The Lunacy Fringe

That night, we lit a campfire on the beach. I wrapped myself in a blanket and snuggled up close to Felix. We were quiet as we listened to Billie and Quinn bicker with each other. We were old enough to buy alcohol and brought beer, but we didn’t want to get drunk. We were just enjoying the night, wrapped in a blanket damp with ocean water. He had his chin on my shoulder and his arms wrapped around me.

“So what’d you two bring those guitars for? To look at?” Quinn asked from across the fire. He leaned into the sand and rested his head on Billie’s lap. She immediately began to play with his dirty, sandy hair. Felix and I had both brought our acoustics. But only because Quinn bugged us about it.

“You told us to, dipshit,” I reminded him.

“Because I thought you’d play them, duh.”

“I don’t know how to play kumbaya. Sorry.” He flipped me off.

“Play something.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Something we could sing to. No church camp music, though. Like a bunch of fucking nerds singing around a campfire. Just something easy.” I turned and looked back at Felix.

“Do you want to?”

“Yeah, we can try it,” he said.

We separated and laid the blanket down so we had something to sit on while we played. Felix handed mine over. It was easy to tell the difference between them. His was covered in stickers, and mine was spray-painted pink. We sat down beside one another and made sure we were in tune.

“You ready?” he asked, looking up at me. The firelight was dancing on his face. And even though I was freezing, he still wasn’t wearing a shirt. I wanted to remember this image of him for the rest of my life.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

He started a melody, and I followed along a moment later. I recognized what he was playing, but he sometimes shifted into something else. So he led, and I provided the rhythm. And then, after a moment, Quinn began to sing. It was a Shoot the Gems song. One we’d practiced, but I’d never really gotten the hang of it. So I played my own rhythm even though I knew it wasn’t Jack’s.

Other people were partying on the beach at other fires or just wandering from one to the other. It didn’t take long before our music attracted them like moths to a flame. Pretty soon, we had a decent-sized audience sitting around us. And then a random guy came up to join us with a pair of bongos.

“Who’s the nerd now, Quinn?” I asked. But he just flipped me off again. We made it work anyway. A mishmash of a song. Something resembling a Shoot the Gems original, but more authentic and natural. Meant to be played on a beach by a fire and not to rock out kids in a garage.

“Let’s play one Billie can sing to,” Quinn suggested.

“Oh, I can’t sing,” she said before we could ask what to play.

“Yes, you can. I’ve heard you.”

“You’re mistaken. You’re just too blinded by your love for me to know it’s garbage.”

“This isn’t a talent contest, Bill. We’re just hanging out at the beach with some folks we’ll probably never see again.”

“But they’ll always remember the night some drunk girl tried to sing and then threw up. Make Ruby do it. She has a better voice.”

“Ruby’s playing guitar.”

“So? She can sing and play guitar at the same time. I’ve heard her. She’s trained for this stuff.” He looked up at me. I usually had stage fright. But he was right. It wasn’t a concert, and I didn’t know most of these people. Maybe I was just high off of the day and drunk on sunlight. So I shrugged.

“I can do it.”

“Fine. Alright.” Felix looked back at me, pick between his teeth, and nodded.

We let the bongo man start first and then followed along after we recognized what he was playing. It wasn’t a song made for bongo/beach sessions. A little faster than we were accustomed to with acoustics. But we figured each other out quickly. I opened my mouth to sing somewhat reluctantly, but no one booed me. People bobbed their heads, some watching, some just swaying, and some full-fledged making out. Quinn started up after me, and we quickly found our footing.

We sang in the car together sometimes, belting out Queen songs at the top of our lungs. Sometimes when I hung out at his house, he’d put his records on, and we’d dance around his room, pretending to have concerts. It was like our own silly little secret that we never told anyone about for fear of embarrassment. But we’d never sung together like this. It came naturally. We’d both been musically trained—both passionate about it since we were young. And we had the same speech patterns.

I hated that I wasn’t part of the band. I hated that I was just a girl and that this was an isolated experience. I knew Quinn and Felix both liked it when I joined them. But I didn’t have seniority like Jack did. I was just someone to jam with. Not to actually try and have a career with.

“Wow, Ruby. That was fantastic,” Quinn said when we finished up. I laughed.

“You aren’t that special.” He rolled his eyes.

“You guys are really good,” one of the bystanders said. He was an older guy who’d been listening to us for a while now, bobbing his head along and smiling whenever he recognized the song. “Are you in a band or something?”

“We are,” Quinn said, pointing at him and Felix. I felt left out again. I couldn’t say anything, but it hurt to be excluded even though the rest of the guys weren’t there to contribute to this interest.

“What’s your band’s name?”

“Shoot the Gems.”

“Do you have a demo or something?”

“Yeah, we have an EP. But not on us.”

“Awesome, alright. You guys should play some of your stuff.”

“We could do that.” Felix looked at me, and we both shrugged. He put the pick in his mouth again.

“What about Serial Masturbator? That’s a good song for a jam sesh,” Quinn suggested.

“I thought you guys changed the name of that one,” I reminded him.

“Please tell me you changed the name,” Billie added. Quinn rolled his eyes again.

“It’ll always be Serial Masturbator in my heart, and that’s all that matters.”

“Don’t you have like three songs named after masturbation?” I pointed out.

“I don’t have to explain my art to you, Ruby.”

“Fine. Serial Masturbator it is.”

We played the song. Felix took the lead again, and I took rhythm since I was playing for Jack. I was going to be angry if someone took an interest and he got all the credit. Of course, I hadn’t written the songs. But neither had he. Felix had no problem reminding him of this whenever they got into squabbles during band practice. Felix was good at writing his own music. Jack was good at playing it. But not making his own. Or at least—his attempts weren’t that impressive. And he was perfectly fine taking the credit for Felix’s hard work. Though I didn’t think it was fair to put so much on Felix’s shoulders.

I’d be able to write my own music. Whether it was good or not was up for debate. But I’d at least be willing to work with Felix to make something good. Instead of just letting him do it all for me.

“That’s awesome,” the guy said when we finished. “I agree about the name change, though. What did you guys settle on?”

“I think that one was Cosmos. I was really high when I wrote it,” Quinn admitted. “I don’t think we really have any other songs for occasions like this. We don’t usually jam at the beach.”

“We could make something up. Improvise,” Felix suggested.

“How?”

“Ruby’s amazing at improvising. She does it on the piano all the time. If she leads, I can follow along. Bongo man over here shouldn’t have a problem joining. We’ll just make it up as we go along.”

“Alright. Let’s give it a shot.” Felix looked back at me, and I suddenly felt anxious. It was one thing to play a mishmash of songs I already knew, but playing one I hadn’t even made yet was another thing entirely. I cleared my throat.

“Okay. I can try,” I said.

I went to my guitar and started with a steady melody. I wondered if it would be better on bass, and I wished I had a photographic memory so I could write it down later. But it was fun to let my ideas spill out and drift away. I changed the tempo to suit the guitar. Bongo man had no problem providing me with a nice beat to keep up with. Felix just watched my fingers, studying them in that musical genius way that he did. But then he lifted his guitar and added a rhythm that didn’t overpower my melody.

Quinn didn’t sing for a long time. He started with something, stopped, and then tried again. But he wasn’t catching it as fast as we had. Felix and I always played well together.

“Kumbaya, my lord,” Quinn sang. Everyone nearby laughed.

But then he started up for real this time. He stuttered when he was at a loss for words, and then Billie would throw something at him, and he’d run with it. He didn’t stumble again after that. He seemed to have unleashed an unlimited supply of lyrics. And whenever he started to lose it, Billie would provide him with another prompt or a word to get him going again.

It was actually pretty decent. We had no climax or set verses in mind. We just provided beats and melodies, and Quinn wove stories with his voice. But it was getting late, and it couldn’t last forever. Eventually, we began to slow until we stopped completely.

There were some claps, but most people had wandered off by now, and it seemed like everyone was ready to call it a night. Bongo man stood up and shook our hands.

“My name’s Rocco,” he said. “I work at the record store just right up the walk. You can’t miss it. If you guys ever wanna jam again, come say hi.”

He left, and we got to work cleaning up our mess and putting out the fire. That’s when the other guy approached.

“What did you say your band’s name was again?” he asked, pulling a small notebook out of his back pocket. He wrote it down and then got all our names. “That was some really impressive work. I’ll give your manager a call and see if I can get a copy of that EP.”

“Yeah, that’d be great. We appreciate it,” Quinn said.

“Ruby. Where’d you go?” I was kneeling down to collect my things. I didn’t think I was part of the conversation. This was band business, and I wasn’t part of it. I stood up, kind of startled that he was addressing me and that he remembered my name.

“Here?” I replied. He pointed at me and turned to Quinn.

“Why isn’t she in the band?” Now Quinn looked startled. He scratched the back of his head like he was put on the spot.

“She’s uh—we started it before she moved here.”

“She’s talented. You do realize that, right? You’re sitting on a mountain of untapped talent and have her playing rhythm for a band she’s not even in.”

“Yeah—well….” He swiveled on me and pointed his pencil at me again.

“There are great things ahead for you, Ruby—what did you say your last name was again?”

“Emery,” I provided. He quickly wrote that down.

“Ruby Emery. Quinn Emery. That makes sense. You guys bicker like siblings.” He looked at me again. “You keep up the good work. I want to hear more from you in the future.”

“Yeah. Okay. Thanks.”

He walked off, and Quinn and I shared a look.

“Don’t let it go to your head. You’re still a brat,” he said.

“Don’t worry about it. He’s just being nice.” Felix got my bag over his shoulder and came to take my hand.

“Mountain of untapped talent over here,” he teased. I pushed his chest.

“Shut up.”