Two years ago
“Where’s your dad?” Growler asked and handed me the glass bowl.
I shrugged, took a hit, and lay back down. Concerts at the Mann Center for the Performing Arts meant bringing blankets, staring at the nighttime sky, and of course, smoking weed. I hadn’t seen my dad and his buddy Tom since we parted ways at the entrance. My dad knew we both needed our space to party.
“Pressure Drop” started from the stage. “Sweeeet,” I said. That was my favorite Toots song. I wanted to dance. Screw vegging out. I hopped up and jumped around as much as I could. It was sandwich city out there on the lawn, and blankets were everywhere. But a reggae crowd was usually pretty chill.
The song ended and the band left the stage. Jimmy Cliff was next, my dad’s favorite. It would’ve been cool for us to hear him together. I kind of wished I knew where Dad was. I looked around, but, yeah, too many people.
“Vance!” someone shouted from behind.
I turned and saw a sea of bodies.
“Over here! Vance!” It was a girl, and her voice was a little closer.
I looked to my right to see Jacque Beaufort jumping up and down, waving her arms. I waved back. “Dude, Beaufort’s over there having a cow,” I said to Growler.
He remained sprawled out on the blanket. His arm shot up and he waved. “Cool. That’s cool.” He was as high as a kite.
She and three of her friends made their way to us. “Hey. How great were Toots and the Maytals? Right?” Jacque said.
Damn, her eyes were friggin’ blue. But she wasn’t my type. Her hair was too dark. I was pretty sure she was half black or something. I liked blonds.
Jacque checked out who was on our blanket. “Just you two?”
“Lucas is here with his girlfriend. We never found each other though.”
She nodded. “Your dad’s gotta be here.”
Because of the Blue Mountain, everyone in town knew my dad was into reggae. Weekends he’d bring in no-name reggae or ska bands from Philly or New York, and he’d pack the place. West Chester, Pennsylvania, wasn’t exactly tropical, but anyone who came into the Blue Mountain Lounge sure got a taste of Jamaica. I smirked. “Yeah, he’s here somewhere.”
“Cool,” she said. “My parents are here too. My mom’s from Montpelier, near Montego Bay. She knows Jimmy Cliff’s cousin.”
So Jacque was half black. I knew it. I blurted out, “Does she know any Marleys?”
Her blond friend giggled. She stood in a shadow so I couldn’t see her face, but she had a hot body.
They all looked at Jacque and she grinned. “Everyone from Jamaica knows a Marley.”
“So you’ve been there?” I asked and immediately felt like an idiot. Of course she’d been there. She just said her mother was Jamaican.
Her eyes lit up. “Oh yeah, at least twice a year. You?”
“My dad said he’s gonna take us there after I graduate.”
“Cool.” She rocked on her heels. I could tell she wanted to say something else. Shit, I hoped she didn’t come on to me. I was too high to think of a subtle brush-off.
Jacque looked away. “Little Irving here too?”
“Oscar? Are you shitting me? He’s probably home jacking off to some Beethoven song.”
The blond stepped forward, moonlight hitting her face, and she yanked on Jacque’s arm. “You didn’t introduce me.”
Whoa, wow, she’s absolutely beautiful. Brown eyes and a great smile.
Jacque smacked her own forehead. “Right, sorry. Vance, this is my friend Christina. She goes to Archbishop Wood. Our moms have been friends since college.”
Christina held out her hand and I stood frozen, staring at her face. She playfully touched my shoulders and shook me. “Where did you just go?”
I tossed my head back and laughed. “I’m pretty baked up. Nice to meet you.” This time I offered my hand and she took it. Her grasp was warm and firm, and I wanted to pull her into my arms and just make out.
But I didn’t because that would’ve been completely uncool.
Christina leaned in and whispered, “Easy, killer, I have a boyfriend.”
Of course she had a boyfriend. Was I imagining her flirting? How high am I?
My face felt hot. Thank God for nighttime. I whispered my response, “Relax, Chrissy. You’re not my type.” Even though that was a bullshit lie, it felt good to zing her back.
She pulled away and smirked. “Let’s go, Jacque. I have to use the bathroom.”
“Later, dudes.” Jacque nudged Growler’s foot as a good-bye.
He shouted long after they were gone, “You guys have any snacks on you? I’m wicked hungry.” He was in his own world down there.
I’d have given anything for a container of nachos or Christina’s number.