Levee

Get this. I got a text message from Biff. It’s a video from last night at the Sammy Hagar concert. It’s 7 mins and 33 seconds long and I’ve watched every second of it. Twice. He told me yesterday that he was going to the concert but since we are not in a “relationship” anymore, of course I realized it was none of my business. I replied that I was glad he was doing something awesome that he would enjoy, and then I ended the text like the kick-ass adult that I am by telling him to have a good time and to be smart. I knew that he wouldn’t be going without a female companion but we didn’t make mention of that. Now, if I’m being honest, the idea of it was hard. But I quickly took inventory and reassured myself that it was none of my business and Biff trying to make it so was just plain foolishness. Off we went.

The video arrives. It’s Sammy Hagar playing When the Levee Breaks by Led Zepplin. It’s cool, it rocks, it’s Biff’s favourite song of all time. It’s an outdoor venue, its dark, it’s loud, it’s Tahoe, it’s clearly a lot of fun. It’s Biff’s voice singing along, thick, gritty, guttural, and drunk. Then he starts scanning the crowd with his phone, capturing it all on picture. As he moves to his left, there she is, his companion. For two seconds, there she is. She has dark hair slicked back off her forehead and pulled into a tight bun. It’s obvious that she is awkward and nervous, like a first date or a swim in a shark tank, and she looks straight ahead. She’s not moving, she’s not singing, but she darts her eyes to the side and when she realizes he’s looking at her she stays staring straight ahead but gives a meek smile; spiritless, tame. I think that she might be made for this. He continues to scan the crowd and lingers a while on some folks dancing behind him.

I’ve watched it twice now, like I said.  Who the fuck does this? Who sends this video just to rub salt in a wound? I know who. I send a text back. I say, “Cool. Thanks.”

It’s Biff Peter Richards. Dick. Dick. Dick. That’s who. And I am praying for that bitch standing on the left. I want to tell her not to be shy. I want to scream that she has all the power now and she doesn’t even know it. I’m sure she’s thinking that he’s so handsome, and OMG he picked her to ride on the back of his Harley today! He’s probably paying for all the drinks, and she must be so pleased to be there, so grateful that his auto flash landed on her for a spell. I want to tell her, girl, YOU are the reason that HE is there. You are the million dollar briefcase, and if you play it right, and stay silent and cordial, you’ll actually win yourself the spotlight. The deal, the fame, the heat. The taxes.

Don’t say anything. Don’t be anything. And you can keep him.

I wish I could swoop her up. I wish I could save her. But she is saving me tonight instead. I wish I could’ve enjoyed these events with him, in my own skin, and in my own light, but there simply wasn’t any room for me in his cage. It’s a backwards kind of debt, but I feel like I owe this random girl for unlatching the gate, and I will have to pay it forward.

His mean old laser is focused on you right now, hon, and you’re frozen in that beam. Bask in it because it does feel good, but then bend the bars and run for your life. The levee’s gonna break.