Standard issue disclaimer…I do not own any of the characters from "The Rocky Horror Picture Show".  Those that believe otherwise should now stop flooding my e-mail box with lucrative endorsement offers (Frank as the New Face of Estee Lauder?  I don't think so…)

The young woman walked down Main Street in the small town of Denton, her mood as dark and dreary as the overcast sky.  Her bright red, short-cropped hair drew occasional stares of disapproval from passing townsfolk, but she paid no attention.  She didn't expect to be accepted by those people anyway.  She never had been before…why should anything change now?

She thought her problems started with the moment her name went on her birth certificate.  Columbia.  What the hell kind of a name was that for a young girl living in a small, conservative Midwest town?  Other children were named for a parent, or a close relative…she was named for the country her parents had, for some odd reason, decided to visit for their honeymoon.  It was a strange name then, and with the advent of the counterculture of the 60s – and the country of Columbia's association with the drug trade - it only got worse.  It didn't help matters that her parents, who were "hippies" before there even was such a thing, became enthusiastic consumers of the cash crops for which Columbia was famous.

It might not have been so bad if they'd lived in a place like San Francisco, or maybe the Pacific Northwest…somewhere with an active counterculture.  Unfortunately, for reasons Columbia couldn't begin to understand, her parents wanted to stay in Denton, the birthplace they'd derided for as long as she could remember.

She'd tried to make the best of it.  She really had.  If Columbia had one wish in life, it was to be just like everyone else.  From her earliest school days, she'd done her very best to fit in…to act and dress like the schoolmates who came from traditional families and lived "normal" lives.  But no matter how hard she tried, something was always just a little wrong.  Her dresses were either too long or two short, her pants either too tight or too baggy, her hair either too straight or (after an ill-advised perm) too frizzy.  More important than her appearance, however, was the air of anxiety she just couldn't suppress.  Her desperation to be liked was so obvious it was practically visible to the naked eye, and rather than bring her friends, it brought her ridicule.

She had hoped things would improve once she escaped the hell that was high school.  Her guidance counselor had told her, with a remarkable mixture of pity and condescension, that she was not "college material."  That she already knew; she just didn't have a head for academics.  After barely managing to graduate from high school, three years ago now, she went to work in a local record store.  It was then that she cut and dyed her hair, in homage to the "glam rock" movement – her first genuine attempt at self-expression at the expense of normality.  While working at the record store was better than school, she hadn't been able to bond with her fellow employees, most of whom were still high school students.  Worse than that was the knowledge the job was a dead end.  Somehow she needed to change her life, but she was at a loss as to how to do it.

Consumed by these melancholy thoughts, she barely noticed the buildings and people surrounding her…until she happened to look over at the low brick wall running between two groups of shops.  Sitting on the wall, taking in the sight of the people passing by with an apparent mixture of amusement and ennui, was the most incredibly attractive young man Columbia had ever seen in her life.  Looking to be at most only three or four years older than Columbia herself, there was an air of sophistication about him that made him seem much more mature than his years…a sense that he'd been everywhere, seen and done everything, and was startled by nothing.  Clad entirely in black – t-shirt, leather pants and pin-studded motorcycle jacket – he wasn't handsome in the typical Denton boy-next-door kind of way. He looked more like a rock god.

With a surge of excitement, Columbia remembered her store was to be the site of an appearance that very afternoon by a local band called Silent Running, which had just released its first album.  She'd never seen them, but knew their lead singer was supposed to be gorgeous.  Maybe that was him!  It would be so cool if she could meet him "one on one," before everyone else could crowd around and shove her to her usual place in the background.

So engrossed was she in her fantasy of becoming the girlfriend of an up-and-coming rock star that, unfortunately, she failed to notice a telephone pole looming in front of her.  Even more unfortunately, she walked right into it in plain view of the maybe-rock-star, knocking herself onto the pavement in the process.  Tears of mortification filled her eyes; she would have gladly given everything she possessed to be able to vanish instantly from his sight.

Fate, however, had different plans for her.  The young man abandoned his perch on the wall and walked over, holding out his hand to help her rise.  She took the outstretched hand and got to her feet, keeping her eyes glued to the ground in her humiliation.  However, the desire to see him close up quickly overrode her embarrassment, and she raised her eyes to look at his face.

He smiled, stared right into her eyes, and winked.  As she returned his gaze, she suddenly felt rooted to the spot, unable to move, think or even breathe.  Nobody had ever had such an effect on her.  It was as if nothing…her job, her family, even time itself…meant anything anymore.  How was he able to do that to her?

And, more importantly…how could she, of all people, manage to have the same effect on him?