Stephen Mejias

"Oh, you're still here," Elizabeth said, on her way out.

"Would I leave without saying 'good-bye,' E?"

"Well, I wouldn't normally think so, but you were just so quiet. I thought you'd snuck out. What's going on?"

"I just finished my Sonic Youth review. It took me all day."

"I heard the music playing earlier."

"I've been listening to it for five days straight."

"You know you don't have to like something just because you liked it in the past. It's okay not to like it."

"Oh, I know. But this is really good." I nodded my head for emphasis. She didn't seem convinced.

"Then what was up with that initial reaction?"

"I think that was mostly based on my feelings for the album's first song, "Reena," which I still don't like so much. But the rest is beautiful."

"Is this it?" she points down to the Dell computer speakers, which are letting out the ascending guitars of Rather Ripped's "Pink Steam."

"Yeah."

"It sounds just like you guys. I thought for sure it was your band."

I nodded helplessly. "It does sound a lot like our band."

"Wait, do they sound like you, or do you sound like them?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. They really do sound like us. It's weird. I mean, I was certainly strongly influenced by their guitar style, but the rest of the guys never listened to much Sonic Youth. I can't explain it."

"They ripped you off!" Elizabeth joked.

"Nah, we've just grown together."

She smiled. "I hope you wrote that in your review."

"I didn't. But I'm sure I wrote it somewhere else."

I paused. Elizabeth waited.

"It makes me kind of sad, actually. It's not that I feel they ripped us off or anything, but it just makes me wonder what we'd do if we played together more often. I mean, we're a really good band. At least I think so, of course. We're as good as my very favorite band," I say, pointing again to the sounds coming from the Dell speakers. "And they've been doing this for twenty-five years. We're still just half their age."

I don't remember how Elizabeth responded to that. I'm happy to be done with the review.

***

Oh yeah: she asked, "Are you happy with the review?"

"Yeah," I shrugged.