Blood Tangent | Sarai Nissan

It’s 2017 and everyone has an iPhone, and a Xanax prescription. Maybe you’ve seen me; I am the palest vampire.

When I was 18, all doe eyes and bruised thighs and immersed in the local music scene, I was always going to see my favorite touring bands, lingering around venues to “casually” chat with a musician. When a certain Los Angeles band came to Denver, both nights had been sold out. I arrived at the venue hoping to somehow get into the show based on my pure charm or dumb luck. As fate would have it, it turned out to be both.

Due to the questionable morals of the doorman, I got into the venue for free with a wristband instead of obtrusive black Xs, branding the back of my bony hands.

At the end of the night, the band began to unload their gear; their drummer lingered around after they had packed away their livelihood. I may have been smoking an American Spirit.

I noticed his eyes darting over in my direction. He either wanted to talk or just wanted a compliment.

“You guys played a great set,” my sister said. Normal pleasantries ensued and we started talking. But it’s been so long, and I’ve done too many things to destroy my long-term memory since then that I don’t really remember the details of what we talked about.

“Sarai. That’s a beautiful name for a beautiful girl,” he said to me. That, I remember semi-clearly.

By the end of the night, we had exchanged numbers. The following weeks we texted back and forth, on and off. Chatting about drugs and music and life. This dreamy affair ultimately ended with an invitation to a threesome, of course. I denied, but I felt like a real Bebe Buell…and also like I needed a shower. I wondered if his girlfriend knew.

I guess my point is meeting your “idols” or people you admire can be a monstrous disappointment. At the end of the day, everyone is the same and everyone really only cares about three things: Sex, drugs, and rock ’n’ roll.