. / To win you I’d stand naked, stoned and stabbed. / I’d call that a bargain, the best I ever had—the best I ever had!’” Then I collapsed against the rear seat.

  “Her voice is getting raspier,” Nick said, “and her shouting is improving.”

  “She’s uninhibited now,” Melissa said. “She has to be this passionate when she’s sober.”

  I’d been practicing singing more like Liam Gallagher. “I can hear you, you know,” I said disgruntled, sitting up.

  When we got home I asked Melissa to play “Bargain” on the stereo. I put my arms around her neck and said, “I’m obsessed with Pete Townshend’s guitar on this.”

  Melissa whispered back, slow-dancing with me, “That’s not a secret.” She winked at Nick.

  I looked at her swinging hips then put on “Love Reign O’er Me” so I could belt out along with Roger Daltrey, “‘Only love / can bring the rain / that falls like tears / from on high!’ I saw Ann Wilson singin’ that from the front row,” I said. “I could see the fillings in her teeth.”

  Upstairs Melissa tucked a hot-water bottle down at the foot of the bed. I pulled on a soft, clean T-shirt that said “AIDS Is Killing Artists / Homophobia is Killing the Arts” and a dark-gray sweatshirt. Just as she was turning to go downstairs and have a cuppa with Nick, I grabbed her and whispered, “I’d call that a bargain, the best I ever had.”

  TRACK 49 Drowning in the Shallow Waters of Prescribed Morality

  On Sunday, the three of us drove to Bethnal Green in the pouring rain to get Nick’s gear. Nick hadn’t wanted to report Atom to the police. Melissa was slightly exasperated with her. “Well, you don’t fucking have to,” Melissa said. “He assaulted Amanda, too.”

  “He only chased me,” I reminded her. “He didn’t actually catch me.”

  “Things are getting better, Nick. You can report a gay-bashing, you know,” Melissa said. “Or a gay-stalking or whatever.”

  “Thank you, Dr. I’ve-been-a-lesbian-for-all-of-five-minutes. If things were really any better, you could fucking marry Amanda here and get her bloody, bollocky citizenship.”

  “Bollocks,” Melissa said.

  They both shut up, and the only sounds were the scraping of the windscreen wipers and the rush of tires on wet pavement.

  Sullenly we climbed the stairs to Nick’s flat.

  Melissa held an umbrella over the open hatchback as I fit in armloads of clothes and a box of CDs. Then she went upstairs to see if Nick needed any more help.

  A male voice said, “Thought you’d got away from me, did you, darlin’?” And I faced the same stocky, stroppy white bloke who’d chased me off the night I’d come looking for Nick.

  “What makes you think I was trying to get away from you?” I asked defiantly, immediately regretting it as I remembered I’d fucking run away from him the last time. “We’re here. We’re queer. Fuck off.” The rain splashed our bare heads as we stared at each other. “Just call me Nucleus.” I slammed the hatchback shut and tried to walk past him. He deliberately stood in my way. “I’m not alone this time,” I said. “I’ve got my mates with me. You know, the champion-Rottweiler breeders.” I wondered why I said inane things when my adrenaline was activated. Was adrenaline supposed to make you stupid?

  Melissa appeared first in the doorway then Nick. “Is this him?” Melissa asked. “Is he the one?” Nick nodded. “I’m not fucking ’aving it. This is bollocks. I’ll fucking m
urder him. Listen you,” Melissa poked Atom in the chest with the metal point on the end of her umbrella, “if I ever see you round here again, I’ll make you fucking sorry. Now fuck off.”

  Atom grabbed hold of the umbrella. “Now how will you make me fuckin’ sorry?” He pulled Melissa toward him.

  The thought of his hands on her made me freak. “Shithead motherfucker!” I lunged at him and shoved him away from her. The next thing I knew, he had my arm up painfully behind my back and my face on the warm hood of the car. I couldn’t see what was going on behind me, but it sounded chaotic. I heard Nick and Melissa yelling at him to let me go. The grip on my arm loosened for a second and I stumbled, trying to yank myself free. Then I was flying through the air. There was a sudden, searing pain in my shoulder, and I was sprawled out on the pavement. My whole left side seemed useless. I thought he’d broken my arm at the shoulder. I tried to sit up. It hurt so much I thought I was going to lose consciousness.

  I heard someone else wail in agony. Melissa had jammed the point of her umbrella as hard as she could into Atom’s leg. He fell, and Nick kicked him in the balls with her Doc Martens. I watched the neon pink letters on her belt that screamed “FUCK.” Atom had curled up on the ground in a fetal position. Shouting “If you ever touch either of them again, I will fucking kill you,” Melissa knelt beside me, putting her arms carefully around me.

  “Fuck, Melissa,” I said. “I think he broke my bleedin’ arm.”

  “Easy, love.” She leaned me against her and prodded me gently. “Fuck. The bastard’s dislocated your shoulder.”

  “Put it back!” I howled. “Put it back in!” I’d seen it in films. You popped the shoulder back into place and the pain ceased immediately.

  Melissa unwrapped my Exeter scarf from around my neck and carefully made a sling for my arm to keep it still. “You need to go to A and E,” she said steadily. “Have you ever dislocated your shoulder before? No, I didn’t think so. I want you x-rayed and medicated before anybody does anything. And I want to make sure there’s no fracture.”