I received a text from my brother the following afternoon. It was Friday, and I was wrapping up a busy week at work. My phone was in my purse, so I didn't even see the text until an hour after it came in. I was still in my office when I read it, but my work was done, and I was just about to leave.
Luke: "What are you doing tonight? You wanna go out with me and Chasidy?"
I had some friends from college and some others from work with whom I liked to hang out, but I was mostly content to be a homebody, and in spite of it being Friday night, I had no plans. A few of my friends from work were supposed to get together for dinner at Katie's house, but it was mostly a couples' thing, and although I was invited, I made an excuse not to go. My brother and I hung out on a regular basis, but he rarely asked me to go out when he had plans with his girlfriend. The first thing that crossed my mind was that he wanted to go watch Wes's band play. I had been poised to gather my things and leave my office, but I leaned back in my chair so that I could respond to my brother's text.
I had a nice office. It wasn't huge, but there was enough room for my oversized desk with adequate floor space next to it so that I could hang my dartboard. I took good care of my darts, keeping the tips sharp and making sure the weight was dispensed well so they flew properly. I also always purchased a good brand, which meant they were way more accurate than the ones you find in pubs. It was for this reason that my coworkers would pop into my office to ask me a question that didn't really need asking just so they could take a few shots at the board. My boss didn't mind at all. In fact, he took a turn just about every time he came into my office. I glanced at my dartboard and then a painting I had hanging not far from it as I decided how to respond to my brother. Without too much thought, I typed out a text.
Me: "Why? What are you and Chasidy doing?"
I heard back from Luke within seconds.
Luke: "Going to see firsthand."
I knew what he meant in spite of the fact that he hadn't capitalized the word firsthand, which gave his statement a double meaning. Firsthand was the name of Wes's band. I remembered it last night when Luke first mentioned the fact that they were playing. I couldn't help but approach everything with the eye of a graphic designer, and I had come up with a few logo designs involving hands that night when we saw them at Katie's birthday party—that's how I remembered their name.
I felt suddenly nervous that Luke was asking me to go see them. Half of me wanted to stay home and chill after a long week, but the other half was excited at the prospect of seeing Wes again. I almost made a joke to my brother and asked him what they were going to see firsthand, but I decided not to intentionally misunderstand his statement. Instead, I answered back with the truth.
Me: "I was gonna chill and eat takeout."
Luke: "Why? It's Friday."
Me: "Exactly. I'm tired."
Luke: "Wes is going to be disappointed."
My stomach tensed-up when I read the words on the screen. I felt excited, but then I chastised myself for it, knowing that Wes would not be disappointed if I didn't show up. He had a model girlfriend for goodness sake—or at least a model he was trying to make his girlfriend. Either way, I knew it was wrong of me to get overly excited by my brother's text. I was sitting there trying to decide how I felt about that statement and how to respond to it when another text came in.
Luke: "He called me earlier asking about you. He wanted the name of your YouTube channel. He wants to learn how to throw a knife now. He seriously asked if you were going tonight. Just skip the pajamas and come out for once."
On a side note, this was not at all what my brother's text looked like. While I was one who texted in complete sentences, used capitals and periods, and scanned my texts for spelling errors, my brother was not. I will, now and in the future, translate his texts for the purposes of clarity, but just so you're aware, what I actually saw on the screen was:
Luke: "he calld askn abt u earler, wntd ur utube name. he wnts to lrn to thrw a knife now!!!! Srsly askd if u were goin tonite. Jus skp the pjs n come out 4 once."
I read it about three times, making sure I understood it correctly. The part about Wes wanting to know my YouTube name was extremely confusing looking in Luke's shorthand, and I squinted as I read it just to make sure I got it right.
I thought about someone as cool as Wes Bishop searching my YouTube channel, and suddenly I felt as though I wanted to delete all of my videos. I knew for sure I had made some goofy, corny jokes on those things, and I cringed as I thought about him watching them.
I typed a response to my brother.
Me: "Did you tell him the name?"
Luke: "It's sharpandsweet, right? That's what I told him."
There was an ampersand between the words sharp and sweet rather than the word 'and', but I didn't bother telling Luke that. I was relieved that he had gotten it slightly wrong.
Me: "Yep. And I'll think about going tonight. I'm on my way home now. Are you and Chasidy going either way, or are you waiting to hear from me?"
Luke: "We're probably gonna go since he called and invited us. We don't have anything else going on, anyway. They start at 9pm. You should come."
I answered back with a thumbs-up emoji and a quick statement that said I would call him to let him know in a little while.
My office was only a short distance from my flat, so on pretty days, I always walked. There was a parking garage (or a car park) right next door to my office, but I only used it when it was extremely cold or rainy. It was a nice spring day in early April, so it was a no-brainer that I was on foot.
I had thought about Wes Bishop quite a bit that day, and I still didn't know how I felt about him. I pondered the fact that he was part of such a rich and famous family and yet the people closest to him in London had no idea. I went back and forth about how that made me feel. Part of me pitied him that he felt the need to lie to his friends, but the other part of me didn't feel like he was lying at all—but simply omitting certain details. I actually admired him for being able to keep quiet about it and not use his family status as a way to gain friends or impress women. I wondered what this girl must look like if he had been chasing after her for so long. I wondered why men always wanted what they couldn't have. I felt jealous of her, and I pondered what I could do to make myself become appealing to a guy like Wes.
I searched his name on social media, but I couldn't come up with anything. I wasn't surprised by this since I figured he wouldn't have a social media presence, anyway. He was too mysterious for that. I did find an account for his band, and while there were pictures of him posted, it seemed that it was run by someone else.
While I was on the internet, I went to my own YouTube channel. I had nearly a hundred videos posted, and I felt tempted to go through them and filter out the ones that were embarrassing in any way, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I was who I was, and I really shouldn't care who watched my videos or how they judged me—even if it was someone as cool as Wes Bishop.
***
I was extremely back-and-forth about it, but I decided to go to the show that evening. I had heard good things about Old Street Records but had never been there, and finally, I talked myself into going. I considered trying to get a friend to accompany me so that I wouldn't be a third wheel with Luke and Chasidy, but I ultimately decided to go alone.
I told myself I didn't care what Wes Bishop thought about me, but I still took a little extra time getting dressed. I had long hair, which I straightened with a flatiron and wore down, hanging over my shoulders. It was cool enough for me to layer clothing, so I wore torn skinny jeans and an off white, off-the-shoulder sweater with a dark shirt underneath. It was a carefully planned outfit with boots and accessories and everything. I even wore a little blush and shimmery lipstick, which was rare since I usually only wore powder and lip balm.
I had a few minutes to spare after I was finished getting ready, so I did a little target practice in my living room. On one wall, I had a homemade target area that my parents helped me construct. It was mounted on the wall and was large and thick enough to absorb as much abuse as I could dish out without causing damage to my wall or bothering my neighbors. It was two meters wide and extended from floor to ceiling, which was plenty enough room for me to throw freely without missing—even during trick shots or when trying more complicated techniques.
I had a rather sizeable collection of knives including a large set of simple, all silver blades that I used for speed practice. They were steel shafts with no handles. The only way you could distinguish one end from the other was the fact that the knife end was sharp and pointed and the handle end was blunt.
I stood at a distance of approximately three meters (or ten feet) and threw the set three times. I still considered myself an American and thus still thought of distances in inches and feet, but since I had been in Europe for so long, the metric system had crept into my vocabulary. Sometimes, I referred to distances in meters and sometimes I used feet; it just depended on my mood and who I was talking to.
Luke and Chasidy called when they pulled up outside my building, and I met them on the street. My brother had been to the venue before and said he would drive. They picked me up at seven o'clock so we could grab a bite to eat first. I warned him this would still make us early for the show, but he seemed to think we'd be pressed for time after dealing with traffic.
I wasn't necessarily one to say I told you so, but in this case, I was correct—we got to the venue thirty minutes early rather than ten minutes late like we were shooting for.