Some Place Better Than Here

Chapter 15: September

15
September

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The smoothest pop of fingers I'd ever seen grooved along the thick strings of a shiny black bass guitar.

"See, see," Danny said, leaning his shoulder into me while we sat on a curb and pointed at Miles McJive.

A cool lanky black man with a Sam Jackson circa Pulp Fiction 'fro, sliding across a cover of Earth, Wind & Fire's "September."

"See how his bass is holding the entire song together, leading the way? He's got the perfect timing, catching the other sounds from falling off onto nothing." Danny looked up past the gates in awe. "Now that's bass playing."

Not knowing shit about actual music playing, I mumbled incoherently, agreeing with Danny. Though I must say, I did legit agree with the rain-wrinkled posters around Mansion Club advertising Miles McJive as "The Coolest Man on Planet Earth."

While weaving my clumped and clammy hair in circles around my fingers, Miles began singing the chorus in a high falsetto, and Danny pointed out how important Miles knew he was, but how laidback he kept his playing, letting the other players shine, smiling the entire time.

After having left my house, drenched from the rain, we spent the rest of the late afternoon and evening bumming around Carraway Beach for their super lame (and nearly failed due to the rain) festival. A banner slung across the promenade read: July 25th The Height of Summer.

Forgive me if I had earlier falsely glamorized being a Bitch From Venus. Being heartless is not what it's all cracked up to be. Despite being a wet-mess, Carraway Beach did attempt to get all festive. Even if it really was just another lame excuse to overcharge people for corndogs and crap carnival games by moving them from the empty field to the boardwalk. But it would have been nice to have a heart and maybe enjoy it? Anyway, Dan the Man and his obsession with forced experiences wanted to indulge in the summer marvel of salty foods and horrible games, so I begrudgingly agreed to go on one condition: if he dared try to win me a stuffed bear, I would decapitate him. So, he won me an inflatable SpongeBob Squarepants instead. I hated him, I really did.

So like two wet rats hooked out of the water, we loitered around the boardwalk and bar hopped in The Alley. Watching the old people bands, listening from the curbs outside of the patios we weren't allowed in. Probably due to the fact we looked like two freaks holding an inflatable SpongeBob.

"Want to get going?" Danny suggested while looking onwards at Miles McJive. Then as all the old farts alongside The Coolest Man on Planet Earth began chanting: "Ba de ya de ya de ya," Danny joined in, singing in a high voice, trying to—and sorta succeeding in—making me laugh.

Puddles sat where the uneven pavement sank down in The Alley but were quickly evaporating with the sudden warm turn of the night. Transforming the world into a giant, humid-smelling sauna. My hair was a frizzly wet mess, and my soggy clothes were sticking to my body.

Knowing my makeup was an unsalvageable disaster, Danny and I split ways so I could go in search of cheap mascara in one of the dinky tourist shops. By the time I got back, I had discovered that Danny had ditched me on the boardwalk. Well, not really. I'm being a tad dramatic, but it felt that way due to the nasty case of PMS I was nursing.

Being a girl is tough work, OKAY?

Being a dude must be easy-peasy. All guys had to worry about are, like, spontaneous erections and getting urinal spray splashing back on 'em. Which, well, was actually where Dan The Man had run off to—the urinal. Most likely getting pee spray on his hands. Thank God, we didn't hold hands or anything.