Punk Like Me

by JD Glass

  I laughed for about a second, maybe because of Kerry’s discomfort, but then I got what she meant about straws and stuff. My ears grew warm and I stopped laughing. I hadn’t ever really thought that far about it. I mean, I guess, maybe I had, but not really, not so, uh, speciÞ cally.

  “But I don’t think I could do the downtown thing. I mean, there’s just no way,” she continued emphatically, shaking her head from side to side and crossing and uncrossing her hands in a warding gesture. I began to nod my head in agreement, I think I might have even been about to agree, but as I looked at her face and actually started to think about what she was implying, my brain suddenly locked like a camera set on “blur,” and I had no idea how or what I really felt or thought.

  I wasn’t sure whether or not I was lying, and I wasn’t proud of it if I was.

  Then again, I was also feeling a little foolish. I mean, here Kerry had obviously thought about the “whole thing,” whatever that was, and me, what had I been thinking about? Skin? Arms? Kissing? That’s it?

  So now, I was not only weird and maybe a fag, I was a stupid fag, too.

  It occurred to me that maybe I had better think about this a whole lot more, and I wasn’t sure what any of this meant for me, my personal future, or my friendship with Kerry, never mind anyone else.

  I scowled in concentration at my cigarette, as if answers would be written in the falling ash. In fact, I was a little numb—I’d been shocked into thinking about what all of this might mean. It was Þ ne to talk and think in intellectual abstractions, but to feel, I mean really feel, these different things and attempt to actually deÞ ne them and then to really, truly think about what the logical end of the road was to acting on

  • 61 •

  JD GLASS

  all of that, well, those things were worlds apart, and I had the less-than-comfortable suspicion that I had a foot on each one as they drifted farther and farther away from each other.

  “Hey, we’re here!” Kerry jumped up and announced as the train screeched and slowed into the station. “Dump the frown and let’s get slammin’!” And she grabbed my hand to pull me out through the doors and onto the platform.

  As we walked east toward the Bowery (CBGB’s is 315 Bowery, for those of you who haven’t been paying attention), I was overwhelmed with excitement—I was actually going to CB’s for the Þ rst time in my life! It was all I could do to keep myself from practically skipping the rest of the way and dragging Kerry behind me for once.

  The streets were Þ lled with interestingly dressed people of all kinds, and art littered every stationary space, from grafÞ ti to ornate spray-paint murals. I felt like one of those orphaned animals that’s saved and then has to be gently reintroduced back to its natural environment.

  If this was supposed to be home, I was going to like it.

  When we Þ nally crossed the street in front of CB’s, a huge crowd overß owed the sidewalk, and as we made our way through the throng, I was ß oored.

  Punks, punks of all kinds—Mohawks, skinheads, helicopter haircuts (back and sides gone, top left to grow wild as weeds), boys and girls, boys and boys, girls and girls, punk boys and punk girls with punk babies (and I mean toddlers) dressed up in little combat boots—my eyes drank it all in and thirsted for more. All the different types of people that could possibly be represented, and everyone just hanging and waiting to have a good time. A general friendliness pervaded the crowd.

  Until this very moment, I had never felt so comfortable surrounded by a tremendous group of strangers. This, this was the world I’d been looking for, a world where differences were not only accepted, but also encouraged.

  The smile I felt grow on my face actually hurt, but I couldn’t have held it back no matter how hard I tried, because the rest of me felt so full of warmth, awe, and some unnamed, undeÞ ned joy that I felt ready to burst.

  How long I remained like that, eyes wide-open and face ready to split, I don’t know. I was so caught up in everything I’d even forgotten I was holding Kerry’s hand.

  • 62 •

  PUNK LIKE ME

  I settled back to earth quickly enough, though, when I saw everyone start to gather in tight clusters by the entrance. I saw a few guys walk away from the door, shaking their heads in obvious disgust.

  “Damn ID card!” I heard one of them exclaim to a friend.

  A discontented murmur seeped back through the crowd, so I, still holding Kerry’s hand, started to work my way forward. Kerry pulled me back.

  “Hey, Kerr, c’mon and let’s go see what’s up,” I called out to her halfway over my shoulder and continued my forward motion, but her insistent pull on my hand stopped me. I turned around through the press of bodies to look at her and was surprised—Kerry suddenly looked very uncertain, and I interpreted it as her being shy. Which shocked me.

  “Um, let’s just wait back here. We’ll Þ nd out what’s going on soon enough,” she stammered out and cast her eyes down to wherever the sidewalk was. Her cheeks were ß ushed, and I thought maybe she was tired out from that brisk walk from the subway.

  “Nah, Kerr, I want to see what’s going on.” People had started to disperse a bit and regather into scattered clusters. Some were shaking their heads or shrugging their shoulders at one another in the universal “I dunno” gesture. A couple of groups settled in peaceful rings on the sidewalk, pulling out sodas and chips from army bags and knapsacks, and passing around packs of cigarettes in impromptu picnics.

  I looked at Kerry again. “You stay here a sec. I’ll go talk to the door and see what’s up.”

  She glanced quickly over to the large group still in the general area of the entrance, then turned back to me and nodded.

  I made my way through the crowd, excusing myself when I could, challenge-glaring when I couldn’t (no, I wasn’t trying to cut the line—

  just needed to get information, thanks) until Þ nally I stood in a small semicircular clearing in front of the entrance of CBGB’s, which was half a door.

  The bricks on the wall, where they weren’t covered with layers of stickers and ß yers of glory days gone by, were silver, and the same for what could be seen of the door or, rather, half door. That half was topped with a shelf that held a stamp pad, a stamper, wristbands, what looked like rafß e tickets, and the beefy forearms of the door guy. His head was shaved completely bald, and he had a row of small silver hoop

  • 63 •

  JD GLASS

  earrings running up the edge of his left ear, forming a seam around its edge. Although his head and cheeks were completely hair-free, he had a beard that hung down to his rather prominent chest.

  Thickset and well muscled, like a lot of bouncers, he was wearing a white, ribbed, sleeveless T-shirt (which is a guido or a guinea-T to New Yorkers, but if you can’t say “howyoodoowin” right, don’t call it that—you’ll get hurt) that showed off the massive black cross he had tattooed on his left deltoid and a rose and dagger design inside his right forearm.

  Arranging my face into a careless but tough smile, I took a breath.

  “Hey there,” I called out casually to Bouncer Boy with a nod of my head.

  His eyes slid over to me and ran a quick appraisal. Apparently deciding I was “safe,” he nodded in return. “Hey.”

  “Long day?” I asked him. I Þ gured it couldn’t hurt to be polite, and after all, it was up to this guy whether or not Kerry and I got in at all.

  Bouncer Boy rolled his eyes skyward and gave me a real grin.

  “You know it. Everyone here to see SOD. Lot of twelve-year-olds trying to get in.” He looked me up and down and grinned some more.

  “Now, I know you’re not twelve.”

  I snorted and smirked back. “Yeah, you’re right—I’m not. But ya know, even kids want to come out and play sometimes, right?” Bouncer Boy laughed outright. “Too true,” he agreed, “just too true. So,” he drawled out, shifting positions to prop his head up on a meaty Þ st, “I’m Ronnie, by the way. What can I do for you?�
�� and he looked at me through his lashes, which, I have to say, were actually pretty for a guy.

  What was it with all these guys named Robbie or Ronnie? I wondered. Was there a sale that year on R names? I stiß ed the laugh making its way out and ß ashed him a quick grin, reaching out to shake his hand. “Nina. I was wondering…” I leaned in conspiratorially and lowered my voice a bit, “what the source of discontent was. I saw people seeming a bit, well, discouraged.”

  “Oh…that,” Ronnie Bouncer Boy straightened a bit uncomfortably,

  “we um, we oversold the show, so we had to add a second at four o’clock. Dayglo Abortions will go on at two, and SOD at four—and it won’t be all ages.” Ronnie leaned both hands on the shelf to lean over

  • 64 •

  PUNK LIKE ME

  and practically whisper, “But don’t worry, put your money away. I’ll make sure you get in.”

  Shit. I had to be on my way home at four or I’d never make it on time. Yeah, so what, I had to get home, big deal. I was only allowed out in the Þ rst place because I always made it back on time. The one time I was twenty minutes late (and that was because a bus didn’t show up when it was supposed to), I was grounded for weeks! When you’re in school, with no job, no car, and no legal rights, you don’t have a lot of choices if you want to live to the age of emancipation. Fucker, this sounded so good, getting comped (complimentary entrance—remember this—it’ll come in handy when you hang out) to see SOD…

  This was the sort of thing Kerry talked about all the time, ’cuz she hung out here on a regular basis. She always told me and Nicky, or the gang at Universe, all about it whenever she stayed out later than we did—and that was at least half the time.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This was a golden opportunity to be cool, too.

  I’d have bragging rights forever—I mean, no one I knew, not even Kerry, got comped to CB’s, especially not to see a popular band. But if I stayed for the show and got grounded later, forget about hanging out at Universe after school or any new comic books. Forget about hunting around for records in the Village and holiday shopping with Nicky next weekend, forget about everything, because I’d be stuck in the house through the New Year, and that was never cool—ever. Not to mention boring.

  All this ran through my head while I ß ashed a smile back at Ronnie. Suddenly, it hit me. I knew what I had to do. “That is truly cool of you, thanks.” I smiled in appreciation.

  Ronnie ducked his head and gave me a bit of an “aw, shucks” grin.

  Not that I believed it. I mean, whoever heard of a shy bouncer?

  “I have to go tell my bud what’s up. I left her back there, hangin’

  with some people.”

  “I’ll bet she doesn’t have your beautiful eyes,” Ronnie said, “but tell her, I’ll do it for both of you, since she’s your friend and all.” He stood up very straight, then crossed his arms over his massive chest, looking very pleased and proud.

  I thanked him again and turned on my heel to go Þ nd Kerry.

  “Hey, Nina?” Ronnie called out and I turned back.

  “Yeah?”

  • 65 •

  JD GLASS

  “Is it your girl friend or your girlfriend?” Flustered, I just stared for a few seconds, then recovered myself.

  “She’s my friend. Why?” I felt my ears getting warm again. Maybe I was coming down with the ß u or something.

  “Really pretty girls like you usually have both, couple of boyfriends, too. Need one or the other? I could be one, and I know plenty of girls that would luuuv to be the other. I’m not a jealous kinda guy.” His smile turned sly and smirky.

  “Uh, I’m good for now, thanks.”

  “Oh, I am so very sure you are.”

  “I’ve got to get back,” and I recovered enough of my composure to smirk, “before the search party comes out,” and I turned to make my way back through the crowd.

  “I’d be looking for you too, if I was with you!” Without bothering to turn around, I answered, “Later, Ronnie Bouncer!” and made my way back through the crowd.

  Kerry was not where I’d left her, and after a few seconds of looking around in circles, I Þ nally found her standing behind a parked car and off by herself, which was a surprise in and of itself, and a puzzle to boot. Kerry had been here before, hung out with all these different kinds of people. She was the wild woman in our group and even among others. I had Þ gured I’d spend half the time here being introduced to old, new, or even just-made friends.

  Either way, I’d never expected to Þ nd her by herself, away from the crowd, instead of being in the middle of one, peaceful or otherwise.

  It’s true, the otherwise part, I mean. Kerry seemed to form some sort of vortex around her that sometimes resulted in all-out bitch-slap-fests or slug-away-drunkard contests, but somehow, she was never directly involved, just sort of there, and usually leaving at that point.

  Hmm…maybe that’s why she’d decided to stay off by herself for a bit, avoid bad karma or something along those lines. She looked a bit, well, withdrawn, maybe even a little sad.

  Well, I didn’t have time to Þ gure it out right then; I had a situation on hand and a decision in mind that was probably not going to be popular.

  “Hey, Hopey!” Kerry exclaimed loudly when she saw me. Like the ß ip of a switch, her expression changed, and suddenly she was her

  • 66 •

  PUNK LIKE ME

  cool and cocky self again. She sauntered over and ran her Þ nger across my left shoulder. “You Þ nd out anything,” and she paused to rub her hand up ß at against my chest, “interesting?” The look she was giving me was deÞ nitely coy, to say the least.

  Huh? What the fuck? Two seconds ago she looked like a kid who was told she couldn’t have ice cream while everyone else ate their cones in her face. Now she was talking to me like um, like, geez, she was talking to me like I was a guy—like I was Jack.

  My back stiffened and my eyes narrowed a bit when I looked down into her batting eyelashes and pouty grin. I had no clue what in the world she was up to. Maybe she had just decided to show off for the crowd. I mean, she was the wild woman, after all. But it was because of this that I was certain she wouldn’t be too thrilled about my proposal.

  Kerry ran her Þ ngers across my shoulder and up and down my neck repeatedly while I recounted the situation, my conversation with Ronnie Bouncer Boy, and the options as far as I could see them.

  “What?” she exclaimed. “Ronnie came on to you? I’m gonna go punch his fuckin’ lights out, c’mon!” and she grabbed my hand and turned to march through the crowd to the door, but this time, I held back.

  “Hey, Kerry, we have to make a decision, dude. It’s already after two, almost three, and I have to know: do you wanna watch Dayglo and just walk with me to the train at four, ’cuz Ronnie will let you back in to see SOD, or do you just want to walk with me over to Ronnie, so he knows your face to comp you, and I’ll go home now?” Kerry dropped my hand and her expression became a little more normal—girl-to-girl normal, I mean, not that weird, ß irty girl-guy thing. Her usual warmth ß ooded back into her eyes and tone as she spoke. “Nina, you really want to see Dayglo and miss SOD?”

  “Well, of course not, but it’s not like I can stay—you know my mom,” I reminded her.

  Kerry shook her head ruefully in agreement with me, because she did know my mom or, at least, how she was. Grounding, for me, wasn’t just not being able to go out. I couldn’t have friends over, couldn’t talk on the phone, and I pretty much had to stay where I could be seen unless I was working out with my brother in the basement or reading a book in my room, so you see, deviation from the already-Þ led “ß ight plan” was not a good, healthy, or sane idea. At all. Ever.

  • 67 •

  JD GLASS

  Kerry stared at the ground as she thought. She reached for my hand. “C’mon,” she urged softly, “let’s go home.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked her, just letting her hold my hand
but not moving from where we stood. “I know you wanted to hang out, see some people you know and all that. It’s okay, I mean, you know?” Kerry stepped in closer to my personal space (and yeah, I have a zone, and it’s mine all mine, thankyouverymuch) and lightly combed the hair that curled forward on my forehead with her Þ ngertips. “I came here to hang out with,” she lightly stroked my nose, “you. So how can I hang out with you if you have to go home? Come on, let’s go,” she said softly, and together, we started to make our way back.

  “Hey, Nina, we’re gonna take a different train downtown, okay?” she asked, as we turned in a different direction from the way I thought we had to go. “Besides, there’s a deli”—that’s short for delicatessen, by the way, otherwise known as a corner store, in case you were wondering—“on the way, and I need new smokes.” I knew Kerry was much more familiar with this part of town than I was, so I trusted her completely. And I knew she really did need a new pack of cigarettes—she’d been smoking mine all this time, not that I minded. “Hey, no problem, I need a pack myself.” We walked on, and about two blocks later we were somewhere in Alphabet City, deep in the East Side (and by the way, it’s not called Alphabet City because it’s Þ lled with preschools or anything like that, though I’m sure there are a few—it’s because the streets are named after consecutive letters of the alphabet, starting with the letter A, brought to you by the Big Apple, for all you Sesame Street fans) and in front of one of many typical delis—ß owers and bouquets on the outside, junk food, condoms, cigarettes, and beer on the inside, with food staples and specialties from whatever country the owner came from. This deli setup is pretty much a New York City universal thing—think of it as a tradition.

  Just before we walked in, I spotted a bucketful of unusual ß owers—

  sunß owers with pink petals and raspberry red centers. I called Kerry’s attention to them. “Hey, Kerr, check that out—that’s different—pretty too, huh?” I made my way to the entrance.