Flannel Punk
©1994, 1996, 2005 Matt Duncan

              Seth tossed his maroon visor in the window of his car, pulled his greasy apron and obnoxious purple soft-drink ad t-shirt over his head, and reached behind his neck to release his pony-tail. He threw his work uniform in the backseat, trading it for a faded black concert t-shirt and a ripped blue flannel. He brushed potato chips and sandwich crumbs off the seat and got in the car. In one fluid motion, he opened the choke, closed his eyes, stepped on the gas, and turned the key. With a roaring gurgle, the old Nova spat black smoke and hiccupped to life. Seth eased it into gear, out of the parking lot, into traffic, and out of the shopping district. The radio broken, Seth made his own music in time to the choked hum of the engine.
              The sun was just above the roofs of the suburban houses. Clouds clustered in pink and orange wads in the western sky, cradling a stretch of turquoise. The turquoise streak bled past navy into indigo in the east. Late September chilled the evening air. The moon hovered, barely visible, far above and behind Seth's car.
              He stopped for gas. His apartment was across the street, above the restaurant where Jan waitressed. She'd waited on him a few times, months ago. He'd tipped heavily both times. She wasn't working, her car wasn't in the lot. Seth knew she had a blue Chevette. He'd even memorized the license number. He screwed the gas cap back on, bought a pack of  cigarettes when he paid, and went home to find a hat and give Alex a call.

!?#!

              "Make it shorter in back and on the sides than on the top, y'know? Like, use the first attachment for the sides, and the big one for the top, or something."
              "Aw, you oughta just let me take a Bic to it, man."
              "No way. You'd cut me up, fool. Besides, Bic's not Politically Correct, man. They test razor blades on rabbits' eyeballs, or something. And all us freaks have to be PC in all we do, y'know."
             "Yeah, yeah," Alex scoffed. He snapped the plastic comb onto the clipper blade and went to work on Seth's head quickly, taking the long scraggly brown hair off in sweeping strokes from the base of  Seth's neck to the point just above the earline. "Dude, your hair is so long. Why'd you decide to shave it now? I've been trying to take clippers to your head since last year."
              Seth shifted in the chair and brushed a hunk of hair from his lap. "Man, I got tired of the damn hippie cracks. And I hate having my hair yanked out at all the shows by assholes stage-diving onto me and climbing over my head." He reached back and scratched his neck.
              Alex batted his hand away. "Hang on, man. I'm almost done." He made a final stroke and flicked off the clippers. After switching attachments, he went to work on what remained of Seth's formerly foot-long shock. "Geez, you could make a damn rug outta all this." Alex finished the job in five quick strokes, removed the attachment, cleaned up Seth's neck and around his ears, and then held out a mirror. "Tah dah!"

              "Christ, I look like a damn skinhead." Seth held the mirror at several angles all around his head and repeatedly ran his fingers through his fresh stubble. "Thanks, I guess. I've never felt so naked." The two laughed as they swept up the clumps of hair strewn over the floor.
              "So, are you going to the party at Steve's?" Seth asked as he brushed hair off his neck and shook it from his shirt.
              "Yeah, I think so. Well, maybe. I don't know. I'm going to try to score some herb, man."
              "Yeah. I figured as much." Seth finally took his shirt all the way off and tried to shake it out. "I'll see you at the show tomorrow night at least, right?"
              "Of course, dude. You think I'd miss the Kids? No fuckin' way." He put away the clippers and headed for the kitchen. "I heard Jan might be there, and her friend. You know, that ugly chick who's always with her. Want a beer?"
              "Yeah." Seth put his shirt back on and went to look in the mirror. "Her name is Donna."
              "What? Who?" Alex returned, handed him a brown bottle.
              "The 'ugly chick.'" Seth took a drink. "Her name is Donna. God, I look weird."
              "You look better. Fuckin' A. Anyway, I don't really think she's that ugly. Just kind of scary looking. A little too gothic for my taste, y'know?"
              "Yeah. She is a bit too deathly pale. Kiss of the fucking Vampire Woman, man."
              "Hell yes," Alex laughed, and raised his bottle in a toast. "But I'd still do her, man. Like I said, she's not that ugly."
              Seth laughed and took another drink. "Jan's pretty hot, though."
              Alex nodded as he drained his beer, then said, "But she's not dangerous enough, man. A bit too Grateful Dead for me." He laughed again and headed back to the kitchen. "Kiss of the goddamn Vampire Woman. Dude."

!?#!

              Seth walked around to the back of Steve's house, and climbed to the upstairs apartment, dodging a couple squatting on the steps sharing a cigarette. He shrugged off his jacket just inside the door and threw it on the pile in the corner of  Steve's room, heading for the kitchen.
              Three guys stood around the keg that sat on the sink counter, shouting at each other.
              "I still think Elmer's glue beats hairspray!"
              "Andy, did you ever get my bass strings like I asked you?"
              "Dan, I saw your mother last night, and she was wonderful. Really."
              "No way, dude, sugar water will make your hair stand up for a good twelve hours or more."
              "You shut the hell up about my mother!"
              "Aww, man, I forgot. But I did get a new head for my snare. . .Geez, it was just a joke, man."
              "You stupid fuck. Do you know how flat we're gonna sound if I don't get new strings?"
              "Hairspray is definitely best, Chad. No problem."
              The three had fluorescent-colored hair: Chad green, Dan blue, Andy purple.
              "All hail," Seth shouted at the sight of them. "Those grandmasters of grindcore, the Krayola Kids, have deigned to bless us with their presence this evening!" He dropped to his knees and bowed his head, lifting a plastic cup above himself like a sacrificial chalice.
              The response was in ritual unison: "Seth! Dude, man! Yo!" Then a pause as the smiles on their faces dropped in disbelief: "What happened to your hair?!?"
              As Seth related the tale of his shearing, Donna the Vampire Woman and Jan came up to the keg, and pushed past the guys. The two girls were extremes of a dark spectrum, Jan the gentle grey-brown-tan earth-tones, Donna in heavy deep purples and black. Together they crafted a musical texture: Donna's voice thrummed a soft bass across Jan's melodic giggle, the scores of bracelets both wore adding a jangly syncopation. Jan grabbed Donna and whispered something, glancing in Seth's direction. The Vampire Woman turned to look at him, arched her thin black eyebrows and pursed her purpled lips, then whispered something back. Jan giggled nervously. She and Donna refilled their cups, and squeezed past the Kids and Seth.
              Seth watched them over his shoulder as he got himself a beer.

!?#!

              The ringing of the phone woke Seth. He first hit the alarm clock, then struggled out of his blanket and tripped across his shoes, snatching at the receiver.
              "What? I mean hello."
              "Dude! Seth! It's Chad. I need a favor, man."
              "Christ, it's my day off work. What time is it?"
              "I dunno, after eleven, I think. Did I wake you up or something?"
              "Skip it. What do you want?"
              "I need strings for the show tonight. Can you pick some up and drop them off down here? I'm at work."
              "You still making pizzas?"
              "Yeah. It's a drag. But it pays the rent, I guess."
              "When you want 'em?"
              "I get off work at six, and we're setting up at eight. I have to get some shit together before the gig."
              "Give me an hour, and I'll be there. How much will they cost?"
              "Get the good kind, the ones that are like forty dollars"
              "Forty Dollars?!? Do I look like a fucking bank?"
              "I'm good for it man. We'll get paid at the gig."
              "Oh. . . all right. See ya."
              "Later, man. Thanks."
              Seth hung up and sat down on the floor, rubbing his eyes. He yawned and stretched, leaning back until he was lying prone, his head resting on one shoe. The faded canvas sneaker smelled like cat litter. He looked at the ceiling for a short while, then dragged himself up and got dressed.
              The sun was bright, nearly blinding off the hood and windshield of the Nova, even with the chipped and faded paint job. He spent ten minutes searching the glove compartment, front seat, back seat, and glove compartment again before finding a broken pair of sunglasses. The nosepiece was half cracked off, and Seth grimaced and bent the frames for several minutes before sighing "fuck it" and starting the car.
              Jan's car was in the parking lot. He stopped the Nova at the exit of the lot and tried to look in the window of the restaurant, but the glare off the plate glass was too intense, it only threw back his own reflection. He eased off the brake and into the street. After getting cigarettes at the gas station, Seth stopped at a bank machine, then continued on his way to the music store.

!?#!

              Seth closed the car door, lit a cigarette and stuffed the lighter back inside his jacket. He ran his hand over his head and tightened his ball cap on his day-old haircut. He paid outside at the door of the club, then pressed his way inside. 
              At the front, the floor was an ocean of plaid. Flannel foam licked each body hurled above the surface as the waves surged and burst against the stage. Sweaty, unshirted bodysurfers rode the waves of arms and hands, swimming and struggling back to the front . Once there, the riders pitched themselves again into the fray. Seemingly eager hands reached for and caught them, pushing them forward again, or pulling them into the human depths. Hair tangled in hands struggling for balance, both above and below. Earrings caught on flailing fingers and tattered shirts. Noses and mouths met sneakers and boots. Heads cracked and bodies bruised. The chaos could not be completely comprehended from a single vantage point: too much was happening in too many directions, on too many planes. And behind this mass confusion, the Kids grunged through.
              From the back of the club, Seth could see only silhouettes as random body parts flailed out above the throng. He turned to the bar. The Vampire Woman stood near the jukebox, smirking at the rest of the club. She looked at Seth, tightened her lips, looked toward the opposite side of the bar, and smirked again. Across the room, Seth caught a glimpse of Alex's bald head. Seth wound his way through the bobbing crowd. Alex spotted him, and pushed past to meet him.
              "Man, they're really rockin'!" he shouted over the band, his face in Seth's ear. "Listen, man, I'm hooking up with Carl later, and we're gonna smoke a few bowls. He's got some stuff laced with coke or some shit like that. It'll be sweet."
              Seth turned away, back toward the band, and looked at him out of the corner of his eye. "I thought Carl was gonna go straight-edge, or some shit like that."
              "Ah, come on, man. It's just an attitude." Alex grinned at him. "All edge and no play makes for a lame weekend."
              "Yeah, whatever. I'm not going. Coke is fucked up stuff." He turned away.
              Alex caught his arm. "Come on, dude. It'll be sweet. What's the problem?"
              "I quit smoking shit, man, and I never fucked with coke. Count me out."
              "Whatever, dude." He let go of Seth's arm. "Hey, if you see Chad after the show, tell him about it, though. Tell him I'm looking for him."
              "Yeah, sure, whatever. He owes me money, anyway. Later."
              He made his way back through the crowd. Some skinheads pushed a mohican into him, knocking both off balance. Seth grabbed the kid by the shoulders as they fell. All around him the air went stale. For a moment, in the limbo between the floor and the crowd, silence washed over him, and he tasted dregs of flat beer and stale cigarettes. Fists and fingers jerked his sleeves and pulled the two apart and back to the surface and to sound.
              Seth stood to the side, near the door, for the rest of the set. The Kids were sweating under the lights, Andy stripped to his shorts, Chad throwing himself across the stage as he pounded on his bass, Dan locked in position, thrashing at the guitar strings and gnawing at the microphone. The cool air from people entering cleared Seth's head. At the end of the set, he lit a cigarette and made his way to the bar. Jan sat on a stool near the jukebox. The Vampire Woman was nowhere in sight.
              " 'Scuze me." He leaned across the bar past Jan to get a beer. She bent back out of his way. He looked over at her and smiled. "Sorry."
              She laughed and smiled back, brushing her straight brown hair behind her right ear. "Certainly sir," she answered with a mock-formal tone. She brought her face to his ear and raised her voice above the band. "Anything else we can get for you this evening? Some chips, perhaps? Hors D'oeuvre? A masseuse?" She laughed again through her pose, her smile pulling her fine, full lips in a crescent and sheltering her hazel eyes in a squint.
              "Well, to tell you the truth... Oh, forget it, that's not very funny." He grinned at her like a ten-year old, and took a drink. "I'm Seth. I already know your name. You're Jan." He used his sleeve as a towel, then extended his hand.
              She accepted it with another laugh. "How do you know so much about me? I didn't know I was that famous. Or is it infamous?" Her eyebrows lifted and her expression cleared.
              "Infamous? Well, I wouldn't say that, but ... it's not really important, though. I just made a point of finding out who you were." He kept the grin and narrowed his eyes like an actor.
              Jan laughed. "Well, sir, that doesn't seem very fair. I don't think it's very nice to spy on people. What are your real motives?" she asked, arching her eyebrow with false severity.
              "Heh heh heh. That, my friend, will have to wait." He raised a finger, like a man who has just struck upon an incredible secret plan, and turned to head for the bathroom.
               "Just remember!"she called after him. "We have ways of making you talk!"

!?#!

              The Kids had begun their second set while Seth waited in line at the bathroom. Once through, he returned to the spot where he had left Jan, raising his bottle in cursory salute to acquaintances. She had moved. He looked around, disappointed, but spotted her quickly.
              She smiled at him from her seat on top of the jukebox. He smiled back, and leaned against the wall next to her. She bent over in front of him, and offered him her drink. He shook his head. She poked his nose and smiled right into his face, her hair hanging past her face and casting her head in a haloed silhouette. He laughed and turned back to the show. She reached down and grabbed his left hand in her right. He felt her fingers tighten on his, and squeezed.
              Lights kicked on as the final note of the last song faded. Seth pulled Jan behind him to the bar. They waited there as the crowd oozed out the door. Bouncers shouted for everyone to leave, and Seth explained that he had to talk to the bass player. After fifteen minutes, he wove his way through the dregs of the crowd to the stage.
              Alex and Chad were there, with Carl and a few other younger kids with baggy pants, knit hats, and flannel shirts. They all had bad posture and stringy hair. Donna was not far off to the side of the stage, sitting at a table with her legs crossed, holding a beer bottle. Seth reached past a scrawny kid and playfully punched Chad in the shoulder.
              "What the fu... Seth! Dude. What'd you think, man?" He smiled through half-lidded eyes, sweat leaving runnels of green hair dye down his cheek and neck.
              "Great show, man. Listen, about those strings. . ."
              "Oh, look, man, come back here with me and we'll get it straightened out." He climbed back on the stage, heading for the side door where bands unloaded their equipment. Seth pulled Jan onstage with him, and the two followed him out into the cold. Jan pulled her leather coat closed across her body, letting the sleeves fall down around her hands for warmth.
              "Look, man," Chad continued, "The club owner's probably not gonna pay us 'til everybody leaves. I'm gonna hook up with Carl and Alex later, though, if you want to come hang out or something. Shouldn't take us more than an hour to break down and unload this shit. . . "
              "Thanks man, but no thanks. I don't think we'd be too welcome."
              "Dude, no, that's not. . ."
              "Trust me, man. I don't want to crash that scene. Just pay me tomorrow." Seth put his arm around Jan, and stepped toward the parking lot.
              "Oh. . . Well, whatever, man. I gotta work 'til six, but I can swing by or something."
              "Sure. Later, man." Seth clasped Chad's hand, then the bass player went back inside. Jan pulled on Seth's sleeve, and smiled at him through chattering teeth. They hurried to his car. Seth unlocked Jan's door, walked around to his own, and sighed as he sank into the seat.
              "Tired?"
              He rubbed his eyes and answered, "It's been a long night."
              "Are you sure you're ok to drive?"
              "I'm fine. You're not much better, anyway."
              "Well," she laughed lazily, "at least I stopped over an hour ago, and I didn't stumble out the door. But it's your car. . ."
              "Oh, stop it. Unless you want to drive?" He paused. "Sorry. I was being sort of a dick. You drive. Really."
              After he started the car, they switched places, Seth walking back around to her side of the car as she slid across to the wheel. She backed the car out of the spot and pulled out onto the road.
              Jan asked him why he didn't talk to Alex. Seth told her that he didn't like the people Alex had been with. She asked what he didn't like about them, and if she might know any of them.
              "Well, Donna ended up talking to him eventually. I think they were going to leave together. Too weird." He snorted. "She's cool. I know she's your friend. I don't know if you know any of the others. Do you know that skater Carl?'
              "Is he the short guy who always has the big black X's on his hands?"
              Seth laughed. "Yeah, but not tonight."
              "Why not tonight? What do they mean?"
              "They mean that he's straight-edge. It's like a hardcore/punk faction that's mostly skinheads. They supposedly don't smoke, drink, have casual sex, or do drugs. It's kind of a noble philosophy, but it's pretty much fucked itself out of existence. Mostly because of people like Carl."
              "Why?"
              "Because very reliable sources have it that Carl got a quarter of some cocaine-laced weed and he can't wait to have a toke party."
              "So he's not this straight-lace thing any more?"
              "Straight-edge. No, he only started the whole X thing about three weeks ago, and he still cops cigarettes off me all the time anyway. It's just a big attention thing, and makes him feel better about himself."
              She drove in silence for awhile. Seth watched the headlights of the cars going the opposite direction. He reached in the pocket of his flannel shirt and pulled out his mangled pack of cigarettes. The only one in the pack was broken near the base, so he tore the dangling filter off and lit the filterless end. He cracked the window and exhaled into the crisp, frozen air.
              Jan turned down a street on the fringe of the "downtown" part of the small town. As they drove down the poorly lit street, she spoke again. "Do you like me?"
              "What?" Seth threw his cigarette out the window and rolled it back up. "What did you say?"
              She pulled the car to the side of the road and parked. She swallowed visibly, and looked at him. He glanced away, then immediately looked into her red-ringed eyes again.
              "I was looking forward to Steve's party all week long because I wanted to meet you." She swallowed again. "I . . ."
              "I think you're really pretty. I... like you... a lot."
              She looked down at the seat and then back up at him. He put his hand on her cheek, cradling her face. She closed her eyes, then opened them again, and looked at him. Then she leaned forward, and the two drowned in one another's mouths.