girl singing in the wreckage ✰ dave grohl

one

olympia, washington
late 1990

aprils bedroom window was almost too perfect to not sneak out of. the distance from the ground to the window was barely a foot high, and her cherry docs hit the ground almost delicately. she cringed slightly as she heard the crunch of leaves in the wake of her footsteps. she got flashes of deja vu each time she slipped out of her room, and it always felt like a race between her dad and brother sam as to who would catch her first this time. her camera bag was slung over her shoulder, and she kept a firm grip on it, cradling it like a mother with a child.

april's friend cherry had landed the job at the venue two months prior to that night, and she loved it. each time she would call cherry up on the phone, april would be sure to get all the details of what characters she'd come across. cherry was a masterful storyteller, never missing a detail, and expressively waving her hands with each word.

putting the key into the door and sliding in, april let out the breath she had been holding. turning the key into the ignition, it was a matter of seconds before the engine roared alive and she sped off, the city awaiting her. she flicked through the few casette tapes she had tucked in little places around the car. suicidal tendencies, mudhoney, black flag, circle jerks. her eyes fell upon a dead kennedy's album and she popped the tape into the player, the thump of the bass rumbling through the car as california uber allies began to play.

as the momentum of the song sped up and broke into a mesh of drums, guitar and vocals, so did the speed of her fathers car, and soon enough she was doing 60 in a 40. as she pulled up to the venue, the music was already ringing out from inside. she sauntered in with the confident exterior she always exuded in public.

"looking good, april." the bouncer, jimmy spoke. if april had to pick one word to describe jimmy, it would be greaseball. or maybe sleazebag. he had been trying to make a move on her for years; well back to when she was just sixteen years old.

"tell me something i don't know." she smiled sourly, retrieving her fake id from the inside of her jean pocket.

jimmy barely glanced at april's id before sending her in with a wink. it made her stomach lurch in disgust. fucking dirty old man. she thought to herself. she didn't, however, let the queasiness she felt in her stomach affect her facade, and she strutted in with the same aura of untouchableness she always put on.

cherry was working the bar as usual, but she sometimes helped bands unload their equipment before sound check. april strutted over to her redhead friend who let out an excited screech as april neared.

"happy eighteen years, bitch!" cherry pulled her into a hug from over the bar, planting a red lipstick kiss on her right cheek. "jimmy didn't give you any shit?" cherry asked, pursing her lips as she reffered to the bouncer, notorious for being handsy sometimes, and an all around douche.

"the usual-- doesn't bother me too much anymore." she shrugged, though she knew it was a lie.

"someone oughta set pencil dick straight before i do-- cuz i don't wanna lose my job." cherry replied, picking up a pack of marlboro reds and taking one out with her teeth.

april retrieved her lighter from her back pocket, along with a ten dollar bill. she lit cherry's cigarette and slid the money toward her.

"vodka?" cherry asked.

"you know it." april replied with a grin.