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How Not to Do It.

The band calls for a circle pit and I dive right in. The biggest mountain in the mosh pit is right there to catch me and by catch I mean we slam together like the beginning of the universe in reverse. The boy jumps in behind me and we run and this is going to be a good pit; the twist in my shoulder from that first slam is probably going to last for days and we've just started. Days and days of winces and masochistic grins, yes this is going to be a flesh memory and a story to summon the devilish muses and a strength in the quiet times. I break in waves over the people who paid to come and stare at the band and nothing more. I am not myself; I am a challenge. Come wear this music with your bruises. I dare you.

Then, between bands, we go back up to the stage where my more breakable friends have saved me a chance to lust after the next guitarist's boots. The boy is grinning.

"You really jumped in back there!" he says, "I thought you were going to get hurt- I had to save you from going down like five times."


How to Do It.

I have no idea why this guy is apologizing to me. Did I bump past him in the pit? Him and two dozen other guys probably, and even if he's claiming he's one of the dangerous ones- and even if he looks like one of the dangerous ones, over six feet tall and built like a marine, shaved head, tattoos and all of that- he clearly didn't hit me hard enough to be memorable. He's still talking, "I try not to hit the girls. You're so cute and little. I don't want to hurt you."

So I hurl myself into him again or maybe this is the first time- it doesn't matter. I don't know him, but do I know an attitude like that could kill a good pit as soon as I step into it; fuck hanging around on the edges wondering just how scared these giants are of me. It's my best fuck you slam, but of course Mister Twice My Weight barely moves. He laughs in fact, and suddenly it's all a friendly thing.

Cordially, he knocks me back into the headbanging crowd. Affectionately, I attempt to introduce his skull to the beer-stained floor. He grabs my leg and tries to lift me above the crowd, up to where being small is an advantage.

We seem to have reached an understanding.

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