OUT OF THE RED ↝ dave grohl

fifty-six.

SEPTEMBER 16th, 1991, SEATTLE WA

REAGAN FELT DISTINCTLY cold, though there was no reason as to why she was shivering so vigorously with her denim-jacket clad arms folded tightly against her chest. The Beehive Music and Video Store was packed with people, positively overflowing with a mass of bodies that should have given off enough shared body heat to keep her warm through even a brutal winter.

But as she stood there with her arms crossed, fingering the torn inside sleeve of her jacket, she was slowly but surely beginning to truly understand that she was cold for an entirely different reason that had nothing to do with temperature.

Nirvana had just given a rousing performance at the front of the music store, complete with their branded touch of unrefined talent and thrashing teenagers tumbling over one another as they shook their heads along with the music. It seemed like everyone in the Seattle area had shown up for the gig, from budding fans to the people Reagan had known for years, always keen to be wherever the next source of upcoming music was.

It was an event that should have had her whipped into an excited state, but somehow, she felt god-awful. And it wasn't only because of the daunting prospect of Dave leaving for Nirvana's tour — no, that was merely one of many things. Trying to narrow down just exactly why she felt so low would have taken too long.

She had been, in her honest opinion of herself, the worst audience member of all time. She had barely mustered enough enthusiasm to match the energetic show Nirvana had just been put on. The guilt was already nibbling away at her insides, reminding her that she should have been front and center bouncing along to the beat and cheering them on. Even Shelli had abandoned her spot beside Reagan to disappear into the crowd.

She wished she could have formulated the reasoning behind her downtrodden mood into one sentence. At least just one, one string of words that she could mindfully mutter to herself in an attempt to explain why she was feeling so out-of-body. She craved the euphoric happiness she had felt two days prior when she and Dave had left the courthouse hand-in-hand, officially wed. But everything had seemed to become a little less rose-colored within those past forty-eight hours, as if the newfound guiding light in Reagan's world had been dimmed.

She supposed that she could have organized her troubles into a pyramid scheme, starting from the bottom up in order of what was irking her the most. The bottom of that pyramid would have been the easier matters that she had to deal with, those things that were ultimately fixable. Things like telling Ginny for example that she and Dave had gotten married on a whim without even letting her know.

That issue had been seemingly taken care of with a literal wave of Dave's hand. The morning after their wedding, when Reagan had babbled on for a straight hour over how rotten she felt for excluding Dave's beloved mother from the ordeal, Dave had hushed her by patting the air, encouraging her to calm her nerves.

"We'll tell her right now," he'd insisted, always eager to brush away Reagan's fears with whatever farce he could pull right out of his pocket. Reagan had balked at the idea, but Dave persisted until finally Reagan had found herself being held captive at his side while he'd dialed his old home phone number. Ginny had been surprised upon hearing the news, but was nonetheless supportive. She had made them both promise to exchange vows again, next time in front of her. She also assured them that she would pass the news along to Lisa, who would, without a doubt, hold the same expectation over their heads.

The most reassuring part had been when Ginny had said goodbye, telling them both that she loved them. That had certainly felt good for Reagan, knowing that she had earned her new mother-in-law's love even after only meeting her once. And maybe another wedding would be fun. Maybe she would even wear a white gown just to appease everyone.