Peter Cieslak’s Saturday started on a Thursday.
For the first time in a while, both of Peter’s jobs had scheduled him the same days off, Thursday and Friday. His best friend Emilio Macias suggested that he and his partner, Ezra Rosen, go up to Sacramento for a visit. Emilio was working a show that night and offered to get them both in for free. Peter preferred to stay home, smoke weed, and watch tv, but Ezra pointed out that a free show meant possibly free booze.
Emilio added, “You can smoke and watch tv at my place!” Peter was in the minority here, so he reluctantly agreed to make the two-hour journey from the Bay Area to Sac.
December and its winter rains had rolled in, and light showers had fallen upon the Bay Area that morning Peter and Ezra had decided to take their weekend trip. As usual, the train was late getting into Richmond station, which wasn’t really a station at all. It was just a little glass hut with no doors, surrounded by a platform exposed to the elements. Below the Amtrack platform stood an information desk for the Bay Area Regional Transit trains as well as the entry and exits for the BART lines. The air in the corridor that separated Amtrack from BART smelled of piss and a hint of damp trash, which was amplified during the cold months. The time was now 10:30 and the 10:20 train still hadn’t shown.
“Should be here soon, the delay was only supposed to be about 10 minutes?” Ezra said, his English accent prominent. Ezra pulled his hood up, strands of his short wavy black hair sticking out from under it.
Peter remembered the first time interacted with Ezra, he had many questions. He was intrigued by Ezra’s accent that didn’t sound anything like the English accents on TV. Peter also remembered how he couldn’t stop thinking about Ezra’s eyes; large and curious, but kind. When the two went on their first date, Peter learned that Ezra was from the United Kingdom’s Birmingham and his eyes were just naturally wide. Peter smiled to himself.
“There’s times where it says a new time and the train still never shows up,” Peter said finally as he adjusted his glasses. He then bit his pierced bottom lip, twisting his two lower left lip rings, a habit of his since getting the piercings.
Even with three layers and his long blonde hair let down, Peter was freezing. Ezra didn’t seem to be as bothered by the cold. Peter regretted their decision to catch the Richmond train. He realized too late that they should’ve just gone with the Oakland Jack London train. At least the Oakland station was a real building.
“Let’s give it ten more minutes, and if it’s not here we can think of something else,” Ezra said, offering Peter his hot tea.
Peter took the insulated green steel thermos and downed the rest of the drink as their wait continued. Ezra began chatting about how he’d finally stopped procrastinating on university work and this trip was a reward to himself. While he was listening, Peter caught a girl stealing quick glances at Ezra. Peter wondered if she too was having a hard time understanding Ezra’s “Brummie” accent. Even after a year and a half together, Peter had difficulty catching words when Ezra talked fast. Chatty Ezra squished his words together into sentences that only Birmingham locals could understand.
The train bell interrupted Peter’s thoughts about accents and brought him back to reality. He, Ezra, and the rest of the passengers scattered across the platform preparing to board. Thankfully for everyone, the rain had let up.
Once on board, Peter texted Emilio that he and Ezra were finally leaving Richmond. Emilio replied seconds later that he could get them at the station to save them from having to take the light rail. The conductor announced, “Martinez in 20 minutes”, and the train moved on.
The trip up to Sac was uneventful. Ezra had put on music and fallen asleep, leaving Peter to watch the tiny suburban cities pass by. From the warmth of the upper level coach car, Peter concluded the rain wasn’t so bad. The gloomy skies were quite nice to look at. After a good ten minutes of thinking about nothing, Peter remembered he had no idea what bands were playing at the show he was going to. He found each band’s Spotify page and concluded that he was going to spend a lot of time at the bar. No offense to the bands, metal just wasn’t his cup of tea. As Peter took out his earphones, Ezra’s stomach grumbled loudly.
Shortly after the stop in Fairfield, Ezra woke up. Pete looked over and raised his eyebrows, “Did your stomach wake you? The whole car can hear it.”
“Probably,” Ezra patted his belly. “I hope that Emilio was planning on lunch when we get there.”
“I have the weird oblong grapes from Costco, if you’d want them,” Peter said. Peter knew Ezra wasn’t a fan of the aforementioned grapes, but his partner reluctantly stuck his hand out while Peter dug in his bag.
For the rest of the trip, Ezra ate all of the grapes while Peter texted back and forth with Emilio about where they were going to eat when they arrived. Emilio had offered to throw a quick meal together for them, but Peter mentioned they may have to stop at a convenience store on the way so that Ezra wouldn’t croak from a measly morning diet of grapes and tea.
The last leg of the trip seemed to drag on, despite the ride from Davis to Sacramento only lasting 15 minutes. After finally arriving at the station, there was another 10-minute walk from the train platform to the main station building. This, Peter thought, was a design defect. As they walked, Peter’s phone rang, the caller ID showing it was Emilio.
“Em,” Peter picked up.
From the other end, Emilio asked, “Hey, are you here yet?”
“Yeah,” Peter said. “We are walking, almost there. Just stay parked so we can find you.”
As Peter hung up, he and Ezra had made their way through Sacramento’s main train station. The building was pretty inside, with high ceilings and windows. It was an old building but renovated tastefully to preserve its history. The drizzling rain had stopped by the time the two had walked to the parking lot and found Emilio’s truck. Ezra called shotgun as Peter lazily followed behind him and climbed into the back seat.
Emilio Macias was a fit guy, with a scruffy beard and kind eyes. He and Peter had been friends since their high school days in Arizona. Both coincidentally ended up in Northern California many years later, and had kept in touch ever since.
“Pete, Rosen,” Emilio greeted cheerfully as they got settled and buckled their seat belts. “¿Cómo estás?”
“Good,” Peter answered in English. “What did you make for lunch?”
“Breakfast burrit – HEY!” Emilio bellowed as someone nearly backed out of their parking space into him. “I have the right of way, you idiot! Let’s get out of here, then talk.”
Peter looked out the window to see if it was an old person at the wheel, while Ezra laughed hysterically. Emilio made two quick rights before landing in the left-hand turn lane at the traffic light. Peter unconsciously had put his hand up to his mouth, feeling a little nauseous by Emilio’s jerky driving.
“Anyways,” Emilio resumed as the light turned green, “I made breakfast burritos because I was really craving one earlier, but I’d already had a smoothie. So breakfast for lunch. Do you still need a convenience store, Rosen?”
“No,” Ezra replied. “I’ll be fine, you live close enough.”
They arrived at Emilio’s weathered blue apartment complex within ten minutes, piled out of the truck and up the stairs to door number 9. Emilio let them in and headed straight to the fridge to get the burritos. Ezra literally ran to the bathroom as Pete set his bag down by Emilio’s shoe rack and then sank into the boring brown couch against the wall.
“Hey,” Peter said, beginning to pack Emilio’s pipe with an unmarked cannabis bud that was sealed in a little glass jar. “I’m gonna smoke whatever this is. What is it? There’s no label.”
“Yeah, sure. That’s what you gave me last time,” Emilio replied. He had put the burritos in the toaster oven. Emilio believed everything tasted a lot better toasted than microwaved.
“It’s some good shit,” Peter said before blowing out smoke. “I’m surprised you still have some left.”
“Well,” Emilio retorted as he set three water cups down on the coffee table. “unlike you, I actually savor what I get and make it last.”
“He’s right you know. You’re just a weed addict, Pete,” Ezra butted in as he walked into the kitchen. It was separated from the living room only by a counter with a sink. He had helped himself to some sour cream and onion chips to hold himself over while the burritos finished heating.
Peter had nothing to defend himself with because they were right. But he also didn’t care. He still functioned and lived in the real world.
Peter put his feet up on the chair adjacent to the couch and scrolled through Instagram until the food was ready. Emilio had gone to the bathroom, but when he returned, he threw the warm burritos on paper plates. Ezra cleared space on the coffee table and Emilio set down their lunch.
After the first bite, Peter wished he lived with Emilio just so Em could cook for him. The burrito had scrambled eggs, seasoned potatoes, sausage, red bell pepper, and Monterey jack cheese in it. Emilio had also brought out his homemade salsa verde, which Ezra poured graciously over his burrito.
“Did you check out the bands that I’m doing sound for tonight?” Emilio asked between bites.
“No,” Ezra said. “I like to go in with no expectations.”
“I did,” Pete replied, “I didn’t really like the music… of any of them. I guess the Jez Collectable band, or whatever it is called, was the most tolerable? At least they have some singing in their music and not just all screaming.”
“It’s okay,” Emilio said. “I just figured it would be cool to have an excuse to hang out tomorrow, plus you could get some free beer tonight. I can get you both earplugs when we get there, too. I gotta go soon, though. Do you two want me to leave the spare key so you guys can hang out here first and then come over when the doors open?”
“Yes,” Ezra immediately replied. “I don’t want to be stuck in town for five hours before and then another five hours after the show.”
Emilio laughed and agreed before he got up to go find his spare key in his room, mumbling loud enough that he wasn’t sure if it was where he’d left it last. In the meantime, Peter’s mind had finally emptied itself. Not in the sense that he wasn’t thinking at all, but the fact that his brain was no longer bombarding him with self-sabotaging thoughts or “what-if” scenarios. In this moment, he could just appreciate the universe for giving him such a solid partner and best friend.
After three hours of doing nothing besides watching Emilio’s huge HD tv, Ezra insisted they go outside before they got too comfortable and skipped the show. He wanted coffee anyway, and since Pete didn’t care what they did, they got their coats on and headed out.
The air outside was crisp. Giant grey clouds now rolled overhead, but the rain still hadn’t returned. The two considered taking the bus, but Peter reminded Ezra he was on a budget until his next paycheck. So they walked instead.
As they strolled down K street, Peter kept track of the decreasing street numbers. Along the way, they passed an art supply shop, a retro pink and red dessert diner and an adult novelty store. Ezra was torn between the corporate Peet’s Coffee or a local Sacramento coffee roaster. Peter suggested Temple, he remembered they crafted the best peppermint tea latte he’d ever tasted.
Once inside, they were greeted by the baristas. Ezra needed minute to decide what he wanted, so Peter looked around for a place to sit. The shop was congested with college students on laptops and office workers holding later afternoon meetings. Ezra finally decided on a basic cold brew. They placed their orders with the barista, purchased their drinks, and sat down at the window that looked out onto the street.
“The floor here is cool,” Ezra said, taking a sip of his drink.
Peter looked down and felt kind of stupid. He hadn’t realized the entire floor was made up of pennies packed next to each other. He wasn’t observant of many things; a trait of which Ezra gave him a hard time for. Peter stopped his momentary sulking to see if his tea was done steeping. When Peter took a sip, his entire body felt warm. The taste of peppermint with a hint of almond lingered on his palate.
Ezra interrupted his tea induced daze with a long overdue question:
“Why didn’t you say no to Emilio’s offer of going to the show?”
“Why should I say no?” Peter replied.
“You said earlier you don’t like the music,” Ezra looked at Peter and raised his eyebrows. “Why go to something for hours that you’re going to suffer at?”
“If I get drunk enough, I’ll have a good time.”
“Suit yourself,” Ezra said before going back to staring at the passing people outside.
Peter appreciated that Ezra didn’t question him.
At 6 pm, Peter and Ezra stood in a line they hadn’t expected for this show. For some reason, Peter had believed the show was at the smaller sister venue Emilio worked at. Ezra had scrolled through Pete’s messages to show him that Emilio had stated the show was at the biggest venue the entire time. Peter had just gotten the names switched around.
Peter felt like he only somewhat fit in with the other concert attendees with his pierced lip, but that was it. He wore a white jumper over a black button-up, his brown denim jacket on top. Ezra had blended in more than him with a dark grey hoodie and black jacket. Everyone else that was standing line wore all black.
A girl in front of them with a dark red topknot and a black paisley bandana headband offered smokes. Peter accepted while Ezra passed. They struck up a conversation in which introduced herself as Natalie, as well as her friend Erin, who had a bright teal pixie cut and a nose ring. The two girls had traveled from Fresno just to see Jesori Collective, the band Peter thought earlier was OK.
“They’re cool,” Erin advocated. “they played at this summer music festival last year. I saw their guitarist walking to his merch table in the morning and he let me get a photo with him.”
“Are they huge?” Ezra asked. Peter had to stifle a laugh. Even though Ezra was into music with guitars, this was still a bit too heavy for him and out of his range of knowledge.
“Big enough to have fan pages,” Natalie said as she blew out smoke. “But not big enough that they can’t be at their merch table after the show. They’re one of the openers tonight, but even the shows they headline they try to hang out afterward.”
Peter was fascinated by how much the two girls knew about Jesori Collective’s music style and history. He pegged them as hardcore fans, but when he asked jokingly if they knew the band members’ birthdays, the girls had no idea.
“There’s some things that really don’t matter,” Natalie said. “I just appreciate their music.”
They had finished their cigarettes by the time Security came by to check IDs. A burly guy with a braided beard raised his eyebrows at Ezra’s UK passport, and he reminded Peter that his license was near its expiration. They were OK’d and were given ugly orange wrist bands to signify they could drink. The line began to move towards the security check at the door and man, was Peter ready to get drunk.
The inside of the venue was dark. A popular rock song blared over the speakers while everyone entered. Peter and Ezra found Emilio and some of his coworkers at the sound booth right as they rounded the corner from the main entrance to the main floor. Emilio chatted with them a bit, then gave them their drink vouchers and earplugs. After a minute or two, Peter and Ezra left him to do his job and explore. The venue had three bars open to the general attendees, one in the VIP section, and one on the mezzanine.
“Let’s go to the one against the right wall!” Ezra yelled. He had to raise his voice to be heard.
“What about the one on the mezz?” Pete suggested. “We can go to that first and then the main floor one later!”
Ezra nodded in agreement, so they headed back towards the entryway and up the stairs. As they ordered their first round, the first band conducted their soundcheck. Five minutes later, the opening band kicked into their first song.
Peter thought they were awful, even after reaching a good buzz. The guitars were too loud and he couldn’t hear the singers at all. Ezra agreed that they weren’t the best but told Peter to stop being so judgmental. He suggested they take shots before the next band went on. Peter tipped his head back and felt throat burn from the whiskey, but he knew the discomfort was only temporary.
Four drinks in, the two took a break from wasting any more money on alcohol. The vouchers Emilio had given them were used during the first band’s set, and any remaining drinks were on their own tab. Peter had put down his credit card since Ezra said he’d pay for dinner after the show. Instead, they went back downstairs and found a nice spot at the back of the crowd.
The second band wasn’t so bad. Peter found himself and Ezra really into the energy the lead singer brought to the stage. The audience went wild, and Peter was enamored by the people brave enough to crowd surf and join mosh pits. Peter thought he could probably get into the second band more, despite not liking what he’d sampled of their music earlier. He decided they deserved another chance, if he remembered later.
The second band’s set finished up, and as they hauled all their equipment off the stage, Ezra suggested they move again. He argued what was the point of going to a show if they just stood in the back? Peter had been content with staying right where he was, but he followed Ezra anyways. They retrieved another round of drinks and somehow weaved their way to a spot by the barrier that separated the general crowd from the VIP section.
The third band had headed on stage to start soundcheck and tuning when Peter realized the crowd was pushing in around them. Peter thought the band had an interesting look to them, unlike the other two groups before them. They were less bro-y metal and a little more feminine. Peter thought it gave them an intriguing air, and that the bass player was cute. Ezra had left without Peter realizing to return with another beer to split between them and Peter’s credit card.
When the soundcheck ended, the lights dimmed, making the crowd hum in anticipation. The singer of the band strolled onto the stage to a greeting of cheers and whistles.
“Sacramento! How are you doing?! We are Jesori Collective!”
The audience erupted into a deafening roar. The band launched into their first song, and soon it was as if everyone was on a very aggressive boat ride. What song was this? Peter did not remember Jesori Collective being so heavy. With each passing second, Peter’s regret of moving from the spot in the back grew. He was shoved into a short girl, before catching his balance. He tried to yell an apology, but the girl had already moved on. The song finished, and the crowd’s cheers and screams reverberated even louder.
The two guitarists took a moment to tune as the singer made a speech about how the tour was going, and how the band was thankful to everyone for showing up. Peter watched the guitarist to the singer’s right turn at least four tuning pegs. He had long black hair and trendy black glasses with a gold wire. Peter wondered how headbanging worked for him without the specs flying away. Before Peter had a chance to look away, the guitarist caught him and locked eyes with him.
There was a bit of distance between the two, but the lack of reflection in the guitarist’s eyes made Peter’s heart skip a beat. The guy wasn’t looking away and Peter could have sworn the guitarist didn’t blink. Peter felt his entire soul get examined. All his mistakes, faults, and memories he’d wanted to erase were on display for this person to judge. The air around him suddenly felt suffocating. Peter immediately questioned why he went to the show at all. He didn’t know anyone besides Ezra, he didn’t even like the kind of music that was playing, and the atmosphere was angry. Not a second later, the static flooded Peter’s mind.
If death was a person, Peter guessed it would look just like that Jesori Collective guitarist. Peter’s heartbeat accelerated and his vision had lost focus. The crowd was slowly pushing forward and he knew he needed to get out. But he wasn’t sure how to communicate it to Ezra, or even move on his own. Peter’s breaths got shorter and shorter as the crowd roared to the opening lyrics of the second song. It projected anger and hostility through screams and heavy riffs. Peter couldn’t hear the lyrics, but the energy in the venue felt violent and Peter’s panic amplified.
Not too far into the song, Ezra noticed something was off just as a pit opened up right next to them. Ezra suddenly had tunnel vision to a huge guy with swinging arms barreled towards them, Peter completely unaware. Peter barely felt Ezra shove him out of the way and felt as if he watched from a distance as Ezra launched the man back into the circle. The man continued swinging and laughing as he spun away.
All Peter remembered after that was Ezra’s grip on his hand and being pulled away from all the chaos.
The cold air from the outside was sobering, a slap to Peter’s face and consciousness. It somewhat brought him back to earth, but he was still tipsy and his heart beats continued to crawl up his throat. The security informed them that they couldn’t go back in, in which Ezra acknowledged that they understood.
He then patted Peter on the back and said, “Let’s go.”
They walked across the street to the late-night pizza shop, who’s “open” sign still flickered. Ezra ordered four slices, two veggie and two BBQ chicken, as well as two glasses of water. Pete went to the closest table and sat down. Ezra scooted into the booth across from him.
“What happened?” Ezra asked, even though Peter knew that Ezra knew exactly what had happened.
“I’m not really sure what caused it,” Peter lied. He would sound like a total idiot if he said that eye contact for two seconds with a stranger caused his internal meltdown.
“Maybe we shouldn’t have had those last beers,” Ezra suggested as the server approached their table and set down their food.
“It wasn’t the beer,” Peter said defensively. It came out a bit harsher than he’d meant to.
“There’s no need to get mad,” Ezra said as he took a bite. “Maybe you’re just hungry.”
Peter felt like a total baby, but Ezra was right. Eating had never been a priority of his and he often forgot about meals. He hadn’t eaten since one in the afternoon and it was eight-thirty. Peter helped himself to one of the veggie slices and found he was feeling a little better. His chest still felt like an elastic band about to snap, but at least the static was gone.
“Sorry we didn’t stay until the end,” Peter apologized before starting on his second slice.
“It’s alright,” Ezra said. “I’m not sure if I could’ve handled a whole other hour and a half of it anyways. Not really a genre I’ll be rushing out to see live again any time soon.”
Peter laughed and felt his heart swell a little for his partner.
After they finished their pizza, they decided to take a Lyft back to Emilio’s. The ride was short, which Peter was thankful for. He was finally happy to be back at home, even if it wasn’t really his. He didn’t bother to remove his jacket or shoes before he fell back into the couch and taking a hit from his pen. Ezra went right into the kitchen and searched through every cupboard until he found Emilio’s stash of tea bags. Ezra boiled water and shortly brought two hot teas to the coffee table for them. He sat down next to Pete and flipped through one of Emilio’s mechanic magazines kept in a stack on the corner of the coffee table.
Neither Peter nor Ezra had checked time since arriving and were surprised when Emilio soon walked through the door. Emilio was great at acting like nothing ever happened, and Peter felt as though it was both a blessing and a curse. Emilio greeted them before going into the bathroom. When he returned to dig in the fridge, he finally asked, “You all good, Cieslak?”
Peter looked over at Emilio, whose head was still in the fridge. “Yeah.”
“Sorry you guys didn’t like the show,” Emilio laughed as he tended to whatever was sizzling on the stove. “I knew it wasn’t really your music tastes, but I figured you’d want to maybe see what it was like at least once.”
“I don’t like any music,” Peter said flatly. Ezra fell into fits of laughter as Emilio sat in the chair adjacent to the couch,
Emilio reached for the remote and switched on the TV for background noise. “Do either of you want a beer or something? Though you know where things are, don’t be afraid to help yourselves.”
“No,” Peter said. “I think I’ll just have my tea.”
Emilio raised his eyebrows as he took a bite of spaghetti. “I thought you wanted to come visit so you could get free beer, smoke, and watch TV.”
Ezra had a snarky comment that Emilio laughed at, but Peter had tuned out. He had initially wanted to make it an exciting couple of days off, to get drunk and just enjoy himself. But after the events that night, he realized he should probably be more aware of how he spent his free time. Perhaps that’s what the eyes of the guitarist were trying to tell him; but Peter wasn’t going to admit that out loud.
I would like to thank Briana Cronin for helping me edit this short story, and everyone who has decided to give it a read.