atmosphere

I’m driving along with Girlfriend in the passenger seat and a girlfriend in the back. The heat is finally dissipating, the air rushing in the windows. The conversation darts between the crowds of the morning and the games at the house we just left and the people there.

On the right, next to a sedan parked on the side of the road, are two men that look familiar. From a couple blocks away, I can’t place them. My eyes shift to the road.

The girls laugh, but I’m not listening. We cross another intersection and, like the snap of a finger, I remember who the two men are. I turn and look over at them. We’re within a few yards and my surprise catches up to me.

Before I can stop myself, I let out a surprisingly loud, “wha-?” Sean, known as Slug, looks over at me. He’s wearing sunglasses. He might be staring right at me. I’m instantly embarrassed. How many times has something like this happened to him?

Just last weekend I spent an entire day in the sun waiting to see them live for the first time. Seeing Slug and Ant idling with cigarettes alongside some cars gives me an odd sensation. They’re not as famous as they should be, but I’m starstruck.

My head floods with ideas and questions and imaginings while I drove farther down. I should turn, rush back there and get a picture with the two of them. I could tell them how much I enjoyed the show the week before. I would look like an idiot.

Do they typically have people rushing up to them asking for pictures? There was no one within a few blocks. Were they over at a friend’s and happened outside just now or were they sitting along the street about to head down toward the crowds we just left?

I see myself jogging up to the two of them, trying not to be out of breath asking them to take a picture with me. I see the excitement in the eyes of the girlfriend in the backseat and, to a lesser extent, Girlfriend in the front. I hear myself telling the roommates that I met them and posting the pictures online. I’d talk to them for a few minutes and shoot the shit.

I could just drive around the block. I could tell the girls that I had to stop, had to take the picture and they would have to deal with it. I was already a couple miles down the road. They wouldn’t still be outside.

The roommates say Slug comes by the coffee shop closest near the house on occasion. Maybe I’ll see him there and can ask how big his laugh was at a small silver car with a strange driver. He wouldn’t remember.

I’ve been listening to them since freshman year. A friend in my hall of the dorms turned me onto them. Seeing them live was one of the highlights of a summer that only started a couple weeks ago.

I imagine this is how someone who reads People magazine would feel after being flashed by Paris Hilton exiting a limousine. Then, all at once, the urge to meet themrecedes like a tide. We cross the river and I laugh to myself.

What if Slug heard my exclamation and did see me gawking as I passed? Maybe he turned to Ant and laughed a little. Maybe that sort of thing happens so often he never broke his conversational stride.

It doesn’t matter. I pull up to the house and as the girls make their way up to the house I replay my ridiculous reaction. They’re regionally famous and proud locals. Seeing them isn’t a big deal. Hundreds of people have done the same before me.

But maybe I should have had the balls to take that snap while I had the chance. If only to be that idiot. Instead of the one that yelps in near-shock at the sight of two guys enjoying cigarettes on the empty sidewalk of a busy street.