Ten Miles Past Normal - By Frances O'Roark Dowell Page 0,28
so the bass ain’t hanging too low. Why don’t you go ahead and stand up, give me something to work with here.”
Sarah stood, clutching the neck of the bass in one hand and grabbing onto the body with the other. “Relax,” Monster told her, give the strap a yank. “You can’t be uptight and play bass. Contradiction in terms.”
“It doesn’t feel comfortable,” Sarah complained, tugging at the strap where it crossed her shoulder. “And it’s heavy. How am I supposed to hold it for more than five minutes?”
“You’ll get used to it,” Monster assured her. He stepped back to examine her. “You’re kinda little for a bass player, it’s true. Lotta times you go see a band, the bass player’s the big guy. Even the girl bass players—you guys know Tina Wannamaker, plays bass for Evermore? She’s a pretty tall drink of water.”
Sarah stood in front of the couch, looking miserable, the bass dangling close to her knees. Here it is, I thought. Here’s where the Jam Band dream dies.
As if reading my mind, Sarah turned to me and said, “Maybe I should try out for cross-country.”
“Maybe,” I agreed. Not that I thought running cross-country would win her a place in Jeremy Fitch’s heart either, but you can’t stomp all over a person’s hopes and desires and expect her to stay your best friend.
Sarah shrugged off the bass and held it out to Monster. “I don’t think this is going to work out, but thanks.”
Monster looked confused. “You didn’t even plug it in yet.”
“It’s just too uncomfortable. And you’re right, I’m probably too short to play.”
Monster grabbed the bass by the neck. He turned to me. “Well, you’re on the tall side. Why don’t you give it a try?”
“I don’t know anything about playing bass,” I told him, but even as the words came out of my mouth I was reaching for it. “I mean, I guess I could try, but don’t expect anything great.”
Sarah looked concerned. “I’m not so sure this is a good idea, Janie. You’ve never even played piano.”
I pulled the strap over my head and balanced the bass against my hips. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Nothing, I guess,” Sarah admitted. “I guess I just don’t see you as the musician type.”
“And you are?” I felt my face getting hot. Sarah was just being Sarah, offering her considered if unsolicited opinions, but suddenly Sarah being Sarah was starting to irritate me.
“Maybe I’ll be a great bass player,” I told her as Monster plugged a cord into an amp and led it over to where I was standing. “Maybe I’ll be the—the—Tina Wannamaker of Manneville High.”
“Strictly speaking, Tina Wannamaker is the Tina Wannamaker of Manneville High,” Monster said, plugging the other end of the amp cord into the bass. “She’s a senior. Evermore’s a local band. Don’t you keep up with the local music scene?”
“We’re really not that into music,” Sarah informed him. “We were just trying it out for a little while.”
Before Monster could respond—and I could see that the response forming on his lips wasn’t going to be pretty—I plucked a string. It was the bottom string—the E string, I’d learn in a minute—and it vibrated all the way up my arm.
It sounded—and felt—incredibly cool.
Monster turned away from Sarah. “That’s good. Now put your pointer finger on the second string, first fret, and play that.”
I did as I was told.
It sounded even cooler.
And all of a sudden, I felt larger. Not taller, not heavier, not physically bigger. Larger on the inside. Like suddenly—how do I say this?—I felt like life had possibilities I hadn’t been aware of five seconds before.
All this from playing two notes on Monster’s bass.
♦ ♦ ♦
Sitting in the library across the table from Verbena, I can still feel the reverb running up and down my arms. And I can still see the bored expression on Sarah’s face as Monster taught me to play an easy Ramones song.
Which is just my luck. When I finally get excited about something, Sarah couldn’t be less interested. Standing in the middle of Monster’s apartment, I didn’t know whether to scream or cry. I mean, how many times had I hopped on Sarah’s latest bandwagon? How many times had I helped her get petitions signed and posters hung up?
And she gives up on Jam Band just when I figure out it’s something I really want to do?
“Sarah’s great,” I tell Verbena. “I mean, we’ve been best friends since first grade. She’s totally cool. She just,