“Who’s ready for the greatest experiences in our pitiful mortal lives!” Tony exclaimed. His voice echoed through the crowded street, surprisingly not gathering stares from the multitudes of punks with dyed hair whose voices were as equally as booming as his. Beck, short for Rebecca, rolled her eyes habitually and cringed at the noise.

Virtually surrounding the brick-and-mortar building that housed the music hangout Alternative Music Foundation, more commonly known as Gilman. While hordes of punks were clamoring in the misty dark to be let in, one man seemed out of place among them, studying them as if they came from the other side of the moon. 

Lou Sage looked around nervously, like a mole who popped into the ground in Texas and found itself in the middle of Croatia. In other words, he was pretty confused about the overwhelming sight and downright rowdiness of the night's clubgoers. He wasn't sure if he even wanted to be here, but Tony was Tony, always pushing this club. He always chatted up this place, boasting about the bands he saw, the great people he had the honor of being a spit’s distance away from. Gilman this, and Gilman that. Lou finally caved in. After all, midterms were done: time to make some commotion and have some fun, he figured.

Tony, Lou, and Beck attended the honorable college of Berkeley. But Lou was convinced, if they were the rulers of weirdos, he would be emperor. He has something called Asperger’s syndrome, a milder cousin, once-removed, of autism. As far as the hilarious pronunciation goes, it really wasn’t. His motor skills were a failure to launch, he was still crying at 21 (though in the safety of the dorm bathroom), and his voice lacked any sort of inflection, like he was exhausted all the time. He was completely certain, if Beck and Tony didn’t adopt him into their circle of vast nerdom, he would be a shunned recluse. 

Well, that and he was gay.

AIDS painted gay people as disease carriers, but that was a complete fallacy. People literally formed anti-gay committees and called on people to “save their children from the homosexual plague.” It was almost humorous. Almost. 

AIDS stirred up a big ol’ pot of steaming homophobia, and it was continuing to boil over as the year 1995 ended. It was almost hazardous to be out at this time — people were being attacked just for loving who they love. He especially couldn’t tell his religious parents in the little burg town of Hootie Hoot, Texas. In an act of desperation, he told Beck, the only person in the whole world whom he trusts with a secret this gigantic. And to his surprise, Beck confided to him that she was bisexual! She quickly became his MSB (aka, moral support bisexual), with whom he consulted on everything. 

Lou felt a hard punch on his side, throwing him from the safety of his inner thoughts. Tony gestured frantically at Gilman, tapping his vintage watch. Opening soon. Gilman was a volunteer project, where the punks of the East Bay can be, well, punks. Disguised as a canning store (literally, it’s on the side wall outside), it was like a secret hangout of absolute chaos and rocking music, according to Tony. Lou sparsely remembered some of the bands Tony name-dropped religiously: Green Day, The Offspring, Operation Ivy, Pennywise. He had not a lone clue who was playing tonight, but he hoped they would bring the house down. Privately, he adored The Offspring, praising their third album, “Smash.” But he was open to anything as long as the band knew what end of a drumstick to use!

Suddenly, the doors slammed open and the crowd rushed in, a flash of color, in a mad dash to be up close and personal with the performers of the night, Tony quickly in tow. With as much enthusiasm as a politician droning on about the annual budget, Beck grabbed Lou, who was standing around awkwardly, by the hand and dragged him along. The duo was met by a young man, with a charming smile and ripped jeans. On a raggedy shirt that designated him as a volunteer of Gilman, he wore a name tag with a Q pinned above his heart. 

“Sup, I’m Q, and I’m in charge of you lousy bunch tonight! Make sure to read the rules, but don’t forget the most important one!” They crooned with a Southern accent.

“Ummm, don’t chew gum?” Lou jested.

“Have fun!” 

“Oh yeah, duh. Thanks a bunch.” Lou slinked away, embarrassed. His eyes wandered aimlessly until he saw a sign that graffiti above dictated to be “The Commandments.”

“No Racism, Sexism, or Homophobia.” Lou grinned internally. A true safe space: he could get used to that! 

“No Drugs, Alcohol, or Fighting.” Makes sense, there’s a bunch of teenagers here. The people at Gilman don’t desire to tell a parent how their baby got a tooth knocked out, got wasted, or ODed. Q probably prayed to the rock gods that the people affected don’t sue!

His eyes flickered over to the last one: “No Dogs.” What’s wrong with puppies! 

Then, as if satisfied that Lou and Beck would be the pinnacles of society, Q waved his arm dramatically and allowed them to pass, like he was Saint Peter and Gilman was a kind of Heaven, reserved for only punks. If that was the case, those pearly gates hid a starkly different description than the Holy Spirit of Hootie Hoot Church preached every Sunday at the countless sermons Lou was coerced to attend by his parental units. 

Graffiti and plastered posters littered the walls, as if it was a communal easel for propaganda. Some vulgar, some normal, some angry: but all embodying the loud and volatile spirit of the music. The world was currently a mess, with all the drama going on. It seemed that everyone here at least acknowledged it. A couch with springs ripping out of the boring beige pattern, was lovingly nestled in the far corner of the room, and a five-gear bike was tied tightly onto the lone surviving leg. The stage, where the bands would play, was located in the back away from the doors. And the crowd… well, the well-mannered people who had previously lined the outside of the club had metamorphosed into creatures of the night. They were hollering, fooling around, to the dismay of the volunteers who most likely pulled the short straw the morning before. It was mayhem — and Lou kinda admired their energy. The place looked like whirling Tasmanian devils had sliced and torn everything in sight. To Lou, it was a beautiful sight: chaos.

Lou began to shake his hands, one of his many examples of him stimming. He felt mindless, knowing for sure he looked like a total buffoon. He finally got it under control however, just in the nick of time for him to notice someone was studying him from afar. 

It was a Latino boy with a dark blue denim jacket and the most slicked-back hair Lou had seen in his life, dyed a deep shade of magenta. He held himself with a noticeable air of confidence, like he ruled this club and everyone else were mere peasants. His jacket was bedazzled with all sorts of pins that Lou couldn’t read from the distance between them, but imagined they had some choice words to say about the state of the world. But one thing was crystal clear to Lou’s eyes: he was smoking hot.

And then the impossible happened — he smiled at Lou. Lou’s eyes widened, and he immediately reddened, just like a snapper. He waved back nervously and converted into what one can call a gay panic mode: he sprinted away, to the safety of the filth-ridden bathrooms. He locked himself in a cramped stall that had a defiled “Out Of Order” sign haphazardly slapped onto the door and started to hyperventilate, so much so that he swore all of the cracked mirrors protested about the lack of air, refusing to do their job.

Finally calmed down from the linebacker that is emotion, Lou walked out and slumped down slowly near the floor. His main thought was How is the name of all things holy am I, a walking excuse of space, supposed to talk to a person so smoldering and so, so…. Perfect? What am I supposed to do?

The boy couldn’t possibly be looking at him. Lou thought he looked just average, a stereotypical Ken doll. His eyes were Emerald City green and his rampantly grown hair was Yellow-Brick-Yuck. At first glance, he looked like he just stumbled headfirst out of a crypt and was sun-starved. He wore a flannel jacket, affectionately referred to as the “Lumberjacket,” every single day. And it wasn’t just the physical stuff that stopped Lou from shimmying up to him — what if the boy was weirded out from all of Lou’s quirks? Everyone always called him out about them, and it made him feel like he was different from everyone else. 

He didn’t realize he was pacing back and forth, like an expectant father, while he was pondering this. And Lou caught Tony’s judging gaze as he marched in front of him.

“Hey, dude! You are, like, creeping me out and ruining my ‘cool dude’ rep here. Everyone thinks you’re on something strong!” Tony snarled. 

“I wish,” Lou wishfully replied, blissfully unaware.  

“Well, I wish I never invited you here! Do I have to inform you it was out of pity!” Tony whined at a kazoo’s tone. 

“Let’s be clear here, dude. NO ONE LIKES HAVING YOU AROUND. No one at school will admit it, but I ain’t lying!” Tony exclaimed like a rocket, so everyone in Gilman could hear his tyrannical words. 

Lou’s inner worries, somehow overheard by the whole universe for God’s sake, had manifested in a way he never expected — voiced by someone he considered a friend. As his eyes teared up, he instantly raced off to the safest place in Berkeley: the boxed-in wall of the stall. This cramped and filthy space seemed like the only place of salvation from the beast that is the mocking chorus outside.

He sat there, ugly crying like no one had ugly cried before. He rinsed and repeated this doomed process until Lou spied a familiar set of orange kicks peeking near the door — Beck’s.

“Hey, Louis. I’m coming into this damned stall and you can’t stop me,” Beck commanded with an authority none can refute.

Slowly, Lou teased up the door until the glaring flicking of the lamps emanated the latrine. Beck wandered in and held his face, performing one for her many duties as a personal MSB: consulting and cheering up.

“First of all, Tony is gone. He left because you ‘besmirched’ his honor or something. What a piece of work. Secondly, I truly love having you around, you’re funny to watch and talk to, dude,” Beck assured him softly. 

Lou smiled, “Thanks, I know. This isn’t my first time here by the way,” and summarized the whole “gay panic” to her and his self-doubts about himself.

Beck shrieked in joy, but then quickly rebounded and put her fingers together, lost in thought. When she finally spoke to Lou, it felt like wisdom and comfort was baked into her words.

Beck began, “Louis, you don’t need to change for literally anyone. Even if people complain and judge you, ignore them ‘cause you don’t need people who tear you down surrounding you. Your quirks make you different from everyone else, and that’s a beautiful thing. It creates things that people love about you. So as your MSB, I am forcing you to talk to them, so you can prove to yourself that you are the most amazing person.”

Lou, awestruck by her wise words, found that he resonated with everything Beck drummed into his thick head. Screw anyone who mocked him; he would just be him, the truest self he can be. 

This whole event mirrored a locker room pep talk before a big game, but instead of a trophy at stake, it was love. Well, so Lou guessed — he was a dancer, not an athlete. Filled with the power of moral support, he swaggered out of the bathroom, Beck screaming at him to slay this. He plunged into the crowd, on a mission.

Lou played a game of “Where’s the Hot Dude!” until he spied a familiar denim jacket, resting near a pillar near the Commandments. To avoid chickening out again, Lou speed- sauntered over until he found the magenta-haired angel, face-to- face, and smiled at him, a late response to the one given 15 minutes ago. The guy calmly smiled back.

“Sup, man. Name’s Diego. What’s yours?”

His voice was smooth, like it belonged to a jazz artist. This made him hotter in Lou’s book.

“Louis Sage. My friends call me Lou,” he spat out, hoping he didn’t come out as flustered.

“Coolio! I know everyone here, so I’m guessing you’re a Gilman newbie, huh?”

“Unfortunately, yeah. My, uh, ex-friend convinced me to wander over here, but I love the atmosphere though! I feel like I’m home.”

“That’s the point of Gilman, amigo. A home away from home. Well, I live down the street, but still! As a newbie, I’m assuming you don’t know why it’s a crowded night.”

“I do not.” Lou replied, turning on his cool gay energy.

“Pansy Division is playing tonight, so the place is packed. I like ‘em. I love the rep they give people like me.” Diego fanboyed effortlessly.

“People like you?” Lou inquired, truly puzzled about what he meant. Were they a Spanish band or something?

“Yeah, you seem like a cool guy, so why not? I’m the resident gay here,” Diego ironically said this with a straight face, but that didn’t mirror Lou's own.

“Oh, they’re gay?” Lou’s eyes widened as he said it.

"Yep a doodle and cheese. Love ‘em.”

Lou, spurned on in the heat of the moment, blurted the
words out.

“Would this be a bad time to also tell you that you now have competition as resident gay?” Lou smiled a little as Diego’s eyes twinkled, and seemed like he took a moment to collect his words, as if they were fumbled away.

“Oh. In that case, that band’s about to go on. You... uh, want to join me on the floor?"

For once, Diego was tongue-tied and reddened. And Lou echoed the feeling.

“Of course. You are so hot.” Lou muttered that last part under his minty breath as Diego grabbed his hand and the band started their first song.

To summarize it, it was amazing. For two whole hours, Lou and Diego grooved and debated on just about everything. Lou felt like he was flying as the band flexed their musical muscles. The songs were totally not PG however, but he didn’t care. He was with a cute dude and he didn’t even care how he acted. He even stimmed a bit, and Diego didn’t call him out, just made his dimples widen. As the band wound down, the duo found themselves lazily chilling on the soundless stage.

“That. Was. A. Blast!” Lou cried out. “Thanks for being with me, Diego. I really loved it.”

“Oh, no problem! I kinda wanted to ask you something...” Diego trailed off, looking away.

“Please spill it. I already know about your love of candy canes, so I need more dirt on you! By the way, the proper misspelling of ‘bird’ is ‘burb’ and you can’t change me.” Lou cackled
and grinned.

Diego rolled his eyes and stood up, “First off, it’s ‘b i r b," you heathen. Secondly, this is really serious, so get ready.”

Lou jumped up to match him and assured, “I get it. Spill, dude!”

“Welp. Here goes nothing,” Diego muttered, taking in a dramatic breath to add effect somehow for whatever he was going to say.

“I had a great time here tonight, especially meeting you. You are literally the most interesting person I have ever met in all of my years of attending Gilman. I just love your energy, your spirit, you know? You’re quirky and strange, but you own it dude! Nothing gets you down, you just have the best
time ever.”

Soaking this in, Lou sputtered, “Really? But I’m so.... me.”

“That’s what makes me like you so much. You have your own air, and that’s what makes you the best you ever are. Your knowledge of everything dance is just incredible, and even I don't know that much about that stuff. So yeah, what I am trying to say is... I really like you.”

And that got Lou’s little brain to grind to a halt. He really made an impression on him? And he didn’t care about his weirdness? And he liked him? Lou blushed deeply, not believing anything Diego said, but believing what he confided in him at the same time. Maybe it wasn’t so bad that he was a bit strange after all. Maybe that was just an aspect of him that made him even likable to people.

“So do you want to, like, go out some time? Not like on a date or anything, unless you want to call it that, whatever,” Diego smiled sheepishly. He opened his mouth to say something, but for some odd reason, no words came out. At the same time, Lou gave his response to his question in a way that surprised both of them: by kissing him. On stage. In front of people, no less.

As the crowd’s applause rippled and bounded, amplified by the thick walls and the guy of his dreams in his arms, Lou had but a single thought: God, do I love this little club at 924 Gilman Street.