Page 6 of Entranced in the Mountains
They both give each other dirty looks, but they drop it for now.
I’m so sick of this. I want out.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” I say, sticking my finger at one than the other. “No fighting while I’m gone.”
They’ll probably start up again, but I’m out of patience. I’m too frustrated to care.
I sigh when I see the lineup at the porta-potties. I hate these things and I’ve been in and out of them all summer long.
I doubt the harp player in the Philharmonic Orchestra has to go to the bathroom in a gross, unsanitary portable toilet while she’s at work.
I need stability. I can’t do this on-the-road bullshit anymore. I’m not in a punk rock band and I have no desire to join one.
But where else can I do this? There aren’t exactly any job openings for a harp player in Pleasant Hill, where I’m from. It’s a small and uninspiring town, which neither has a hill nor is pleasant. It’s not like they have any job openings for a harp player in the tiny diner or the local Walmart.
I don’t want to move to a big city either. I’d rather live in a warm, friendly place like this.
I smile as I wait in line and look around at all for the happy townspeople enjoying the festival. The kids are adorable and look so excited all done up with sparkly face paint and munching on cotton candy. This town is the cutest we’ve been too on our tour with all of the fun shops and cool restaurants and the most majestic, spectacular mountains surrounding it.
I never thought about settling down in Montana, but I could see myself living here. I don’t think I would ever get sick of gazing up at these beautiful mountains.
My eye lingers on a young couple with the most adorable toddler sitting on the grass. The kid is savagely attacking an ice cream cone while the mom films and the dad unsuccessfully tries to wipe him down with a napkin.
I smile as I watch them, wondering if that could be my life. Can I have a version of that?
A husband… A child…
I get a little choked up as the thought lingers.
Probably not. I’m twenty-seven and I’ve never even had a boyfriend. I’m a long way from having all that.
“Oh shit,” I mutter when I see Cooter coming over. I try to hide behind the man in front of me, but it’s too late. The creep spotted me.
“Sweetheart,” he says, flashing me that crooked gold tooth.
Ew. He’s even grosser than I remembered. His flirty grin could curdle milk. His greasy hair is shoved under a dirty trucker hat and I can count at least a dozen stains on his ripped shirt. His sleeves are rolled up his skinny arms, showing off the weird, unintelligible tattoos that some amateur tattooist probably did on their first attempt with a tattoo gun.
“Member me?” he asks, grinning as those slimy, bloodshot eyes slide up and down my body.
“How could I forget?” I mutter as I cross my arms. “Cooter, right?”
He grins, showing that ugly gold tooth again. “You gotta memory on you, sweetheart.”
I take a small step back. “Wish I didn’t.”
He laughs, the kind of creepy, skin-crawling laugh that makes me want to dip my head in hand sanitizer. “You playin’ again up der today?”
“Just about to.” I glance toward the stage, desperate to escape this guy.
He leans in close, and I catch a whiff of beer and something sour. “I’ll be watchin’ for ya, sweetheart. Maybe you can dedicate a song to me dis time.”
“Not likely,” I mutter, already moving away.
“Don’t be shy now,” he calls after me. “You know you like the attention.”
I don’t answer. I head straight for the back of the stage, ignoring my screaming bladder. I’d rather pop a kidney than spend another second near that creep.
When I reach the others, Mira and Tessa are standing in total silence, their jaws tight and their energy as sharp as barbed wire.
