Boring Girls

by Sara Taylor

We all grinned at each other, and the three of them walked up onstage. To my surprise there was a general cheer that went up from the crowd.

  When they’d all settled themselves with their instruments, the house music went down and I took a deep breath and walked up onto the stage.

  The floor at the front of the stage was packed, and I felt eyes on me as I walked across and grabbed my microphone.

  “We’re Colostomy Hag,” I announced as strongly as I could, and immediately Socks counted in the first song.

  On either side of me, Fern and Edgar started moving, she in a wash of white hair and he with his dreads flying. Awkwardness hit me for a moment, but instead of freezing up, I took a deep breath, planted my hands on my hips, and hoped that my stillness looked like a deliberate attempt to contrast their movement. I scanned the front row of people, making eye contact with all of them.

  Their heads were moving, and I was pleased to see some girls in the crowd as well, mainly looking at me and Fern. I didn’t get a sense of boredom or mocking from anyone. They all seemed into it.

  I began singing and moving to the music, trying very hard to win them over by throwing myself into the song as roughly as possible. I moved up close to the crowd, and while no hands reached up to me, the guys there definitely got more into it. As they started moving and headbanging, it fuelled me as well. I threw my hair around, I let it lay in front of my face and roared through it.

  At the end of the song, the crowd cheered loudly. I could feel all of us onstage swell with relief and pride.

  Towards the end of the set, with the crowd clearly enjoying it, I noticed a guy who had pushed his way to the front. Throughout the last song he placed his elbows on the stage and leaned on them in an obvious sign of boredom, and every time I made eye contact with him he mimed a very dramatic yawn at me. I did my best to ignore him, not sure of how to deal with him, and tried to focus instead on the other people who were having a good time. He was a like a scab or a zit that you try to ignore but is a constant nag.

  When we paused before our second-last song, the crowd cheered, and the guy cupped his hands around his mouth.

  “Hey, bitch,” he shouted at me. “Why don’t you get off the stage and let a good band play?”

  Fury boiled inside me. “Hey, prick,” I shouted back into the microphone. “Why don’t you come on up here and kiss my ass?”

  The crowd shrieked in approval and support. I grinned at all of them as the next song began. I’d won, not only the confrontation with the guy, but also the crowd’s full respect. I moved to the other side of the stage where a few guys were throwing their hair around and knelt down by them. Glancing to the side of stage I saw Jamie and a few of the other Torn Bowel guys watching. When they saw me looking at them, all of them grinned and pointed at me. I bristled with pride.

  I moved back to the centre of the stage and started singing, but when I looked down at the crowd again I saw the asshole smiling at me. He curled one of his hands into a loose fist, brought it up to his mouth, moved it away, then brought it forward again, smiling at me the whole time as he offensively pantomimed what, apparently, I could do to him.

  I raised my middle finger with my free hand, continued to sing, moved up to the front of the stage, pressed it directly onto his forehead and shoved. He stepped back. Everyone around us cheered. The guy kept grinning at me and moved his hand down between his legs, grabbed himself, and leered at me.

  I snapped.

  I threw my microphone to the ground, where it landed with a loud bang and started feeding back. I guess the guy at the sound desk caught this and shut it off immediately. Fern, Edgar, and Socks kept playing, but I felt their eyes on me as I launched myself off the stage, landing directly on the asshole.

  He fell backwards and the crowd parted to accommodate us. I landed on top of him but one of my knees smashed on the floor. I barely felt the pain. My eyes were riveted to his face. He clearly hadn’t expected me to leap onto him and he’d hit his head when he fell, stunning him. When his eyes focused on me again, I made sure he saw me hock a huge glob of spit into my palm, and I then slapped his face with it.

  I could hear the band continuing to play and I knew we were surrounded by people watching and cheering, but I felt detached from it all. He lay beneath me, trying to wipe the spit off his face, looking up at me in confusion. I wanted him to be disgusted, I wanted that reaction. That regret. The spit hadn’t done it. I was vaguely aware of flashes going off around us. People were taking pictures.

  Inspired, I raised my middle finger again, made sure he could see it, and then shoved it into my mouth, as far as I could into the back of my throat. My stomach heaved a little. A scream went up from the crowd around us, but he was still confused. Not afraid.

  I shoved my finger down my throat again, and this time I retched a little bit. My eyes started to water. The asshole finally realized what I was going to do and started kicking and flailing, trying to buck me off him. I slapped him again with my free hand, again shoving my finger down my throat.

  Finally I vomited a stream of half-digested rice and cucumber sushi all over the guy’s face. Stupidly, he had opened his mouth to cry out, and as I retched, his mouth filled with it. It splattered into his eyes and poured down his cheeks, blinding him. He started to splutter and choke. Everyone around us was going absolutely wild, but again, I was only half-aware of it. Once I had finished puking, I reached to his face with both hands and started rubbing it in, grinding it into his eyes, poking my puke-covered fingers into his mouth to get more of it in. He was blubbering, crying beneath the deafening roar of the crowd and the band playing. I wiped my hands off on his shirt and stood up, leaving him a mess on the floor. I felt hands patting me on the back, and on the head, congratulating me. I climbed back onstage as the song finished. I was glad they’d kept playing.

  The crowd went wild when the song was done. “Thanks, guys,” I said, smiling cutely and curtseying as if nothing had happened. I was happy the mike was back on again. It would have been very awkward if it hadn’t been. “We’re Colostomy Hag. Please, please don’t fuck with us.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  “Holy shit, that was insane,” Jamie said. All the Torn Bowel guys crowded around me, patting my back and talking excitedly. “You fucking puked on that guy, holy shit. That was nuts.”

  “Fucking asshole deserved it.”

  “Fuck that guy. Rachel, you’re fucking amazing.”

  I grinned and made my way towards the stairs. On the way I passed one of the club employees carrying a case of beer. He grinned and nodded at me. I had totally won respect, and all I had done was treat an asshole the way he deserved to be treated.

  In the bathroom upstairs, I did truly look awful when I saw myself in the mirror. My eye makeup had streaked down my face in rivulets to my chin, and my lipstick had somehow smeared up my cheek to my forehead. But I loved it. I looked like a fighter, like a fucking warrior.

  Fern burst into the bathroom at a full run, her face beaming, and grabbed me, throwing her arms around me. “Rachel . . . that was amazing.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Are you okay? Do you feel all right?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. I didn’t throw up because I was sick or anything.”

  “I know, I know. Just wanted to make sure.” She looked me up and down. “God, you look tough right now.”

  I laughed.

  “Sorry I didn’t jump down there and help you. I didn’t really know what to do,” she said.

  “It was fine. I was okay by myself. I’m glad you guys kept playing. It made it even more awesome, like it was no big deal. If you’d stopped playing, that totally would have ruined it.”

  “Rachel, you’re crazy,” she grinned. “I love it.”

  I rinsed my mouth and wiped my eyes, but I didn’t bother fixing my makeup. Fern and I went to join Edgar and Socks at the back of the clu
b. The plan had been that once our gear was loaded off, we’d try to sell some of our CDs. We found Edgar and Socks sitting at a table with the box of CDs and a few people milling around. Torn Bowel had just gone on, and I couldn’t help but gaze a little bit at Jamie as we made our way over to the guys.

  People were buying CDs, handing their money to Socks, and Edgar smiled at me as I sat down beside him.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, I am.”

  “That was pretty gross,” he said. “I’m glad you did it though. For a second I wondered if I was going to have to jump down there and break it up.”

  “Nah, it was fine.”

  Socks turned to us. “We’ve sold a bunch of CDs,” he said. “I think everyone liked the show a lot. People asking about the band and stuff. And definitely asking about you,” he said to me.

  As if to punctuate this, I looked up to see two girls standing by the table, smiling at me.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “You were awesome,” one of the girls said. “When’s your next show?”

  “We’re on tour right now,” I said proudly. “Tomorrow we’re playing in Bridgeford.”

  “Oh, well, that’s too far away for us, but if you ever come back to Port Claim, we’ll be here,” she said. “I’m going to buy one of your CDs.”

  “Thanks,” I said, and as she moved over to talk to Socks, her friend stepped forward.

  “I just want to say I think it’s awesome what you did,” the girl said shyly, looking from me to the floor nervously.

  “We can’t let people push us around,” I agreed.

  “I know. That guy was a jerk. I think you’re awesome.” She gave me a tiny smile.

  I couldn’t help but lean across the table to hug the girl. “Thank you so much,” I said. I felt like a damn celebrity or something. She bought a CD as well. Socks grinned, flashing me the small stack of bills we’d made, and my face started to hurt from smiling so big.

  Billy announced from the stage, “This next song is for our friends in Colostomy Hag. Usually it’s called ‘Fingernailed,’ but tonight we’re going to call it ‘Suck My Puke.’” Everyone cheered and we laughed.

  I leaned back in my seat beside Edgar. “I wonder what happened to that asshole.”

  “He got thrown out,” Edgar reported. “I guess the security guy at the door didn’t see what happened onstage, so when he saw the guy, he thought he was too drunk and had puked all over himself.”

  “Oh, man! Are you serious?” I giggled.

  “Yeah. I mean, the other security guy knew what happened, but the guy was a prick anyway so nobody bothered to help him out or explain it, you know?”

  “Really.”

  “Yeah, totally.” Edgar nodded. “Everybody seems to think you’re pretty amazing, Rachel.”

  “If more people treated assholes like assholes, then anyone could be a hero.”

  xXx

  At the end of the night, after everyone had cleared out and the house lights had come back up, both bands started the loading-out process. Fern and I had changed back into our jeans. We were all pretty tired. I couldn’t wait to get to the hotel, have a shower, and get into a bed. We’d sold a bunch of CDs and made about two hundred bucks, which totally surprised us. After the gear was in both vans, we hung out with the other guys for a while in the parking lot.

  “So, who wants to go grab some drinks?” Billy asked.

  “I’m the only one who’s of age,” Socks said. “And the only driver.”

  “Ah, okay. What time are you guys gonna pull out in the morning?”

  “Probably around 10.”

  “Okay. Well, we’ll see you guys tomorrow at the club then.” The guys started climbing into their van. I tried to catch Jamie’s eye, and when I did, he gave me a friendly smile and a wave. I wondered if I had only imagined that we’d sort of had a feeling between us earlier, because it seemed to be gone now. As we drove to our hotel by the highway, I kept thinking about that while the others chatted. Had the whole puking thing changed how Jamie looked at me? How could that be? I would have thought that my strength would have made me more appealing. I scowled at myself for even caring. So what if he didn’t think I was attractive anymore. I guess he was the sort of guy who wanted to date some precious wilting violet. Well, that wasn’t me.

  THIRTY

  The next shows were a definite introduction to what touring is really like. On the second night, I realized that I’d forgotten to pack more than one pair of knee socks, even though I’d brought four outfits. I was sort of grossed out realizing that I was going to have to wear the same pair for the rest of the shows. Socks, on the other hand, embraced that sort of thing — the rest of us were confused when we realized that he hadn’t brought any luggage, and then horrified when he said he planned to wear the exact same clothes the whole time. “It’s only four shows,” was his defence. Edgar tried to argue that at least some extra underwear might have been warranted, but Socks apparently didn’t see that to be the case.

  It turned out that when I’d jumped onto the guy in Port Claim and bashed my knee, I had actually hurt myself. On the second morning a dark purple bruise had appeared, and it hurt to bend my knee. That was just something I was going to have to deal with. Every hotel we had booked had two beds in it — one for me and Fern, one for Edgar and Socks — so at least we could get pretty decent sleep.

  That first night had definitely been the biggest crowd. We were well received at each show, and no one else messed with me — even though I was steeled for it. I met everyone’s eyes confrontationally, almost daring people to be assholes, but no one was. Most people were out to see Torn Bowel, but no one was flat-out rude. We sold enough CDs to pay for our hotel rooms, with a little leftover for Edgar’s parents’ loan.

  Everyone in the other band was great, but I couldn’t help but fuss a little bit about Jamie’s demeanour. He was super friendly to me, as they all were, but it had definitely changed, and I wondered if I had imagined something more that first day than had actually been there. At the end of it, everyone exchanged phone numbers and email addresses and there was a lot of talk about touring again, playing more shows, and everyone was hugging each other goodbye. It was nice to feel as though we’d made friends with another band.

  xXx

  It was only four days, but I was completely exhausted. I felt like I could have slept for a week. My parents were relieved that I was home in one piece, and of course they and Melissa wanted to hear everything about my rock tour. I told them everything as PG as I could. There hadn’t been any “debauchery” or craziness at all, so there wasn’t much to omit. I did, however, leave out the part about the puke.

  Which, apparently, had been extremely important.

  Socks emailed Fern, Edgar, and me a link. “This is a music magazine from Port Claim,” he wrote. “They have an online version. PJ’s going to mail me a hard copy. Thought you guys would want to check this out.”

  I clicked on the link. Stunner Magazine: Port Claim’s Alternative Music Magazine. Stunner, huh? Laaaaame. But I scrolled down and found a review of our show with Torn Bowel.

  METAL AND VOMIT AT KLUB KLANG

  Thursday night in Port Claim doesn’t offer much for people looking to go out and have a good time. But last Thursday there was a lineup outside of Klub Klang on Royal Winter Avenue, one of the city’s oldest metal bars. Newer clubs opening in the city have resulted in touring bands and events taking a pass on Klang, preferring instead to play at what could be described as trendier and more contemporary venues, but some of us remember when Klub Klang was the only place in the Port to go for a guaranteed good night of music and headbanging.

  Local favourites Torn Bowel have played here a few times over the last year, amassing a larger and larger fan base, and Thursday night was no exception. When I arrived, a good-sized line had formed outside, larger tha
n their last gig here four months ago, proving what we all already know: Torn Bowel is destined for greatness.

  Along for the ride was a band I had not heard of before, Keeleford’s Colostomy Hag. This band is comprised of four very talented musicians and performers, and much to my surprise, two of them are female. I hate to say it, but when I saw these two girls onstage I could not help but roll my eyes. I did not know what to expect, and neither did the crowd at Klang that night, but we were all in for a surprise. I admit that I had dismissed them when I saw them, and almost immediately was force-fed my words.

  I have not heard a female voice in metal that sounds quite like raven-haired vocalist Rachel’s. Her uniqueness and power onstage paired with her small stature and cutesy outfit is a combination to be admired. The pale-haired guitarist puts many others to shame with her talent. The entire venue was impressed with the band’s skill, and their songs are not another uninspired rehash of greats like DED and Bloodvomit. There is a melody and uniqueness present that must be heard, and thankfully I picked myself up a copy of their debut CD, Scream into This.

  When petite growler Rachel sent a heckler sprawling and actually proceeded to vomit all over him in front of two hundred cheering supporters, she transformed herself into somewhat of a new hero in the Port’s metal scene. The band must be seen to be believed, and Thursday night proved the unpredictable and talented nature of Colostomy Hag. Another legendary moment at Klang, and Torn Bowel had not even taken the stage yet . . .

  We’d gotten press. And more than a brief mention as an opening band. We’d made close to five hundred dollars in CD sales. If we could sell five hundred dollars’ worth of CDs in four days, imagine if we went on a real tour? For a few months? My mind reeled.

  School was starting in a few days. My last year of high school. Craig had already graduated, and I figured I would just eat lunch with Josephine, as usual, and do my own thing. Get through it as fast as possible, agree with everything my parents said, and figure out how to tell them that I was going to take a year off before college. I wanted to talk to Fern and Edgar, see how they felt, if they wanted to plan a tour again, maybe for next summer even though that was a year away, see if their parents wanted them to go to college and how they were going to deal with that. There was a lot to think about.