The Blue Squish

by Siri Harrison

“You sure this is a good idea?” asked Jamie, swinging his large body into the passenger seat of Ernest’s well-loved silver Subaru and pulling the door shut. “It’s so last-minute.”

“Not really, but we’re gonna go with it,” Ernest replied. “I feel like this is the best opportunity we’ll get in a while.”

“Whatever, man.”

Ernest slammed his foot down on the gas and his car screeched out of the Domino’s parking lot. Jamie was thrown one way, hung suspended for a moment, then rocked back to the center of his seat. Ernest watched him gaze straight ahead, through the windshield, his hand gripping the top of the window frame. Air from the open window caused his shoulder-length red hair to billow around his face. The car sped through the center of town, making a beeline for the freeway.

“Put on some Tom Petty or something,” Jamie said.

Ernest glanced toward Jamie then quickly back at the road. “How about we listen to some old takes instead?”

“Okay, yeah.” Jamie fished his phone from the pocket of his jeans. It looked tiny in his hand as he connected to Bluetooth and started blasting music over the car’s rumbling wheels from a video on his camera roll.

Ernest clapped a hand over his ear and yelped, “Shoot!” The car swerved into the rumble strip.

“Sorry, sorry!” Jamie turned the music down a couple notches and rolled his window up, allowing Ernest to regain control and take a deep breath.

He looked at Jamie with his eyebrows raised, lips parted for a second, then turned away with a grin and started laughing like he was hiccupping. Each squeaking peal seemed to be sucked from his chest to bubble up in his throat. Jamie, usually the louder of the two friends, just fixed his fond gaze on Ernest and smirked. The song reverberating throughout the car was an odd yet enjoyable mix of psychedelic rock and metal, with hints of grunge during the sludgy bass segments.

“This one hasn’t been on the set list for a while. Maybe we should mix it in today,” Ernest proposed. He’d been making music with Jamie for about four years, but still they often held off songwriting until the last minute. They practiced only one a week, but that wasn’t out of any fault of their own, and at least they were diligent about it.

Ernest worked as many hours as he could at a gas station only a few miles from his and Jamie’s apartment, scraping together all the cash he could to pay off his student loans. His mom did what she could for him, but he was an adult now and he insisted she let him care for himself. Jamie had moved in with Ernest at the beginning of the month after breaking up with his girlfriend. It had been a messy end to a five year roller-coaster of a relationship. Ernest still wondered how Jamie could’ve stayed so long with someone like her. The red welts from her rings had stayed on Jamie’s face for a week, and a small yellow bruise formed along the cheekbone.

Every now and then, Ernest let himself slip into memories from the start of the pandemic. There Angelina was, yelling, “You never make any time for me. It’s either the music or work. It’s never me! I’m supposed to be the most important person to you, and you treat me like this? What’s wrong with you?” The sound of Jamie’s name that night still rung in his ears. In the first few months of the relationship, it was sugar on Angelina’s lips, but before she walked out the door, she spat it out like poison. There Jamie was, red-faced, trying to get words out. Her paisley skirt swished around her ankles. She whipped her arm forward and snapped it away, ignoring Ernest entirely. Jamie turned his head abruptly after contact, and afterwards, stayed motionless for several minutes, eyes glued to the ground. The scene remained burned into Ernest’s memory.

At least Ernest had his mom for support. Jamie dipped in and out of foster homes for much of his teenage life, and when he was finally adopted, it was by a couple with an authoritarian parenting style. Of the two, only Jamie’s father survived to see him start the band with Ernest. The old man had softened with age and paid for the two years of university Jamie attended before deciding it wasn’t for him. Since then, he earned his money working at a local café, but he and Ernest would take any gig they were offered, since playing music for money was more fun than making sandwiches and selling cigarettes and lottery tickets.

This is why, at 3:23pm, they were rushing down the highway to catch a last minute gig at 4:30. Ernest got the offer from an old college friend who he’d fallen out of touch with about a month after leaving school. Aiden had always been a wild card, so when he told Ernest on the phone he’d discovered their band, The Blue Squish, after stepping on one of their fliers then recognizing Ernest’s name, it came as no surprise. Aiden said his birthday party was today and he figured why not? What better way to reunite with one of his favorite folks?

Ernest drew in a deep breath and flicked on his blinker before taking the next exit. He still remembered the way to Aiden’s house. Another Blue Squish song thrummed through the speakers—one of his personal favorites—and he started humming along to Jamie’s voice. The singer himself glanced over, that same corner-lipped smirk on his broad, stubbled face. He hadn’t been neglecting his hygiene since the break up, which Ernest was thankful for, always being in such close contact with the guy. Fifteen minutes later, the duo had a setlist prepared as they pulled into Aiden’s driveway. A large group of young adults were gathered in the yard, drinks in hand. The house was enormous.

“Ernie, is he rich?” questioned Jamie, thin ginger eyebrows raised in casual wonder while he lifted his guitar and Ernest’s bass from the trunk. “He must be rich.”

“Well, his parents are, I think,” Ernest replied, stepping out of the car and stretching.

They slung their instruments onto their backs, hoisted their amps, and shuffled a few feet into the garage. Ernest caught sight of a girl slumped in a white plastic lawn chair. Sweat matted her dark curls to her forehead, and her black-lined eyes drooped. He set down his amplifier on the cement floor, eyes still fixed on the girl, and Jamie followed suit. The soft oval shape of her face, and her rounded lips, reminded Ernest of his old high school girlfriend, Casey. She was the only person he ever dated.

The duo transported the rest of their equipment to the driveway before walking into the yard where music reverberated through speakers and animated conversations happened all around them. The faint scent of alcohol and the fresh aroma of newly-cut grass hung in the air, and the grass clippings clung to Ernest’s black slip-ons. He glanced over at Jamie and it struck him that he’d been uncharacteristically silent since they arrived. The break up hit him hard, Ernest thought, but so did Angelina, so you would think he wouldn’t feel too bad about it. There was now a slight pout to Jamie’s lips, and a furrow to his brow, both of which only presented themselves when he was deep in thought. Ernest found it kind of endearing, but he wasn’t supposed to be thinking that about his “bro.” No one had to know.

Ernest’s eyes scanned the crowd for signs of Aiden. There: a flicker of warm brown wavy hair, a flash of blue Vans, the swinging of a short, freckled arm, ending in a hand wrapped around a red Solo cup. “Hey, Aiden!” Ernest called, beckoning his old friend over.

Aiden strode over to the pair and reached up to clap Ernest on the shoulder. “Hey! Ernest, my man!”

Ernest smiled, happier to see him than he would have thought.

“And you’re the other member?” Aiden asked, taking in the guitar strapped to Jamie’s back. Jamie’s lips gave up pouting as he snapped from the deep realm of thought he’d been occupying. They twitched into a half-hearted smile.

“Yeah. Jamie.”

Ernest and Aiden stayed on pause for a moment, expecting something more jovial out of the big guy, but his blue eyes had already wandered away and he was chewing at his cheek. When Aiden finally decided Jamie wasn’t going to say anything, he said, “You guys can set up over by the garage. Just start whenever you want. You can be background noise and eventually people will start to wander over.”

Jamie gave him a thumbs up and immediately started down the steps from the yard into the driveway, then into the garage. Ernest watched the creases of his maroon t-shirt shift against his back as he walked in sluggish, careful strides. He followed after him, and Aiden melted back into the crowd. “Casey” was passed out in her chair now, looking rather sickly.

“Ready?” He turned to Jamie, who gave a nod, offered Ernest a genuine smile, and tipped the neck of his guitar at him. Still not being much of himself. Ernest looked down at his shoes, scraping the pavement and dragging along his ankles one at a time. His eyes flickered to his friend’s white high tops, scuffed with dirt, laces fraying, but then he turned his attention to the microphone. “Hey everyone, I’m Ernest and that’s Jamie, and we are The Blue Squish.” The band name came to him one day when he’d been fidgeting with some theraputty and brainstorming song lyrics. His brain was always storming.

He started playing his bass. Halfway through the song, partygoers trickled into the driveway, some sitting on the stone wall ringing the yard and dangling their feet. Jamie performed a half-hearted rendition of the vocals; Ernest was half-focused on surveying the audience while he played his bass. He caught sight of Aiden, who, laughing with his mouth open, turned to look over his shoulder at a curvy, redheaded girl.

No.

That was Angelina.

Jamie’s ex.

Her arms wrapped around Aiden’s shoulders.

In a split second, all the memories returned, flushing the breath from Ernest’s body. There was Jamie, sobbing with his face in his hands; reeling, with ring imprints on his cheek; on the phone late at night, arguing with Angelina; apologizing over and over to her while she didn’t even spare him a glance. And now it was Aiden, falling into the same trap. Ernest wouldn’t allow this to continue. Friends had to look out for each other.

The guitar and vocals came to a screeching halt, though Ernest kept plucking the strings of his bass. Jamie’s sharp, traumatized eyes locked on Angelina. The crowd noise decreased to a simmer. In an instant, Jamie pulled off his guitar, set it down on the garage floor, and walked away. Ernest wanted to chase after him, but he didn’t. Instead, he lowered his mouth to the microphone and lifted his eyes to the crowd. “Er…hey, everyone. We’re going to take a quick break, and hopefully get back to you soon.”

There was a loud, “What’s goin’ on?” that echoed off the garage. Ernest left the party-goers mid-dance and entered the house, only to bide some time before confronting Aiden. When he returned to the driveway, Angelina still clung to Aiden like a parasite. Ernest didn’t care. He strode up to his friend with boldness he didn’t have to fake. “Aiden, can I talk to you for a minute?” he said, ignoring Angelina.

“Uh, we’re in the middle of a conversation,” Angelina interjected. “Can it wait?” She wasn’t even trying to be polite, clearly playing the stranger game as well.

“Um…no, no, it’s fine,” said Aiden. He turned to her. “Be right back, okay?” When he tried to pull his arm from her grasp, she squeezed it tighter. Ernest could see the blood leaving her knuckles. She was looking at him, scared.

“Wait, babe, what are you doing? Can you…can we…”

Aiden’s friendly smile faltered. “Just a sec.” He tried again to pull away, prying at her fingers. Her grip wouldn’t loosen. His mouth dropped open. “Let go, seriously. That actually kind of hurts.”

“I’m not…trying to hurt you. Can we please just—”

“Let go. What are you doing?”

Her nostrils flared and her head whipped towards Ernest. “What do you want?”

“He said let go,” Ernest replied, his voice gaining steam.

Aiden wrenched his arm away from Angelina and glared at her. “It’s fine. Like, what was that?” He didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he let Ernest lead him out of the driveway in the direction Jamie went.

“Jamie is Angelina’s ex.”

Aiden didn’t stop walking, but visibly tensed. “Seriously? She never mentioned knowing either of you.”

“Yeah, well, she isn’t a good one.”

“What do you mean?” Aiden looked worried. Ernest had always appreciated how he never failed to be interested in what other people had to say.

“Fighting. It seemed rosy at the start, but then it spiraled.” Ernest almost felt bad for disclosing the information, but he was certain no good would come of anyone dating Angelina. Surely there hadn’t been time for her to grow between the break up and now. “She slapped him. Really hard.”

Aiden didn’t say anything. He stared ahead of him as he walked on, not with his usual jaunty meandering, but stiffly. He was silent for a long time.

“I know it may seem crazy, since you’re getting along now and all, but I had to warn you. Jamie would be over the moon with her one day and want to die the next. It got to the point where he got his happiness other places and she only made him miserable. It’s not worth it.”

“She—”

“She what?” Ernest cut in.

“The way she grabbed my arm…”

That was all he said before both friends caught sight of Jamie standing in the street.

“Jamie!” said Ernest. He’d never been good at consoling people. He cared about people plenty, but it didn’t seem his efforts were ever good enough. Especially in this case. What was there he could say to erase the damage done by a toxic ex? There was no forgetting Angelina. He’d seen Jamie through the worst of the aftermath, but really he hadn’t done anything. He’d just been there to supervise his friend while he healed. He couldn’t erase the past now, but he could try to change the future. He jogged up to his friend and grinned at him. “Found you.”

Jamie smiled back.

“Uh…you guys staying?” Aiden asked, tottering up behind them.

“Yeah,” said Ernest.

“Well, I should head back,” said Aiden.

“Remember what I told you.”

Aiden nodded, his face grave. Ernest gave his attention to Jamie. “I told him.”

Jamie’s eyes widened. “No. Aw, man, I’m not here to break anyone up. I don’t wanna deal with this.”

“I don’t want to see another friend go through that. Do you want to go back to the party?”

After thinking for a minute, Jamie said, “Yeah, I guess so.”

Ernest beamed at him. “Good. Remember, she’s not in your life anymore. Don’t let her affect you.”

“Yeah. Forget her.”

“I wish we could.” Ernest rolled his eyes. The bandmates exchanged a weary smile and started back to the house, to finish their set.

“Maybe you can talk to that cute girl in the garage, once she sobers up,” said Jamie. He prodded Ernest with his elbow, a feline grin on his face. Ernest just raised his eyebrows in response, but he couldn’t stop himself from thinking that maybe he would.

About the Author

Siri Harrison is a twenty-year-old student floating and fumbling along on a different—or maybe the same—piece of this floating rock as you. She puts words on pages, food in her mouth, and one foot in front of the other. Her story “The Spirit Artist” was featured on Episode 104.1 of The Other Stories podcast.