“Dude, so the James Blake concert.” I smiled back at her. “Yeeeah.” “It was...amazing.” That pause between words was so perfectly Jess, in the best way possible. My smile only widened.
“That‟s so awesome. I‟m jealous.” Jess and I were sitting at the notoriously long traffic light at the Stop „n Shop. A light rain had begun to speckle her windshield. The jazz tape she had bought at a yard sale filled the car with jaunty sax and cheery drum hits. Was it homemade? we guessed. Probably. She continued.
“So after he‟d done some of his slower songs,” “Yeah?” “He goes, „so everyone, uh, this is dance music now.‟ And he starts—he pumps, like—he does like CMY—oh yeah, and it‟s him, and a drummer and a guitarist.”
“Word.” “And the drummer is sooo tight mmmmm!” “Mmmmm!” I bobbed my head, and my smile widened still. I could totally picture Jess rocking out at the concert, her wild hair cutting slices through the air above the crowd.
“So then they do, like, CMYK which is the like, damn, red shirt, look I found her.‟ Like that song.”
I didn't know the song, but I didn't want to interrupt her energy. “Yeah.” “And then me and Will and like this bubble of people we were near started a mosh.”
“Yes,” I said with a jokingly stern face. “And we were just like....” She threw her arms up in the air and twisted her body side to side. I could see a part of her was still there at the concert. I let a laugh bubble up inside me and escape. “It was—it was so good. It was so fucking good.”
“That sounds dope.” “Yeah, it was awesome.” “You paid dearly for it, though.” We exchanged a joking grimace. We were both recalling her state at 11:30 the morning after. She had come out onto the ironically sunny quad, her wild hair wilted, dark circles under her eyes. I couldn't help but laugh at the memory.
“Yeah.” She let out a chortle. “Yeah, it‟s, I mean, it was fun. I didn‟t regret it, honestly.”
“That‟s good.” “Yeah and I mean also because I‟ve had these stomach problems recently, I‟m kind of, like, used to throwing up—I know that sounds bad—but like— I just—even though I threw up once and felt kinda shitty the next day....”
“Yeah...it‟s worth it.” “Yeah, like I honestly—” The light turned green, and Jess guided the car forward.
“Hell yeah,” I said. I knew exactly what she was talking about. I‟ve been there. Minus the getting used to throwing up bit. For a minute I thought about asking her what was up with her stomach issues, but I then I thought better of it. I wanted things to stay light.
“I—it was a semi-religious experience for me.” “Wow.” My eyebrows shot up, but I didn‟t judge her. I was willing to hear her out.
“I like—I was really like—he opened with my favorite song, of his...” “Ahh, yeah.” “And I just started crying a little. Like I wasn't weeping but like—” “Yeah, yeah.” I nodded my head. I've been there, too. “My eyes just filled up with tears.” “I hear you.” She took the car for a wide turn onto 9A. “I was just like, oh my god, like, it‟s real!” “This is happening!” “Yeah it was—it was surreal.” “That‟s amazing.” I settled back in my seat and watched the rain-washed grass and trees float past us. I looked over at her and found we were both smiling at each other.
“Dude, so the James Blake concert.” I smirked at her. “Yeeeah.” She‟d been babbling about this concert nonstop for five minutes.
“It was...amazing.”
“That‟s so awesome. I‟m jealous.” Jess and I were sitting at the notoriously long traffic light at the Stop „n Shop. It had started to rain, which was kinda sucky. The jazz tape she had bought at a yard sale—(wow, be more stereotypically hipster, I dare you)—made the inside of the car sound like an elevator in a cheap motel. She guessed the tape was homemade. So much cooler that way, I thought. She continued.
“So after he'd done some of his slower songs,” “Yeah?” “He goes, so everyone, uh, this is dance music now.‟ And he starts—he pumps, like—he does like CMY—oh yeah, and it‟s him, and a drummer and a guitarist.”
“Word.” Damn. Stutter much, Jess? “And the drummer is sooo tight mmmmm!” “Mmmmm!” I bobbed my head, and my smile widened. Does she know I‟m mocking her? Awkward. It was funny. I could totally picture Jess waving her ridiculous hair around at the concert.
“So then they do, like, CMYK which is the like, „damn, red shirt, look I found her.‟ Like that song.”
I didn‟t know the song, but I didn‟t care enough to say anything more than “yeah.”
“And then me and Will and like this bubble of people we were near started a mosh.”
“Yes,” Look out! We got a badass over here. “And we were just like,” she threw her arms up in the air and twisted her body side to side. I was forcibly reminded of those blow-up dancing monstrosities they have outside car dealerships. “It was—it was so good. It was so fucking good.”
“That sounds dope.” “Yeah, it was awesome.” “You paid dearly for it, though.” Of course she hits up a concert on a Thursday. I mean I know the school year‟s almost over, but shit, have some common sense. At 11:30 on Friday she stumbled out onto the quad and slightly raised her head—probably all she could muster—at me in greeting. I shook my head.
“Yeah.” She laughed sharply. “Yeah, it‟s, I mean, it was fun. I didn't regret it, honestly.”
“That‟s good.” I was honestly just agreeing with whatever she said at this point.
“Yeah and I mean also because I‟ve had these stomach problems recently, I‟m kind of, like, used to throwing up—I know that sounds bad—but like— I just—even though I threw up once and felt kinda shitty the next day....”
“Yeah...it‟s worth it.” What? “Yeah, like I honestly—” The light turned green, and Jess gunned the car forward.
“Hell yeah,” I managed, as I held onto my seat. I wanted to believe I knew what the hell she was talking about, but I didn‟t. All I could think of was how gross that sounded. Used to throwing up? I thought about asking her what was up with her stomach issues, but I didn‟t really care.
“I—it was a semi-religious experience for me.” “Wow.” My eyebrows shot up, and I stifled a giggle. “I like—I was really like—he opened with my favorite song, of his...” “Ahh, yeah.” Really, man? “And I just started crying a little. Like I wasn't weeping but like—” “Yeah, yeah.” I nodded my head. “My eyes just filled up with tears.” “I hear you.” She jerked the car left for a wide turn onto 9A. “I was just like, oh my god, like, it‟s real!” “This is happening!” “Yeah it was—it was surreal.” “That‟s amazing.” I settled back in my seat and watched the rain-soaked grass and trees shove past us. I glanced over at her, and saw her grinning stupidly at me. I returned a half-hearted smile.
“Dude, so the James Blake concert.” I glanced down as she looked over at me. “Yeeeah,” I squeaked. “It was...amazing.” “That‟s so awesome. I‟m jealous.” Jess and I were sitting at the notoriously long traffic light at the Stop „n Shop. A light rain had begun to splatter against her windshield. In a weird way I didn't know which side of the glass I belonged on. The jazz tape she had bought at a yard sale filled the car with jaunty sax and cheery drum hits. But it was as though I were hearing it from the far end of a stone tunnel. I shifted in my seat. She continued.
“So after he'd done some of his slower songs,” “Yeah?” I couldn't meet her eyes, so I looked out the window. “He goes, „so everyone, uh, this is dance music now.‟ And he starts—he pumps, like—he does like CMY—oh yeah, and it‟s him, and a drummer and a guitarist.”
“Word.” I glanced over at her. “And the drummer is sooo tight mmmmm!” “Mmmmm!” I bobbed my head, and my smile widened. Then I turned away quickly. God, I must have just looked like such an idiot. I pictured Jess rocking out at the concert, doing her thing and not giving a single shit.
“So then they do, like, CMYK which is the like, „damn, red shirt, look I found her.‟ Like that song.”
I didn‟t know the song. Of course I didn‟t know the song. But I wanted her to think I did. “Yeah.”
“And then me and Will and like this bubble of people we were near started a mosh.”
“Yes,” I said with a jokingly stern face. “And we were just like,” she threw her arms up in the air and twisted her body side to side. I could see a part of her was still there at the concert. And I felt like a candle flame next to a bonfire. I let out a defeated laugh. “It was—it was so good. It was so fucking good.”
“That sounds dope.” “Yeah, it was awesome.” “You paid dearly for it, though.” Shit, was that not cool to say? I thought. Her smile relieved my tensions. We were both recalling her state at 11:30 the morning after. She had come out onto the ironically sunny quad, her wild hair wilted, dark circles under her eyes. I couldn‟t help but laugh at the memory. I hope she knew I wasn‟t judging her.
“Yeah.” She let out a chortle. “Yeah, it‟s, I mean, it was fun. I didn't regret it, honestly.”
“That‟s good.” “Yeah and I mean also because I've had these stomach problems recently, I‟m kind of, like, used to throwing up—I know that sounds bad—but like— I just—even though I threw up once and felt kinda shitty the next day....”
“Yeah...it‟s worth it.” “Yeah, like I honestly—” The light turned green, and Jess guided the car forward.
“Hell yeah,” I said. I wanted to believe I knew exactly what she was talking about. That I‟d been there. Minus the getting used to throwing up bit. For a minute I thought about asking her what was up with her stomach issues, but I then I thought better of it. I didn‟t want to make her uncomfortable.
“I—it was a semi-religious experience for me.” “Wow.” My eyebrows shot up, but I didn‟t judge her. I waited to hear what she had to say.
“I like—I was really like—he opened with my favorite song, of his...” “Ahh, yeah.” “And I just started crying a little. Like I wasn't weeping but like—” “Yeah, yeah.” I nodded my head, but turned my face away. “My eyes just filled up with tears.” “I hear you.” She took the car for a graceful turn onto 9A. “I was just like, oh my god, like, it‟s real!” “This is happening!” “Yeah it was—it was surreal.” “That‟s amazing.” I settled back in my seat and watched the film of rain coat the grass and trees as they slid past us. I looked over at her and tried to match her smile.