my beat is correct.

“you’ll love my new crew,” evan says. “they remind me of you.”

like an idiot, i assume this is a good thing. i picture him scouring seedy bars & unpretentious eateries in nashville for people i would like. i smile thinking of his thoughtfulness.

as his mercedes drives through downtown & merges onto the highway, i know these people are nothing like me. i would never live on the outskirts of town. but like a good girlfriend, i smile & nod when he asks, “isn’t this cool? you & me hanging out with nashville’s scenesters?” i never voice my uneasiness as the car speeds towards the murfreesboro exit. i grow more anxious as we drive down a lonely highway, a wal-mart supercenter sign our north star, & am fully freaked when evan pulls into an apartment complex as alluring as an industrial park.

so. this is what makes him think of me.

inside the wall-to-wall carpeting stifles the anger in my steps & makes me look ridiculous for wearing heels. there are only three people here & all six eyes are watching me teeter to the kitchen, my vintage necklaces clanking “so-rry, so-rry” with each step. i want to smash the bottle of bulleit i’m holding over evan’s head but decide on the saner option of chugging it.

after popping some klonopin & pounding some shots, i feel fine. i mingle & mosey. i meet matt & amanda, the night’s hosts & “the crew’s” authority on cool.

“what are you into right now?” matt asks.

“into? evan didn’t tell me it was this kind of party,” i reply, giving him the knowing wink-&-nudge combo.

all the weed & beer he’s had have impaired his ability to process & use words, so when the joke finally registers, all his brain can eke out is “ha.”

amanda, a fellow good girlfriend, in an effort to cover for him & make me feel bad all at once says, “that’s a cute dress. too bad we can’t all wear it; some of us have to eat.”

“what a bitch,” i think.

“aww, i’m sure you’d look great in it,” i say.

as i make myself another drink, i notice that everything about his friends’ place is trying too hard to impress. their magazine rack holds glossy music & french fashion magazines yet their cd collection consists of bands that won’t be relevant in two years, et ils ne peuvent pas parler le français. their bookcases are filled with action verb titled books written by men named chuck & dave. books, i notice, that have no creases on the spine. there are no family pictures, & when i ask why, they all roll their eyes & say, “i hate my family. they’re all a bunch of hicks. ”

now i know why i don’t like these people. they’re too liberal, the kind of liberal that only comes from growing up too conservative. they’re raging atheists, the kind that stems from being beaten & harassed in the name of the lord. & now i see why these people remind evan of me — they are small-town people trying to live a big-city life.

i down my drink & sigh; things will never work out between us. evan has an innate coolness, the kind that comes from being old money birthed by hippie parents, the kind that was never contingent on “when i grow up.” he can’t see the difference between my cool & their cool. all he sees is our obsequiousness, our laughing at his every joke, our hanging onto his every word. he is king of these savages, but i refuse to be their queen.