I became introduced to Magic: The Gathering by David Bowie. I’d moved back to Denver after university to locate that most of my friends from senior school had grown up and left town. I happened to be lonely, depressed, and — worse — bored. I invested my evenings stumbling from club to bar, wanting to wedge personally into social situations, still unsure of how a grownup makes new friends. It was a trying time, but one which taught me many self-reliance and fearlessness. It led me to do crazy, dangerous things. Things I would personally have not imagined myself effective at. Like karaoke.
“Next up, David Pimburton!” the DJ launched. She stared down at slip of report in moderate confusion, recognizing that she’d mispronounced my last name.
“It’s Pemberton!” I yelled from the group, like a ‘that guy’, sauntering forward with a will of Tecate clutched in my fist. I climbed on stage, took the mic, and waited for the songs to start playing.
“It’s a god-awful little event, ” I crooned, following my most readily useful ironic Uk accent, slurring my method through the very first taverns. It had been a sloppy rendition of Bowie’s “Life on Mars?” If I’m honest, a good thing about singing David Bowie at Karaoke is his tracks tend to be best when shouted — the one amount that drunks can handle — together because of the audience. On-stage, I could have the pulse for the audience waiting for their look to sing.
“Is there life on Maaaaaaaaaaaars?” A few people applauded, not within my vocals (which is awful), but in the pleasure of singing along to David Bowie. His songs has a mystical method of bringing people collectively.
“That was great!” yelled a tall, thin child with long hair and thick sideburns. “But that is the track I happened to be gonna sing. Now I’ve reached discover something else.” He bought me a drink and introduced me to his spouse, Pallas. “I’m Matt, ” he said, trembling my hand.
The combination of booze and Bowie led us into deep discussion, as well as the end of the evening, I wondered if Matt and I also may be buddies. Like we stated, these lonely nights usually led us to do odd things, including, in this situation, passing my number to a boy.
“I know it’s strange, ” I yelled, as some body on stage bludgeoned Billy Joel’s ‘Piano Man.’ “But we must all go out at some point!”
I woke within the after that morning smelling like sodium and yeast, the telltale odor of a lengthy night that would soon be accompanied by a massive hangover. It was something I was getting familiar with — the booze, the fuzzy memory, in addition to miserable day-after. We left my apartment (that I hated) and got within my car (that we hated) and drove to my work (that we hated). We invested the morning drinking black coffee, attempting to wash away the metallic flavor of a night spent drinking. Around lunch, I got a text message from an unknown quantity.