Tweenage Dream


  When I lie on my back and look straight up to the night sky I can pretend I’m anywhere but here. Surfer Rosa is drowning out the obnoxious kids who think their party is a party. The Pixies, huh. Pretty weird name, but their bassist turns me on and for a debut, it’s pretty wicked. Where is my mind is soundtracking the stars and the entire experience is beginning to spook me something sick until suddenly I’m roused by a touch on my shoulder. I kick up from the bench and whip off the headphones and turn with a hand already raised, like the dork I am.

  “Woah, easy there karate kid,” she says, my assailant that is. She definitely does not belong to this party. Like me she’s about six years too senior to truly enjoy the suck-fest I’d chaperoned my brother and his loser friends to. She’s laughing at me and my no-doubt shocked face. My surprise began with the start but the expression stuck after seeing her. She’s beautiful.

  “You ok?” She says, withdrawing a little.
  “You startled me is all,” I say, lowering my fist finally. Such a dork. I laugh a little and she relaxes again, “sorry,” I continue.
  “No problem,” she says, “you as bored by all this prepubescent bullshit as I am?” Now the headphones are off it’s all rushing back in, the sounds and squeals of the party.
  “You can say that again,” I say, shifting over as she makes to sit down too.
  “So what did the ‘rents bribe you with?” 
  “Car on the weekend,” I reply, “you?”
  “Curfew extension.”

  We sit there watching as the party escalates to its ultimate limit: a kid jumping in the pool fully clothed. This is getting wild.
  “Which one’s yours?” she asks, scanning the sea of kids.
  “Not that one,” I laugh, then point to Max, “the squirt with the hot dog.”
  “No way,” she says, nudging me and pointing in the same direction, “my sister’s the one he’s talking to. Becca.”
  “Serious?” I ask, “the Becca?”
  “Uh I guess,” she replies, obviously confused, “what do you mean the?”
  “My brother doesn’t – no, can’t – shut up about your sister,” I say, smirking.
  “Aw,” she coos, “how adorable.”

  My headphones are around my neck and still ringing out tinny renditions. She asks what it is and I tell her. She says she hasn’t heard of them so I play her Gigantic and she digs it. Rad, she says. I ask her if she’s been to any concerts over at the big orange box. She says she hasn’t. We briefly discuss how awesome Die Hard looks in the trailers. I tell her the multiplex over in the east side is playing it. She reminds me about her extended curfew. I remind her about my car privileges this weekend.

  We make a date.

~ by Joseph Blame on April 26, 2011.

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