Monica Bielanko
That's What She Said
Just A Junk Drawer Dream
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The Night I Met The Surge

The following is a journal entry I wrote three days after meeting The Surge.

August 15, 2005

Everything has changed. You go through life waiting for something to happen. At least when you are me, stuck, for the time being, in my job, living where I live, you go through the motions. Particularly this last year. Getting over Andy, realizing religion is so false, becoming the woman I am supposed to be. This past year has been the hardest of my life. But I feel as if I rose to the occasion, and reached a higher, more spiritual level of self awareness.

Anyway, back to the point. You go through the motions, then one day, out of the blue, everything changes. You wait for those moments, when the clouds part, and you see things so clearly.

On Wednesday, August 11th I got off work and was headed to a movie. By myself, it's the best. Anyway, I'm about to get off the exit for downtown when my friends from work Steve Worthing and Scott McKane call me. What's funny is Steve calls me all the time to do stuff, but I never answer. And on those rare occasions when I actually answer - I never do anything. But for some strange reason, this time I answered the phone and agreed to meet him in a parking lot next to this bar, to listen to a band.

We got gloriously stoned in the parking lot, then went to hear the band play. I planned on staying a half hour at most. Then the band began to play. Marah. That's the name of these cats from Philly. So, from the moment they begin, to the moment they end, I am transfixed. Amazing live performance. There were perhaps thirty people in the room but the band tore that stage up, as if thousands were watching. Good, straight up rock'n'roll, which I have been so thirsty for. First my CD's were stolen, then radio drivel left me with no option but a silent ride to work.

But this music lit a fire for me. And then there was the guitarist. Sure, give any guy a guitar, put him on stage and the chicks dig him. But this guy, he was in his own world, just playing the shit outta that guitar, harmonica and whatever else he could get his hands on. I couldn't take my eyes off him. And he couldn't be further from my usual attractions. Toward the end of the evening, after a few shots of Yagermeister, I talked myself out of the attraction, chalking it up to "sexy band guy syndrome". So the band stops - ending with my particular fellow writhing on the floor, making love to his guitar, as I climaxed with him. Then it was over.

So my work buddies wander over to get a T-shirt and other band merchandise. The keyboard guy? Not sure - but one of the band members sits next to me at the bar, and as I'm curious about the rock'n'roll lifestyle, I ask a few trite questions, the likes of which they hear, I'm sure, at every stop along the way.

Then the guitarist pulls up a stool and joins the discussion. Soon, the other guy disappears. Not physically, but as far as I was concerned, he no longer existed. The guitarist tells me his name, which I promptly forget and then I am lost. Lost in this man-boy's world.

I couldn't tell you what we talked about. I remember bits and pieces. But it all seems so fuzzy. The next thing I know, I'm driving him to his hotel and we are in my car talking and he is beautiful. It's been so long since anyone touched my heart, and intrigued me this way. But my tough girl routine is in fine form. Because I know how it goes. And we can't help it - we fuck in my car, twice I think. And to me it was beautiful. It felt real. Souls colliding.

But I reserve a part of myself. Because I don't know what it means to him. Don't know if it's his tour routine or if he was feeling what I was feeling. But he said such beautiful things to me, like no one ever has. I want so bad for him to mean what he said. Don't want them to be standard lines. Despite the legions of shallow assholes I come across, I still want to believe the best.

Serge, yes, that's his name, talks to me about books, music, travel - the three things that keep me sane. And then it's time to go. Suddenly it's morning and I have to say goodbye. At some point, he got my phone number, at some point, I gave him my email. And then he was gone. Off to the next city on his tour. I am left feeling empty, wondering if I dreamed the whole thing.

The last year has been like a desert for me. Then this beautiful boy comes along and pours ice water down my throat then leaves, taking his water with him. I have since logged online to read about his band and him. I've read interviews he's given to various music mags etc.. and I've fallen in love with his words. I bought his CD and it is almost too hard to listen to. I am fucked. He is gone. He text messaged me from Portland. But it was cryptic - don't know how to take it.

Did I matter? Was I a fling? On the one hand, I fully expect it - on the other; I can't bare it if that's the case. I emailed him. What do I have to lose? I don't think he's checked it yet. So here I sit, with a rock in my stomach, overjoyed to know that someone like him exists. Terrified that my heart will be trampled.

I take solace in the fact that he opened my eyes to a different world. One that neither I or anyone I associate with know anything about. If that's what he was meant to do then that's enough. He has changed me forever. His name is Serge Christopher Bielanko

Reader Comments (3)

This has brought tears to my eyes Monica. I knew just a little of how you and Serge met from what Kirk told me.

Thanks for sharing. Now I'm feeling all sappy and must get a tissue.
September 12, 2005 | Unregistered CommenterFiabug
aren't you so glad that you wrote down that 1st story?
September 21, 2005 | Unregistered CommenterPLD

Okay so what happened next? Obviously you're together now, but I want details. Please write a book :) Your writing rocks

September 28, 2010 | Unregistered Commentershan

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