Ten Miles Past Normal - By Frances O'Roark Dowell Page 0,43

feeling unconnected, uncertain, and a little bit lonely.

The first band is quickly followed by a girl folk singer whose long, copper-colored hair swings in a beautiful arc in front of her face as she whines out songs about—you’ll never believe it—love gone wrong. Several of Folk Singer Girl’s bad love songs end with mutilated corpses, which draws a posse of black T-shirted guys close to the stage to cheer her on.

We sit through two more acts before Jeremy’s band comes up. To my surprise, Monster is playing bass. I don’t know why I’m surprised. He and Jeremy are friends, after all, and Monster did show up here with bass in hand. I realize that in the short history of our friendship, I’ve never heard Monster play anything but guitar.

Tonight he’s shed of his overalls, and his hair hangs free from its usual ponytail. Monster’s wearing faded black jeans, Doc Martens, and a T-shirt that reads—I choke on my coffee when I see this—rednecks for peace.

“What is it with you and choking?” Verbena asks, pounding me on the back. “Close up that windpipe when you swallow!”

I nod at this sound piece of advice and turn back to the stage. Monster’s bass anchors every song, and after my short but deep immersion into the world of bass playing, I can testify to the fact that he’s good. He rocks back and forth while he plays, one long leg extended behind him, the other bent in front of him. It has the effect of making Monster look like a tree being blown around in a hurricane. A tree with roots that go way down.

Every eye in the audience is on him. No one can help it. There is something incredibly compelling about a six-foot-two guy who is walking a tightrope between exquisite control and unleashed power. I wonder what would happen if he suddenly came uprooted, if his rocking threw him forward into the audience or back against the brick wall behind him. Mayhem, either way. That’s where the thrill of watching him comes in, I realize—the possibility of danger.

Next to Monster, Jeremy Fitch looks cute and boyish and entirely beside the point. He’s doing an okay job of playing, and he’s not a bad singer, but he doesn’t have Monster’s presence. I glance over at Sarah, who shrugs at me. It’s hard to know if she’s ready to let Jeremy—the idea of Jeremy—go or not.

When the set is over, Verbena is on her feet and dragging me out of the booth. “Come on, Janie! Let’s go tell Monster how awesome he is!”

I turn to Sarah. “You want to go say something to Jeremy? He was good up there.”

Sarah shakes her head. “I don’t actually know him that well,” she says. This from the girl who’s been studying Jeremy Fitch nonstop for the last two months. “Besides, I think you’re the one he’s interested in seeing.”

“He doesn’t even know my name,” I tell her. “Anyway, I bet Monster would appreciate you coming over to say hi. And Jeremy probably would too.”

Emma looks across the table at her sister. “Did you like the set?”

Sarah nods.

“Me too. So let’s all go up and say, ‘Great set, we want to be your groupies.’”

Sarah reluctantly slides out of the booth.

There’s a crowd around Monster, Jeremy, and the other two guys in their band. The girls are clamoring around Jeremy, while a bunch of guys surround Monster with a chorus of “Awesome, dude!” When Monster sees our little contingent, he breaks out in a huge grin.

“What’d y’all think?” he calls over. “Good show or what?”

I can’t help it. “Awesome, dude!” I call back.

Monster breaks through his fan club to come over to where we’re standing. He points a finger at me. “You’re going to be up there one day soon.”

“By myself? Solo bass?”

“Yeah, dude! It’s been done.”

I feel a pinch of disappointment when Monster calls me dude.

Not that he’s my type.

Then Monster turns to Sarah. “I been thinking about you. You know what might be perfect? An accordion.” He holds up a hand when Sarah begins to protest. “An accordion’s gonna hit right at your center of gravity, you being on the short side.”

“And just who am I going to play accordion with?” Sarah wants to know, sounding highly skeptical. “Is the circus in town?”

Monster looks at Emma. “How ’bout it, Em? Everybody’s got a thing for a sister act.”

Emma looks like she’s trying to decide just how crazy this idea is. Her expression suggests: pretty freakin’ crazy.

But