Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist
Page 20
Norah. She’s ten feet away. Not looking for me or for anything else. She is in the middle of this conflagration and she looks entirely alone.
It scares me.
I recognize it.
I am hearing Lars L.’s bassline. I am falling into it, the black of it, the pit of it. It screams that time is an angry machine. Music is an angry machine. We are all angry machines.
I’ve lost my kilter. I am downwarding. And it’s worse because I know I should be going up.
Norah. Just make your way to Norah.
Dev is in my way. I try to maneuver around him, and he responds with a fevered shove. I shove back. He catches my shoulder too hard and I spin out. I stumble. I bodycheck Norah.
She doesn’t laugh. She just throws herself right back at me. Slam and retreat. Then I slam and retreat. We should be smiling and we’re not smiling. I throw my whole body at her, full-frontal crash. She is all resistance. She holds her ground and there we are, no distance now, her face so close it’s almost a blur.
“What the f**k?” she yells, and it’s not me she’s speaking to.
Dev’s elbow hits my back and I press forward and she’s right there and I’m reaching out and she’s right there and right at that moment the amps amplify and the music takes on such a pulse that it becomes my heartbeat and her heartbeat and I know it and she knows it and this is the point where we could break apart and that would be it, totally it. But I look into her eyes and she looks into my eyes and we recognize it—the excitement of being here, the excitement of being now. And maybe I’m realizing what a part of it she is and maybe she’s realizing what a part of it I am, because suddenly we’re not crashing as much as we’re combining. The chords swirling around us are becoming a tornado, tightening and tightening and tightening, and we are at the center of it, and we are at the center of each other. My wrist touches hers right at the point of our pulses, and I swear I can feel it. That thrum. We are moving to the music and at the same time we are a stillness. I am not losing myself in the barrage. I am finding her. And she is—yes, she is finding me. The crowd is pressing in on us and the bassline is revealing everything and we are two people who are part of a lot more people, and at the same time we’re our own part. There isn’t loneliness, only this intense twoliness. There’s only one way to test it, and that is to dare a movement, to push it farther and see if she wants it to go there. I find her lips and I make that kiss and she’s pulling my hair and I’ve got the fabric of her jacket bunched in a fist and it’s nothing like talking and it’s right there and we’re taking it and taking it and taking it. And my eyes are closed and then my eyes are open and I see her eyes are open and there’s a part of her that’s pulling back even as our bodies are pressing and it’s the fear, of course there’s the fear, and I just hold her close to tell her I understand.
Lars L. launches straight into “Take Me Back, Bitch” and I flinch and Norah sees it and I have no way of saying it’s not her, it’s not now, it’s the ten thousand thens that she has nothing to do with. I lean in and kiss her again, the same way that you run to your room and blast the music when your parents start shouting. I know it won’t work and it doesn’t work because some things you don’t need to hear in order to hear. The mind has an ear of its own and sometimes memory is the fiercest f**king DJ alive.
Now Norah’s yelling “What?” and it is a question for me. And then she says the hardest question of all—the one that takes so much hurt and bravery to ask—which is “Why did you stop?” and the bassline is too strong and my body is being battered from all sides and one of my favorite bands has turned against me and I’m yelling “I CAN’T TALK TO YOU HERE” and she screams “WHAT?” and I am right in her ear and yell “NOT HERE” and then “I CAN’T TALK.”
Her hand finds my hand and immediately I’m being led away. We are piercing through the rumbling tumbling crowd and our arms are like the most precarious bridge, held together by that single, pulling clasp. I think, If she lets go, it’s all over. If I let go, it’s all over. And because she is holding on so tight, I hold on so tight. I am being jostled from all sides—I know there will be bruises tomorrow—but somehow this hand-hold is immune. Somehow we stay together. We are graced, and we are together, and the twoliness is trumping the loneliness and the doubt and the fear. We are making it through. Thank you, music. Damn you, memories. Thank you, present.
She looks around, then gets me into a small room to the side of the Laddies’ Room. It’s the size of a closet, and it’s dominated by a lime-green couch in front of a big mirror. There’s a priest’s collar thrown over the back of the couch, and plenty of open makeup. I expect Norah to look at me mischievously, but instead she looks determined. She keeps hold of my hand and launches herself into me, squeezing and grappling and kissing me so hard my lips can barely kiss back.
“You,” she says, her hand now leading my hand over her br**sts and her free hand gliding over my chest. And it’s hot in this small room, and she’s feverish and she’s kissing me and my mouth is opening and her hands, her tongue, her hips are exploring. But her eyes aren’t as adventurous. And I don’t know if she’s trying to pull me back or pull me in or just plain trying to pull. If this is desire, I’m not clear what it’s a desire for. I’m aroused—so f**king aroused—by the heat of it, the fever of it, the dark—yes, darkness—of it. But I can’t lose myself in it because I can’t find where she is, outside of the music, inside these movements. Her hand is pressing my hand against the wall, and the other hand is under my shirt, rising up to my neck, then starting to go back down. And down. And her fingers have found my trail and my hands both press the wall. The heat of it, the fever of it…the look in her eyes is unsmiling and I just want it and I just can’t do it and she’s reaching down and down and as she touches me there I am about to explode and I want her to say something, even my name, but she doesn’t and suddenly I can’t. I want to be sure, and I’m not sure, and I say no, because I want her to be sure and I just can’t be sure that she is. She kisses me again and strokes a little and this time I’m really not kissing back and I’ve got to stop it before something happens and I don’t understand what’s going on here and I let go of her hand and her other hand stops and even though I am up against a wall, I pull away.
It scares me.
I recognize it.
I am hearing Lars L.’s bassline. I am falling into it, the black of it, the pit of it. It screams that time is an angry machine. Music is an angry machine. We are all angry machines.
I’ve lost my kilter. I am downwarding. And it’s worse because I know I should be going up.
Norah. Just make your way to Norah.
Dev is in my way. I try to maneuver around him, and he responds with a fevered shove. I shove back. He catches my shoulder too hard and I spin out. I stumble. I bodycheck Norah.
She doesn’t laugh. She just throws herself right back at me. Slam and retreat. Then I slam and retreat. We should be smiling and we’re not smiling. I throw my whole body at her, full-frontal crash. She is all resistance. She holds her ground and there we are, no distance now, her face so close it’s almost a blur.
“What the f**k?” she yells, and it’s not me she’s speaking to.
Dev’s elbow hits my back and I press forward and she’s right there and I’m reaching out and she’s right there and right at that moment the amps amplify and the music takes on such a pulse that it becomes my heartbeat and her heartbeat and I know it and she knows it and this is the point where we could break apart and that would be it, totally it. But I look into her eyes and she looks into my eyes and we recognize it—the excitement of being here, the excitement of being now. And maybe I’m realizing what a part of it she is and maybe she’s realizing what a part of it I am, because suddenly we’re not crashing as much as we’re combining. The chords swirling around us are becoming a tornado, tightening and tightening and tightening, and we are at the center of it, and we are at the center of each other. My wrist touches hers right at the point of our pulses, and I swear I can feel it. That thrum. We are moving to the music and at the same time we are a stillness. I am not losing myself in the barrage. I am finding her. And she is—yes, she is finding me. The crowd is pressing in on us and the bassline is revealing everything and we are two people who are part of a lot more people, and at the same time we’re our own part. There isn’t loneliness, only this intense twoliness. There’s only one way to test it, and that is to dare a movement, to push it farther and see if she wants it to go there. I find her lips and I make that kiss and she’s pulling my hair and I’ve got the fabric of her jacket bunched in a fist and it’s nothing like talking and it’s right there and we’re taking it and taking it and taking it. And my eyes are closed and then my eyes are open and I see her eyes are open and there’s a part of her that’s pulling back even as our bodies are pressing and it’s the fear, of course there’s the fear, and I just hold her close to tell her I understand.
Lars L. launches straight into “Take Me Back, Bitch” and I flinch and Norah sees it and I have no way of saying it’s not her, it’s not now, it’s the ten thousand thens that she has nothing to do with. I lean in and kiss her again, the same way that you run to your room and blast the music when your parents start shouting. I know it won’t work and it doesn’t work because some things you don’t need to hear in order to hear. The mind has an ear of its own and sometimes memory is the fiercest f**king DJ alive.
Now Norah’s yelling “What?” and it is a question for me. And then she says the hardest question of all—the one that takes so much hurt and bravery to ask—which is “Why did you stop?” and the bassline is too strong and my body is being battered from all sides and one of my favorite bands has turned against me and I’m yelling “I CAN’T TALK TO YOU HERE” and she screams “WHAT?” and I am right in her ear and yell “NOT HERE” and then “I CAN’T TALK.”
Her hand finds my hand and immediately I’m being led away. We are piercing through the rumbling tumbling crowd and our arms are like the most precarious bridge, held together by that single, pulling clasp. I think, If she lets go, it’s all over. If I let go, it’s all over. And because she is holding on so tight, I hold on so tight. I am being jostled from all sides—I know there will be bruises tomorrow—but somehow this hand-hold is immune. Somehow we stay together. We are graced, and we are together, and the twoliness is trumping the loneliness and the doubt and the fear. We are making it through. Thank you, music. Damn you, memories. Thank you, present.
She looks around, then gets me into a small room to the side of the Laddies’ Room. It’s the size of a closet, and it’s dominated by a lime-green couch in front of a big mirror. There’s a priest’s collar thrown over the back of the couch, and plenty of open makeup. I expect Norah to look at me mischievously, but instead she looks determined. She keeps hold of my hand and launches herself into me, squeezing and grappling and kissing me so hard my lips can barely kiss back.
“You,” she says, her hand now leading my hand over her br**sts and her free hand gliding over my chest. And it’s hot in this small room, and she’s feverish and she’s kissing me and my mouth is opening and her hands, her tongue, her hips are exploring. But her eyes aren’t as adventurous. And I don’t know if she’s trying to pull me back or pull me in or just plain trying to pull. If this is desire, I’m not clear what it’s a desire for. I’m aroused—so f**king aroused—by the heat of it, the fever of it, the dark—yes, darkness—of it. But I can’t lose myself in it because I can’t find where she is, outside of the music, inside these movements. Her hand is pressing my hand against the wall, and the other hand is under my shirt, rising up to my neck, then starting to go back down. And down. And her fingers have found my trail and my hands both press the wall. The heat of it, the fever of it…the look in her eyes is unsmiling and I just want it and I just can’t do it and she’s reaching down and down and as she touches me there I am about to explode and I want her to say something, even my name, but she doesn’t and suddenly I can’t. I want to be sure, and I’m not sure, and I say no, because I want her to be sure and I just can’t be sure that she is. She kisses me again and strokes a little and this time I’m really not kissing back and I’ve got to stop it before something happens and I don’t understand what’s going on here and I let go of her hand and her other hand stops and even though I am up against a wall, I pull away.
