This one is for us
This one is for Metro. In the Sterling. For that dark club in the basement of a condemned hotel. For watching the snow fall. Through a neon coffee cup in a picture window. For that black and white checkered floor. White clouds painted on a blue sky ceiling. For thick, cold grasshopper and chocolate raspberry milkshakes. For mismatched thrift store furniture. For watching my future favorite bands for the first time. For meeting my best friends. For becoming part of the community. The scene.
This one is for Metro. On South Main Street. For those sweaty sets. Singing along. Dancing. Below strings of Christmas lights draped from a drop ceiling. For the best vegan chili. For hanging out in the parking lot between sets. For bailing on impossible skate tricks in the alley. For Toppers calling the cops on us. Every night. For feeling like we were together. For being part of it.
This one is for Homebase. In that dirty warehouse. For the bands that came through those doors. Played on that stage. For the renaissance of a scene. We thought we’d lost. For those hardcore shows. For those skate punk shows. For touring bands making a stop. For bringing the factions of the scene together.
This one is for all those venues. For Rodano’s. For Independence Fire Hall. For Sea-Seas. For Roller King. This one is for all those clubs. For all those restaurant back rooms. All those fire halls and VFWs. All those basements. For giving this community a place. A place to form. A place to exist. A place to thrive.
This one is for all those kids. Who organized. Booked. Played. Wrote. Created. For all those landlords who took a chance. On the weird kids. This one is for all of us who were there.
This one is for being straight edge
Being straight edge was easy when you were fifteen. When you couldn’t buy alcohol anyway. When you had no idea where to even get weed. When all of your friends are drawing Xs on their hands. Being sober was easy when it was the cool thing to do. Or not do. It was somehow reverse peer pressure. Those years were indeed magical. And innocent. So goddamned innocent.
Most of us knew the straight edge lifestyle before we heard Minor Threat. We never realized the freedom. That Ian McKaye gave us. Staying out, drinking coffee, and playing Uno at Denny’s until three in the morning. Road trips to out of town shows. Getting home in the middle of the night. Our parents let us explore. Children of the 60s and 70s. They knew we were more responsible than they had been. At our age. They let us have the night. The freedom. They let us push our boundaries. Explore the world. Sober. Clear eyed. Clear headed.
Some of those kids broke edge in high school. Some waited until college. Some waited until they were legal. Some are still edge today. But all of us know. What that hard line lifestyle gave us. Back when we needed it most.
This one is for those highways
These roads heading east. Feel like home to me. I drove them so often. Away from the home. I was born into. The interior of my Tracer. Cavalier. Fusion. Fiat. More familiar than my parents’ house.
I don’t remember a time. When I wasn’t plotting. My escape. From that town. From its assumptions. Prejudices. Stereotypes. I knew I needed to be anywhere. But there. And these roads. Took me everywhere. I wanted to go.
By now. I have lived everywhere else. For more years. Than I spent there. I left that decaying. That dying town. In my rearview mirror. Yet these roads. Heading east. Still feel a bit like home.
Andrea Janov lives in Pittsburgh. Her poetry books are—Short Skirts and Whiskey Shots and Mix Tapes and Photo Albums. You can find her here– https://www.andreajanov.com/