115th Dream

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic
A love story.

Submitted: November 01, 2011

A A A | A A A

Submitted: November 01, 2011




A Warhol themed lamp casts a warm glow over the bedroom, reflects off the framed White Light/ White Heat LP and the Loaded album cover bedsheets. 'And Nico' plays side A on the turn table and he strikes a match. Brings it to the stick in his mouth and meets Lou's eyes across the room before he pulls in, breathes out, hangs his head.


He drags the MacBook onto his lap and checks first Lou's blog and then his manager's twitter. Lou is resting and gearing up for the show. First soundcheck is at one, so he's in the shower now, getting fixed up to go. The anticipation of the evening builds in him as he reads the updates, imagines himself hours from now, being in a room with Lou Reed. He runs to the wardrobe.


Everything has been arranged in advance. The coke, bought days ago from a friend paying off student loans, and the acid and dope from his next door neighbour, so jealous of the show, he gave a discount. A buzz from the living room breaks his stupor, and, eyes flinching from the 'Live in '68' poster, he throws the towel from his head and walks the few paces to the door.


Marc is early, already speeding by the frantic buzzing, and he lets him in, leaves the bolt unlocked and continues dressing in the other room. There is no sound as the door opens, but a steady stream of tobacco smoke wafts into the room and after a few kitchen noises, including the fridge opening, the guest calls out.


"Dylan, almost ready? I found some speed man, setting up some leaving-lines."


Dylan looks into the mirror fully dressed, contemplates the possibility of meeting his idol, finally, or even just seeing him. Seeing him there. Where he is. Them together. He fixes a minor hair issue and greets Marc in the living room, four lines set up on the cleanest corner of the table.


They finish getting ready and head to the station, checking friend's locations as they go, and soon, everyone is gathered at the park across from Fox Studios, sculling drinks and drilling joints.


"Dude, take the acid now, so it kicks when Lou comes on."


The supporting act is half way through, so they rush to the ticket gates and already he can feel the odd tingling that accompanies the arrival of good LSD into the system, and his ticket seems oddly shiny after going through the machine.


A mixture of anxiety and hallucinogenic drugs reel him to the front of the stage and he squints into the darkened stage side, hoping for a glimpse.

It feels like seconds, and then Lou is there, metres from him, tuning his Tele. His heart pauses momentarily at the site and he laughs in an odd weeping-sort of way.


"Hey, everyone. Thanks for coming out."


Lou says as they tear into 'Waiting For', the sound deafening the crowd, who take seconds of shocked awe before launching themselves into the air.


He just stares, pinned to the front barrier by the moshing around him. Tears well in his eyes and then someone is pushing him, hard at his side, and he's forced to turn, their bodies pressed front on by the surrounding masses.


The pressure eases and they come apart, he sees her face, her hair a sweaty tangle on her head, her cheeks red from the heat, her eyes puffy and tired looking and he loves her.


She catches the look in his eye and she smiles, unlike any he has seen, and she takes his hand and they sway, ignoring the violence around them and they listen to the band.


She looks up at the stage, but he looks only at her, watches her watching.


After the show they sit on the floor where they stood and smile at each other, lightly touching hands when passing lighters. Eventually she says,


"Let's go back to my place."


And they're walking out of the Horden, holding hands and stepping in wide arcs. He stares at her the whole time, loses himself in every point his eyes focus on. And as they're by the gate she whispers,


"I... love you?"


And his lungs explode and he squeezes her tight, on the sidewalk by the side gate. He sees stars smelling her hair, feels taller with her in his arms and a car is pulling up to them, a man saying "Excuse me!" before brushing by them and stepping inside. They ignore it, safe in their new home for several seconds before detaching, arms still locked, they walk down the street.

And then he sees the number plate. Of the car that pulled up by them. Lou's own private car. And he doesn't care.


© Copyright 2019 Davidgfrancis. All rights reserved.

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