The Laws of Gravity

by Lisa Ann Gallagher

  Continuity Problems…

  The summer of 1987 proved much different than that of 1986. I wasn’t the wide-eyed ingénue any longer. Their foolish gal had gotten wise and wary. I was respectful, pleasant with my roommates but spent my free time with new people. No Bev was quieter, as well, that summer. Still a few parties and buddies stopping by but without as much spontaneity and mayhem as the year before.

  But extracting myself from Gravity would prove much more difficult than I anticipated. Not only did I truly care about those I had met the past year, I knew that many of them cared for me, despite the gossip and rudeness. As much as I felt the subject of scorn and ridicule, I also know that there were those that still called, still visited and were most definitely sincere. And of course, there was Patrick. I still felt a connection with him, painful as those feelings were.

  In June I did attend the U2 concert in Pontiac. Andy, Sarah, Felicia, Brad and the rest of us -- as always, U2 proved a fantastic live act. Two weeks later, Felicia scored Andy and I backstage passes to the Chicago show, through her connections with Maria McKee (Lone Justice was opening for U2). Andy, Felicia and I drove to the Windy City for a fun-filled day of music and entertainment. I even ran into old fanzine correspondences at the show -- Julie from Boston and Lisa from Schaumburg -- but they took one look at the sepia Joshua Tree backstage passes on the front of our shirts and ignored me the rest of the night.

  Later that summer, I attended a concert at St Andrews Hall for the E-Street’s Little Steven with Andy, Sarah and Felicia. The future “Silvio Dante” was headlining a solo tour. One of his roadies had worked with Lone Justice during the Joshua Tree tour and he and Felicia had been cultivating a bit of a flirtation.

  I continued to hang out with Andy and those I met through him that past spring, but I was being pulled back into the Gravity orbit slowly. On the 4th of July I attended Colors practice with Sandy and found Michèle there with friends, including a blonde eighteen-year old named Kristen. The Colors also invited two friends of theirs from Chicago, Bill and Dave (former high-school buddies of Charlie’s, both IT engineers) who brought a shitload of fireworks. There were bottle rockets, cherry bombs, all kinds of goodies. We girls climbed on top of the space’s flat roof to watch everything below.

  I found myself chatting with Michèle and surprised to find myself liking her. She was a year younger than me. She had been raised in Switzerland, her parents were divorced and she had a younger sister, Monique. She spoke several languages. She was obsessed with Marilyn Monroe. She had a nervous energy, chain-smoking and chewing the inside of her lip. We liked a lot of the same music including U2 and, like me, she was a virgin at the time.

  We began to hang out together after Independence Day. We went shopping at the Oakland Mall. We would drink coffee for hours at Denny’s and talk about our dreams, our families and mutual interests. I was so thankful for her solidarity. I was sick of the shame I had been living with for the past months. It was time for me to feel comfortable in my own skin and Michele helped me do that, helped me see nothing was wrong with me. We even talked about Patrick – she confided that she had a crush on him when she first met him but no longer. I relayed to her the story of Beth -- how she screwed Patrick on the No Bev couch. Michele was horrified. She told me that if she liked anyone, she’d tell me. That fall she had a little crush on Kevin, but they only made out once. Everyone hooked up with Kevin, eventually.

  Patrick, I soon learned, was dating Heidi -- exclusively. I had a visceral reaction to the announcement, but I wouldn’t let my response show. I chalked the news up to the “big whatever.” Dating Heidi kinda lowered him in my esteem, frankly.

  That fall, The Colors were introduced to paint pellet guns by Bill and Dave from Chicago and each bought themselves a gun. I would hear stories of them “warring” with each other at Colors practice and local parks. But I was trying, again, to distance myself. Being around Patrick was too painful. Patrick having a serious relationship with anyone was disturbing, but particularly Heidi. She started dressing like him and smoking the same cigarettes as him. With her butch demeanor, I would often wonder: Is she in love with him, or did she want to be him?

  I would see her at shows -- The Gear was a favorite. Tom (my friend Suzie’s ex) was the lead guitar and they were good -- kind of lo-fi, straight forward alt-rock. I remember The Gear performed a cover of The Nil’s “In Betweens.” Heidi would be at Paychecks wearing her leather jacket and torn jeans, black Cuban-heeled boots (all The Colors wore them). Cigarettes and a green bottle of Rolling Rock in her hands. She wasn’t unattractive. She had, in fact, a very pretty face. But her mannerisms -- well, I guess I wasn’t predisposed to like the girl in any circumstances.

  I remember a day that fall. Flip dropped by. I was home alone, listening to The Descendents’ Milo Goes to College. He came in, sat down on the living room floor beside me and shook his head. “Peter Tosh is dead.” The acclaimed reggae singer had been murdered and Flip heard the news on the radio and made a beeline for No Bev. He shuddered, haunted by the idea of this person being tortured and then killed. No Bev was still that singular place, that welcoming and reassuring haunt, to our gang. The parties had slowed, the chaos subdued but it was still a rare night that we didn’t have guests in residence. When you had bad news, you gravitated toward No Bev. When you had good news to share, as well. New bands, new albums released. New gigs, new relationships… they came to us to pass on the information and receive a little friendly camaraderie.

  The Colors (and Curtis) were buddies with Dino, a cable-access host from Dearborn. “Back Porch Videos” featured high school kids from the Down River area dishing about local music. The Colors (as well as their video for “Last Days of Rome”) had appeared on the show. Dino had been cast in the NBC television series “The New Monkees.” With his weird hybrid pompadour-mullet and quippy jokes, he was the drummer and jokester of the group. The four members, like the original Monkees, could actually play music and released one album. They played synth-pop dreck, however. Unlike the original Monkees, the show proved unsuccessful and ended after a dozen episodes. The show was trying too hard to be the American “Young Ones.”

  I was still hanging out with Dave. Sometimes we would go to his house and listen to music. He had a record collection that rivaled Tony’s. We would sit up late and watch old movies like “Plan 9 from Outer Space.” Once, we were in his car (an old Buick or Olds that belonged to his folks) and “Free Bird” came on the radio. He pulled into a residential area, turned the radio up, rolled the windows down and finished out the song doing donuts in a cul-de-sac bellowing “Lynard Fucking Skynard!!!” at the top of his lungs. He wasn’t dating anyone and I thought if he spent less time with us No Bev girls maybe he’d meet someone. A lot of women were jealous of us and I thought he’d have an easier time if I distanced myself, so I did.

  In October, Nancy and Jen decided to throw a Colors party. The get-together would be a “thank you” to the boys and a show of our support. Actually, the band suggested the party and my roommates were happy to comply. The band members were invited, along with Sandy and Curtis. I invited Deanne and Michèle -- although neither would be able to make it that night. We decorated the living room with a banner in the band’s name and even made a board game dedicated to them in the shape of a guitar. The Colors arrived and with their newfound arsenal of pyrotechnics, they went apeshit in the No Bev house. They shot off bottle rockets on the lawn, they trashed the house, they sprayed silly string on every square inch of the living room and kitchen. The house was disgusting. The next day the smell of the house was sickening, cloying and took days to fumigate. We had a keg for the party and everyone was drinking and acting goofy. We girls were tickled and wrestled with and pinned down. I still have photos of that night. Curtis sits in the yellow chair, a poster of The New Monkees taped to the wall above him, looking overwhelmed at the mayhem around him. Charlie, trying to molest Nancy. Dave, wearing silly glasses. Patrick sports a lecherous look as he eyes th
e photographer (me) impishly.

  I was standing near the kitchen doorway, talking to Nancy and Charlie. I don’t remember what I was saying when suddenly Nancy turned to me and announced, “You know what? You’re a pretty cool chick. I’m only now realizing how fucking cool you are …”

  I burst into tears and darted to my room. Nancy followed me. “What’s wrong?” she asked, concerned.

  I spilled it all out -- how much I felt she and Jen disliked me, the rumors, the gossip mill, the bullshit (everything but the Game -- I never could confide that I had found that). “I thought you guys couldn’t stand me!”

  From that moment on, everything changed. I was no longer the girl they were trying to get rid of. I was no longer the laughingstock of Gravity – if ever I truly had been. I would wonder how much of the past year’s unpleasantness had just been my paranoia. Now, I knew that I was accepted. Jen was still guarded, but never again unfriendly or rude, and our communication began to improve. I don’t know if Nancy said anything to her but I know that from that moment on, Nancy and I became closer and better friends than even Nancy and Jen were. I was suddenly the one by Nancy’s side, in the limelight.

  Nancy and I became close and with this, my confidence grew. My physical appearance changed, as well. My hair was cut in a cute inverted bob and dyed strawberry blonde. I remember going to the bar and feeling comfortable enough in my own skin to dance on stage, to wear revealing clothing, to openly flirt. I was still technically a virgin and longed to shed that awkward burden more than ever. I made out with a couple of guys (including Dave from Chicago during the holidays). I tried to accept that the guy I liked didn’t like me, but other men could. I wasn’t losing any more sleep over Patrick.

  As 1988 was rung in, I was twenty years old. I had lived at No Bev for eighteen months, through good times and very bad. I would remain friends with Andy and others that I had escaped to the past spring and summer. But I was home and I belonged. There would be no frilly dresses that New Years Eve. I wasn’t that person anymore.

  Stranger on the Town…

  That winter would prove good times for me. There were gigs and parties and social activities -- but I wasn’t the underdog anymore. I wasn’t trying to prove anything and my self-confidence shone. I was coming out of my shell.

  That winter Kevin began dating Melissa, a high school girl from Berkley. She, Nancy and I had a lot of fun that winter and spring. I remember going often to the City Club – a dance club in the basement of the Radisson in downtown Detroit. We called the bar “the Shitty Club.” They played dance and early House music. Michèle would occasionally join us, and Sandy. We would go drinking and dancing. I had a little shtick to pick up guys – I carried a pez dispenser with me to the bar, filled with candy. Then I’d walk up to cute guys and ask “Do you want some candy, little boy?” The clubby boys we saw at the Shitty Club weren’t exactly my type. I liked the rock-and-roll guys much more. But those nights were super fun and a big boost for my ego. After dancing, we girls would be drunk, covered in sweat and would drive through Taco Bell on the way home at three in the morning.

  We frequently went to see Gangster Fun, a ska band which had recently formed in Detroit. Nancy had a thing for frontman Jon -- adorable, with his dark skin and sparkling shy smile. Gangster Fun were awesome and their live shows were crazy fun. Their original songs were great (my fave was “Mario’s Hideout”) but they also performed ska versions of classic Rock covers: “Takin’ Care of Business”, “Sweet Child O’ Mine” and “You Shook Me.” Flip was acquainted with a lot of the Gangster Fun members and we often saw him at shows that season. Nancy was cold as ice to him.

  My relationship with Nancy grew stronger and stronger, ever since that conversation during The Colors party. The more confident I became and freer I became with my words and actions, the more I felt that she respected me. That was a good feeling. Nancy was the power center of Gravity and like many others before me, I wanted to stand on the platform of her respect. We socialized with Jen, but more often with the friends that I drew into No Bev, like Michele and Melissa. There were many good times, at clubs and on the town. Nancy, I recall, had a most mesmerizing way of smoking. She was petite -- about 5’2” -- and stood cross-legged as she smoked, flicking ashes off in a reckless, crisp snap. As much as I thrived under Nancy’s spotlight, I was always keenly aware of her fickleness. When Nancy was done with someone, she was just done. Her iciness toward Flip was a perfect example.

  I did accompany Jen and Nancy to Grand Rapids that winter to see The Colors play. We rented a couple hotel rooms and partied with the band, which put on two shows during the weekend. After the concerts we warred with paint guns behind the hotel. None of the girlfriends were present.

  Michèle introduced me to the music of Guns ‘n Roses and we attended their show at the Fox Theatre. The club look at the time for women was black leather jackets, black lace bras (either with nothing else or just a sheer top), bleached jeans or jean shorts, cowboy boots -- well, it was a look! I remember Patrick being astounded that I liked Guns ‘n Roses. “The U2 fan likes Mr. Brownstone?” he asked, incredulous.

  In February, I paid for a personal Driver’s Ed course. Cost about $250. Nancy asked “Why don’t you just let me teach you how to drive?” but I wanted to learn on my own. Her father was an exec for one of the Big Three and each year she and her two sisters received a new lease vehicle. God forbid I crash it.

  We attended Red Wings games frequently that winter. I usually went with Sandy. We played a game called “Spot.” First to spy a black person in the crowd would call out “Spot!” and the others would have to buy them a beer.

  Terese’s older sister was married that spring and my roommates and I joined her for a sleepover at their parents’ house. Terese and I were still amigas but not hanging much together. She and Ian were growing closer and closer -- they had now been together nearly two years.

  Michèle and Nancy both enjoyed occasionally smoking weed. On one such hazy evening at No Bev, sitting on the floor, Nancy announced that she didn’t like fish. “Huh?” I asked. “Believe me” she cautioned. “If they could, they would take over the world.” Another night, Michèle came over with a friend she met at Community College, both completely jacked up on what she insisted was “skunk weed.”

  In early April my mother and stepfather cosigned a loan for me to buy my first vehicle – a Chevy Nova. A week later, when I drove them to the airport for a trip to Phoenix, my mother screamed as I aggressively cut off an 18-wheeler to merge onto the freeway. “I never should have let you have this! You’re going to kill us!”

  I now had wheels and with that came even more freedom. I loved to just get in the car and drive. I often drove when we girls -- Nancy, Sandy, Michèle, Melissa and I -- went partying downtown. All was good. I was meeting guys, having a blast. I had put that which I could not control behind me -- or so I believed.

  Love Gone Sour…

  That spring Patrick bounced back into my trajectory. He was hanging out daily at No Bev, running into me at shows and flirting heavily. There was tension between him and Heidi, I heard. I was under the impression they were heading for a breakup.

  A week later I was invited, with my roommates, to Mt Pleasant where The Colors had set up a gig. We drove north on a Saturday afternoon and attended the show. The Colors were staying in the apartment above the club -- reserved for headlining acts by the owner. We were invited to stay as well, at the apartment, to sleep.

  We were partying and drinking and having a blast. Heidi was not there. But Patrick was at my side every second, like an amorous leech. He was making his desires very obvious. And so, as the night went on and we each began to tire, I went and laid down in the first bedroom on the lower bunkbed. Not two minutes had passed when Patrick came in and joined me. We started fucking around and things were getting pretty heated, when the door suddenly opened and a darkened figure came toward us, hopped above us and into the upper bunk. It was Dave. Apparently our desire for private
nooky conflicted with everyone else’s need for restful sleep. So, we knocked it off, turned over and went to sleep. I had been that close to having sex, dang it!

  I was deep in sleep, a couple hours later, when I was awakened by Patrick suddenly fumbling beside me. He hoisted himself up to the headboard of the bunk, leaned toward the floor and began retching. Finished, he rolled over and promptly passed out again.

  Well, I couldn’t sleep after that. I got up, walked out and closed the door.

  The light was still on in the kitchen and Nancy was lying on the couch in the living room lit by the dim glow from the nearby light. I curled up alongside her. “What happened?” she asked.

  “Patrick puked” I grumbled.

  “What, are you just going to sleep out here then?” she laughed. “Lisa!?”

  “Yup.” And that was that. I stretched out, sharing the blanket with Nance and fell asleep beside her. The next morning, after Dave woke up and came out to the front room, I tiptoed into the bedroom where Patrick lay, half-asleep, in the lower bunk. I kissed his forehead lightly. He groaned, miserably hung over and uncomfortable. The vomit was splashed against the wall. “Are you leaving?” he murmured, one eye half open. “Yeah.” I started to step away, then paused at the door. “You should probably call me when you get back to the city.” I closed the door.