With the Band

chapter 1. september scaries

August. The last weekend of summer.

Izzy gazed out of her cracked bedroom window to the small town street below, watching taxis and clumps of people her age go by, sneakers glowing white in the streetlights. They were all obviously on their way somewhere: from the train station to the bars on the main street. Maybe into the city, where Izzy went once a year if she was lucky. A guy her age, arms around his gf, wove around people on a scooter; Izzy listened to their laughter fade down the street—Shoebottom Road, a strip mall thoroughfare that once boasted a Taco Bell Express, but now had nothing but empty storefronts. Except for one: her mom's store, which made beautiful—if outdated—things, dresses and suits and hats. Izzy still lived with her mom and dad in the apartment above it, though they all lived just as much in the store itself. 

Other people had Sunday scaries. But Izzy had September scaries: summer was almost over, and she hadn't done one single interesting thing. 

When Izzy had imagined her life after college, she never pictured still being here, on her childhood bed, living in her laptop in her tiny room that had no fewer than 6 frilly princess-themed lamps, bought for Izzy when she was a toddler by her grandmother, growing from every laquered wood surface like mushrooms. She thought she'd be one of the people outside, on her way somewhere.

Her phone pinged, drawing her away from the window and back to her usual setup: laptop open with a halfscreen split between Netflix and TikTok. Izzy knew she wasn't going out tonight.

Her summer highlight reel was so far embarrassingly short: she saw the Barbie movie with her best friend Meg plus some of her friends. And she went out for coffee with Meg a few times. And that was it. That was literally it. Izzy couldn't populate her feed if she tried, and the shame sometimes felt like fire against her skin.

But there was something hopeful, floating in on that humid end-of-summer breeze: August meant the summer wasn't over yet. August meant she still had a chance to something, anything. Would she make it out? Or would this be another summer wasted? The package that arrived this morning whispered hope. Izzy still hadn't opened it.

just listen to it

Izzy reread the message on her phone, a bit puzzled. Meg was begging now; her texts had become desperate. Meg was usually never up this late and she never sent Izzy songs. What the fuck was she up to?

Izzy listened intently—only the sounds of laughter and cars floated in from outside. Her mom was still out. She opened the song Meg sent her, hit play, then waited; finally, a lone beat cut across her room. It was the hottest day of the year so far, and Izzy lifted one foot, then the other, from the old brown shag carpeting in her room, feeling the soft air from outside across her soles. The single drum beat was joined by a guitar that seemed to melt into the summer air. The music was dark and hypnotic, with a low hum that floated underneath the melody. Izzy tried to imagine the lead singer, lips together, making the sound that filled her bedroom.

Her mom was out, but she would be back soon. Izzy leaned out her bedroom window, checking for signs of her parents' car. She always meant to do something exciting when her parents were out. She looked back inside at the big bowl of cereal on her desk: that was her big rebellion for the night, an extra bowl of cereal.

Izzy hated that she was 22 and still listening for her mom coming up the stairs.

Another ping went off: this time, it was Izzy's BeReal alarm. Izzy looked around her room and grimaced, laughing a bit at herself. What was there to take a photo of? A photo of her cousin Lydia popped up on the app: one tit almost out of her shirt, mid-twerk, at a party of some sort. Like a normal person her age.