Another June

“This is going to be the best night of my life, you guys,” said June, wide-eyed with reverence. Staring into her dresser-mounted mirror with steady concentration, she brushed the dark mascara over her long eyelashes.

The room erupted with girlish giggles, her friends sharing her enthusiasm. Janice, June’s best friend since the fourth grade, lay sprawled across June’s bed, gazing in awe at the posters covering the walls, most notably the large solo shot of Derek Drain, lead singer of Nostalgia. A prismatic spray of light framed his lean, toned form as he stood frozen onstage, poised over his radiant white electric guitar, singing passionately into the microphone before him. His blond hair, ragged and disheveled from a hot night of performance, hung to his prominent jawbone.

Finished with her make-up, June turned to face her three friends, her body alive with pent-up elation. It was everything she could do to avoid screaming. For the twentieth time that night, she reached into the pocket of her overalls and brought forth her ticket for the night’s show.

“Second row,” she said solemnly, shaking her head. She carefully placed the ticket back into the pocket.

“Oh, my God!” shrieked Beth, bouncing up and down on the edge of the bed. June didn’t know Beth well, having met her only recently through Sheila, her second best friend by virtue of the fact that she hadn’t come along until fifth grade. Beth had never been to a concert before and was very eager. Seventeen and the oldest among them, June thought, and never been to a concert.

“When do we leave?” Sheila asked excitedly, glancing through a notebook in which every line was filled with practice signatures, all reading “June Drain.” On the last two pages, though, the signatures changed to “June Wagner,” because in the event that June was unable to marry Derek Drain, she thought Jack Wagner, Nostalgia’s brawny, long-haired drummer, would be an acceptable second choice. She figured being married to him would enable her to be close to Derek, at least.

Ignoring the question, June snatched the notebook from Sheila’s hands and put it away in a dresser drawer. Sheila raised her eyebrows in surprise, but said nothing.

June didn’t want the last two pages revealed, because Janice was supposed to be betrothed to Jack Wagner, although June was sure Janice secretly wanted Derek, too, and agreed to marry Jack only in deference to June’s assumed authority in the group. Still, June couldn’t hurt her best friend.

“Oh, wait, wait…shhh,” June said, holding up a hand for silence. From the small stereo sitting atop a shelf over her bed came the haunting, ethereal chords of Nostalgia’s biggest hit, “Far Away.” The chorus, her favorite part, was just coming up. Obediently the girls quieted and turned to look at the player.

“I'm far away now, but I'm coming home,” June sang along. “I've missed you so while I've been alone. Our love stays strong, you're still my own. I'm far away now, but I'm coming home.” While she sang, the others listened intently, lost, quite used to these sudden interruptions of song.

Then the verse began, and June said, “Okay, let me go ask my mom,” and rushed from the room.

June found her mother lying on the couch in the living room of the small apartment. She was nestled against one side to be near the dim lamp that served as the room’s only lighting. As usual, she was dressed comfortably in sweat pants and a T-shirt, no shoes, with her scraggly blond hair undone and matted on the side where she had been lying on it. In her hands she clutched a beaten and folded copy of Chicken Soup for the Woman’s Soul. June marveled at her mother’s ability to destroy a book she’d bought only the day before.

At June’s entrance, her mother glanced up from the book. “Ready, honey?” she asked around biting a fingernail.

“Yeah, let’s go, Mom.”

“Okay.” Her mom set the book between two couch pillows, lazily got to her feet, clicked off the lamp, and staggered in the dark toward the door, not bothering to locate her shoes.

“Let’s go, guys,” June called, and the chattering bunch filed out of the bedroom, bringing with them the pungent, pink odors of oils, lotions, and perfumes. June edged past them back into the bedroom to unplug the curling iron and turn off the lights the girls had carelessly left on.



The girls followed June’s mother across the parking lot toward the car, their heels clacking and crunching on the asphalt. The night rang with the sound of jewelry clinking together and bursts of talking followed by bursts of laughter.

Janice’s voice rose above the rest as they walked. “Okay, who knows how Derek wrote ‘Far Away’?” She glanced quickly to June at her side. “And you can’t answer,” she added.

June, who was just about to recite her knowledge, smiled and stayed quiet, turning her attention to Beth and Sheila behind.

“Um,” Sheila began, her eyebrows knitting together, “I used to know.”

“Wrong!” said Janice. “How ‘bout you, Beth?”

Beth simply shrugged.

“Okay, then I’ll have to educate you two. And you call yourselves fans? Anyway, a long time ago, Derek used to be a trucker.” She said the word “anyway” very rapidly, as though it had to be included, but she could hardly wait to get to the rest of her statement.

The group had arrived at the car by now, and was piling in, June in the front seat and the other three girls in the back, even though Janice was the tallest of them. It was a compact car and quite cramped. The door squealed in protest as June slammed it. She squinted at the unpleasant smell of their perfumes mixed with old leather and cigarette smoke.

“And anyway,” Janice continued, unconsciously sneering as she tried to find room for her long legs, “he had a wife and kid who he left home all the time. His kid is a boy, really cute, named Jacob. You guys ever seen him?”

The two shook their heads.

“Well, anyway, his wife was named…um….”

June knew this story by heart and was never satisfied listening to others telling it. At this point she offered her input. “Jean,” she said.

“Right. Jean. Anyway, he used to be gone for a really long time when he worked, you know, ‘cause he was a trucker, so it’s about being really far away. He wrote it ‘cause he missed Jean and Jacob. Isn’t that sweet?” Janice smiled expansively.

As she pulled the car onto the street, June’s mother chuckled. With a voice that was scratchy from smoking too much, she interjected, “Yeah, but as soon as he got famous, he left ‘em. Now she’s suing him for child support, and he don’t wanna give it.”

Everyone was silent for a moment, slightly stunned at having the fantasy interrupted.

“Saw it on TV the other night.”

Annoyed with her mother and feeling defensive for Derek, June said, “Mom, she’s just trying to rip him off. She’s trying to get half, and it’s not like she wrote any of those songs. She doesn’t sing them. She didn’t do anything. Derek is just trying to keep what he earned.” She could feel her cheeks reddening.

“Hey, I’m just telling you what they said,” June’s mom said with a shrug. There was another brief span of silence as everyone watched the road, then the older woman sighed and added, “You know, I used to be in love with a rock star. His name was Rod Stewart.”

The girls stared blankly.

“You know! If ya want my body, and you think I’m sexy…” she sang as she boogied in her seat.

June looked at her mother apologetically.

Making a turn into the large parking lot of the events center, June’s mom said, “Well, he was great. All the girls wanted him. I had a backstage pass at one of his concerts once.” She nodded, pulling into a parking stall.

A lump appeared in June’s throat. Swallowing hard, she pulled down the visor mirror and pretended to be checking her long, brown hair again. She could feel the backstage pass in her pocket like a pulsating lump. It seemed to be seeking attention. Her face flushed again as she thought about the radio show two nights previous, when she’d won the pass by answering the question about the name of Derek Drain’s ex-wife. The pass was actually for two, but June had decided not to take Janice. Even though they were best friends, she couldn’t take the chance that Janice would make a pass at Derek, or at Jack, for that matter, since Jack was June’s backup guy. And she obviously couldn’t take either of the other girls, as Janice would be furious about being passed over. In any case, the pass was a secret. June would have to find a way to separate from her friends when the concert ended, so she could attend the exclusive party after the show.

Besides, she reasoned, Janice wasn’t really the wild type. She was nice, but she was also the kind of girl who brought a toothbrush to school with her. No, Janice would only try to talk her out of using the pass.

“So, what happened backstage, Mrs. Nelson?” asked Beth.

June’s mother gave a close-lipped smile. “I’ll have to tell you guys about it someday when you’re older.”

“Oh, Mom!” cried June. “Tell us. You never told me about this.”

“Yes, I know I didn’t. Maybe someday, though.” She paused, then directed her gaze at June. “Call me when it’s over?”

June glanced up at the lines of people entering the dome-shaped building and adrenaline rushed anew through her body. Forgetting about her mother’s adventures, she pushed open the car door and said, “Okay, everybody out. Everyone have tickets?”



The four girls entered the center, which was really the basketball stadium of a local college. People milled about them, every color, shape, and size, many quite garishly dressed. There were Mohawks and chains and studs and leather, multi-hued hair in all sorts of arrangements. June was surprised to see how many mundane individuals were here as well, the same kinds of people she passed in the hall at her own school.

June made her way through the throng, the others in tow, carefully stepping down the steep aisle stairway leading to the lower levels. The second row, she was perturbed to see, was actually set far back from the stage. Ahead of her section was a large square of empty floor, where security guards in bright yellow shirts stood with their arms folded as they studied the arriving crowd with an odd mix of boredom and criticism.

As the four found their seats and sat, Janice said, “Wow, second row isn’t like it used to be, is it?” She had to speak loudly to be heard over the music blaring through the stadium’s giant speakers, which had been getting louder with each song.

June just nodded.

With a questioning look, Janice asked, “June, how come you’ve been so quiet tonight? Aren’t you excited?”

The question cut through June’s musings about Derek and her plan to go backstage. “Yeah, I know. Just thinking.”

Janice turned to Sheila and Beth. “She’s totally whacked out about seeing Derek, you guys.” The three laughed, understanding. June let them believe that was all there was to it.

People were still arriving when the main lighting went out, leaving only the small runway lights of the stairways and the tiny flashlights of the attendants to guide the latecomers. Without warning, snarling guitars and booming drumbeats flared to life on the stage, and the crowd cheered wildly. The sudden commotion was both shocking and exhilarating. June’s rib cage shook with each thunderous beat of the bass drum.

But when the spotlights swooped from the sky and illuminated center stage, June was disappointed to see someone she didn’t recognize. It was the Derelicts, the opening band. June slumped back into her seat, preparing her mind to enter the Bored Zone, as she liked to call it. Several times she tried to talk to Janice to distract herself while she waited for the main attraction, but it was mostly futile. The unfamiliar music, just so much noise reverberating through the hall, drowned out every other word.

The remainder of the Derelicts’ performance was a blur.



The events center was dark and quiet except for the murmurings of the crowd. They’d been kept waiting a long time. June figured the wait was a deliberate move on the part of the event coordinators. It built anticipation, resulting in a bigger rush when the main act was finally let loose.

With a sudden flash and thunderous bang, six or seven geysers of fire exploded around the stage, casting the members of Nostalgia in silhouette. June’s heart lurched against her chest with the double shock of the unexpected blasts and the glimpse of the object of her obsession, Derek Drain, standing with his head bowed in the center of the stage. In the darkness, and with the entire crowd screaming, clapping, and whistling, the moment almost seemed frozen in time, surreal. It felt similar to the time she and Janice had gotten drunk in the alley behind the local convenience store with a bottle of vodka Janice stole from her father’s liquor cabinet, her perceptions wavy and muted.

Then the spotlights lit up the stage. The four band members stood there, staring and nodding at the fans, who became even louder just when June thought it couldn’t be any louder. The drummer took his place behind his set, and Derek, his guitar swinging at his hip, his clothing loose and flowing and torn, stepped up to the microphone. He seemed to be studying the first few rows of fans, set so far back from the stage, a mixed look of confusion and annoyance on his face. His cheek bulged as he rolled his tongue in his mouth. June thought he appeared to be thinking something over.

June glanced at her friends around her, all standing in front of their seats, jumping and shrieking and freaking out with the rest of them.

Derek cleared his throat into the microphone to indicate the crowd should quiet, and they gradually did so. He waited, his lips pressed tightly together, his eyes scanning the people. When finally all was silent, he spoke. “What the hell is this?” his voice boomed out, his hands indicating the large open space before the stage.

Again the fans started yelling. The tough-looking security guards near the stage glanced nervously back at Derek, clearly wondering what he was getting at. June thought their nervousness made them look less tough somehow.

Suspecting what he was going to say next, June maneuvered her way into the nearby aisle and tensed for action. Intimately familiar with Nostalgia’s history, she remembered how uncooperative the band was reputed to be with the local authorities. Her three friends barely noticed, so riveted were they to the spectacle ahead.

Derek flattened his palms in the air and repeatedly pressed them down, motioning the crowd to silence. “This isn’t right,” he said. “You guys,” and he pointed at the first several rows of seats, “come up here.”

The security guards’ eyes flew open when they realized what was about to happen. The first several rows of people surged forward like a living mass, walking right over the fallen metal barricade and surrounding the guards.

June, having moved the very second the barricade fell over, found herself smashed up against the stage, using every bit of strength her arms could muster to keep herself from being crushed.

“Yeah!” Derek screamed, and the band tore into their opening number. The startlingly loud and powerful guitars roared to life, the drums began to boom, and Derek grabbed the microphone and started singing.

Still fighting for position, June wasn’t yet paying attention to the show. A redheaded girl next to her stared up at the stage, enraptured, ignoring the blood pouring from her nose into her mouth. The pushing and shoving came in waves. Sometimes June was pulled back, and at other times pushed forward, but always the people surrounding her tried to dislodge her and take her place.

After a while the physical struggles became automatic. Between periods of fighting she listened to the band. The songs were only peripherally familiar, though, being at such extreme volume. She guessed the rigors of the stage were quite unlike the calm of a recording studio, and with the band members’ jumping and dancing about, the music came out differently.

But throughout, she kept her eyes locked on Derek Drain. He seemed so different here than on television, so real. She could see sweat glistening on his forehead, dampening and darkening his blond hair, running down the sides of his face. As he sang, spittle flew from his lips and landed in the crowd. When he twirled, perspiration flew from his brow like a sprinkler. She watched as his fingers crawled across his guitar’s fretboard like a spider, bringing forth the notes of his creations. It was mesmerizing.

All too soon, it was over. With a final drumbeat and ripping guitar chord, a slew of fireworks ignited onstage. Derek yelled, “Thank you all!” and the lights went out.

A moment later, the place was flooded with light and there was a man onstage gripping the microphone. “All those with passes for the after show party please step to the right of the stage area.” He repeated this message several times as June made her way through the milling fans. She was trying to hurry to avoid being reunited with her friends.



The backstage area was already crowded. Two giant security guys stood at the door to the party room. They turned away fan after fan. Some of those sent away, June was surprised to note, had backstage passes around their necks. One girl, who was quite overweight and was accompanied by a pimply-faced boy who June thought was probably her boyfriend, screamed obscenities at the guards when she was denied entry, saying something about having won the passes from the radio, the same station June had won hers from. In a rage, the girl shoved one of the guards, but he stood his ground and calmly repeated his instructions to vacate, giving no reason for the denial. The boyfriend stood by, watching as though it made no difference to him whether they got in or not.

Panicking, June stopped the girl as she stormed by. “Hey, why didn’t they let you in?”

Huffing, her face red and her nostrils flaring, the girl turned to face June. “Why do you think?” she responded harshly.

June wasn’t sure she understood the question, and her face showed it.

The girl rolled her eyes, clearly annoyed. “Look at me!” She indicated her form with her hands. “They don’t think I’m good enough.” Her cheeks grew even redder than before, if that were possible. She quickly appraised June. “You’ll probably get in, but I’d think twice if I were you. Girls have to take off their shirts to get back there.” She grabbed her boyfriend’s hand and stomped off.

June stood there stunned. She couldn’t believe what she’d just heard, and she had no idea how to proceed. Her first impulse was to turn around, march back into the events area, find her friends, and get out of there. She realized almost as quickly, though, that her flight impulse was fueled by self-doubt. It wasn’t a moral stance she was taking, but a feeling of inadequacy coupled with a fear of exposure. But like the girl said, she’d probably get in. She had to assume that the judgment included her breasts.

By this time, she was at the door. One of the guards looked at her expectantly, his eyes quickly examining her pass. It occurred to June that it was convenient for them that the pass hung right on her chest. Time stood still for a moment, and June started to sweat. Such overt scrutiny was unfamiliar and uncomfortable for her.

The guard nodded his approval and hooked a thumb at the door, but she’d decided against it. She couldn’t go through with it. If this preliminary examination, fully clothed, caused her to break out in sweat and shiver with discomfort, what would happen inside, when her shirt was off and she was exposed for all to judge.

As she was turning to go, she glanced into the room. Off to the left was a torn and tattered couch, and sitting in the middle of it between two topless girls was Derek Drain. Her chest convulsed and she stopped breathing for a moment. Then she took a deliberate, deep breath, swallowed hard, and walked in.

Just inside, another security guy stood next to a table, atop which was a huge pile of shirts and bras. The music blasting from a nearby stereo system was extremely loud, so the guard simply mouthed the word “shirt” and pointed at the table with his eyes. She stepped up and whisked her shirt off before she had a chance to have second thoughts, then she reached behind her back and unhooked her bra, tossing both on the table. The guard smiled and raised his eyebrows in welcome.

The room was large and very crowded. Everywhere was the stench of sweat and alcohol. The majority of the occupants were women, June noticed. June glanced back at the door and saw the guards let a stunning brunette through, leaving her astounded and angry boyfriend behind. With that sort of ruthless type in attendance tonight, June didn’t think she had a chance of getting any band member’s attention, least of all Derek’s.

But then she saw the table guard pointing at her. At first it was alarming. She was sure they’d changed their minds about her, and realizing their mistake were about to eject her. The guard was looking at Derek, though.

Off to her left, June saw the band’s guitarist, Jerry Jenkins, entangled with several women on the floor. He was red-faced and his eyes were glazed over, obviously heavily intoxicated. She wasn’t sure he even knew where he was or what he was doing.

June turned her attention to the couch in time to see Derek acknowledge the guard’s signal, give each of his flanking groupies a quick kiss, and rise to approach her.

June had been chosen for something. She gasped, taken aback. Her heart started galloping, her palms started perspiring, and her lip started quivering. Her mind became numb with blind panic. For the moment, she completely forgot that she was naked from the waist up.

“Hi,” Derek said with a broad smile, although June couldn’t hear him over the music. His deep blue eyes, though wandering with inebriation, captivated her. At that moment she knew she would do anything he asked.

Just like back in the show, only with more intensity, she was struck then by his realism, his humanity. His breath smelled like beer and stale cigarette smoke, and lipstick was smeared across one cheek. And his face, which looked so smooth from a distance or on television, was actually pitted with acne scars and darkened with five o’clock shadow. He wasn’t as tall as she’d imagined, either, being only a few inches taller than she, and up close, his body didn’t seem sleek and well-toned, but rather scrawny and unfit, his skin pasty instead of radiant. June could even see the hairs in his nose. In a flash, the awe she had for him, this icon of the rock world, her future husband since she was fifteen, was replaced with something just short of revulsion.

All business, Derek gently took her hand and led her toward the back of the room, where a battered and cracked door was surrounded by two more of the burly security men. He grinned at them as June and he approached, and both men beamed with what June estimated to be enthusiastic endorsement.

It seemed the thing to do, and she felt as though she had no choice at this point, so June followed Derek through the door, although now her stomach was churning and queasy.



Half an hour later, June emerged from the back room, her hair in matted and tangled disarray. Her eyes had the empty look of someone who is on automatic pilot as she gathered her clothes from the shirt table and put them on. Her mouth was closed and straight, and she breathed carefully through her nose. She absently wondered about her friends, how they had reacted when they realized they’d lost her, and what they were doing right now. June thought her mother must have been going crazy trying to find her.

When June got outside, there were still many cars and people in the parking lot. With this kind of turnout, June guessed, it could take a while to get everyone out. She was relieved to see her mother and three friends standing around the car, her mother smoking a cigarette, and all four casting their eyes about in search of June.

June approached the car and her mother breathed a loud sigh. A terrible scolding was about to gout from her mother’s mouth, June saw, but then the older woman saw her daughter, saw the backstage pass that was still hanging from her neck, saw June’s distraught state, and her face yielded to compassion. Without a word, June was ushered into the car and they got into the long line of vehicles waiting to exit onto the street.



In the car, June’s friends showered her with questions, but she told them she didn’t want to talk about it just then, and that she’d tell them later. June’s mother made the rounds, dropping each of the girls at home, then drove back to their apartment complex, all without asking June anything. She smoked at least five cigarettes during the trip.

June walked into her bedroom, still silent, and closed the door behind her. The room seemed ominous and quiet to her now. It had never seemed that way before. The posters, pictures, and articles all over her walls looked like mockeries, like cartoons. It felt like someone else’s room, a little sister’s maybe.

She went from item to item, calmly and carefully pulling each from the wall, folding it up, and stuffing it in the small trash can next to her bed.