Fox Trot- Fort Myer’s Music Walk
My summer was great. Fulfilling, even. I worked at a sleepaway camp in Brandon for kids whose parents wanted them out of the house, into the woods, and closer with God (I think the closest I got to God all summer was falling down the stairs trying to dodge a camper with a tray of food in the dining hall – I could hear the bell tolling). I met incredible people, and a scenic camp outdoors is an awesome place to be, and there was nothing else I’d rather have spent my summer doing.
That said, was I still absolutely devastated when Chappell Roan came to St. Pete and everyone I knew went to go see her while I was stuck working? Yes, I was. I still am. I’m not going to shut up about it, either. It was just one of the many, many times where I felt like I’d squandered my summer vacation. I made a conscious effort not to open Instagram, lest I see my friends posting about whatever European city they were visiting– why couldn’t church camp have been in Milan? Hell, I’d’ve taken London. Anything but the godforsaken swamp that is Florida. Despite my extensive list of woes, though, my summer was only almost entirely spent at work. I did get chances to kick back and relax, scattered here and there throughout my busy schedule, keeping me relatively sane.
After camp had ended later in the summer, I visited two other counselors in Lee County. We had become friends and wanted to see each other at least once outside of work. They were both locals, so they took it upon themselves to show me around their respective hometowns for the weekend, and arguing over which was better– Cape Coral or Fort Myers? I still don’t know who won that debate.
On Saturday, we drove across the bridge connecting the neighboring cities. After a day of meandering around town and seeing the sights, we decided to end the day by taking a trip downtown to watch the sun set over the Gulf of Mexico. When we arrived parking was scarce,
and roadblocks were lined up on every street my GPS was telling me to turn down. I was confused, but my friends quickly caught on to what was happening. It turned out that we’d picked the perfect time to visit – we’d just walked right into Fort Myers’ monthly Music Walk.
I’d never even heard of the Music Walk until then, so it was a pleasant surprise for all three of us. We saw a variety of vendors, religious protestors, and, of course, live music. From the woman we saw dressed in the loudest outfit I’d ever seen playing even louder on her saxophone, to the band of high schoolers from the local School of Rock (which is not just a movie, but an actual place) jamming out on electric guitar, there were so many different genres of music to be heard that night. My personal favorite flavor of sound of the night came from Mozaynic, a Midwestern emo band with some of the craziest drumming that’s ever graced my ears. It was loud, fast, and in your face– impressively so. Beyond the crowd of people politely listening was a small group of alternatively dressed individuals dancing quite fiercely. Their movement in tandem with the intensity of the performance painted a passionate picture of the band’s music and the life it brought to the street we stood on together.
After watching Mozaynic perform a few of their songs, we decided we’d peruse the shops lining the streets we’d been walking. One of the buildings we walked into was an artist showcase; it featured work from a variety of different artists, all local to Fort Myers. There was one artist’s table in particular that I felt inexplicably drawn to. Before me stood a legion of paper-mache creatures with an unsettling, alluring aura about them. They were cute, in a grotesque way. I could see myself in the reflection of their vacant, glassy eyes, staring in wonder at the detail painstakingly poured into their being.
Each figure wore a unique facial expression, some with teeth crudely protruding from their mouths. There were a pair of mangoes accompanied by a lively avocado, a pig with red-rimmed eyes, and several stars suspended from the ceiling, dangling dangerously above the
heads of passersby. After taking in the scene around me, I flipped over the tag of a low-hanging star with sunken eyes and slightly parted lips– he looked kind of thirsty. Their studio of origin was called Ocasiocasa (pronounced oh-KAH-see-oh-KAH-sah, as specified on their website) – an interesting name for an equally interesting creative vision. I made sure to snap some pictures of their work before hurrying to catch up with my friends.
(As I’m writing this article, I’m simultaneously perusing their online portfolio for inspiration, becoming increasingly tempted to drive back to Fort Myers. Backwater Friends: Bluebirds and Happiness is calling my name.)
The night went on, and there were even more magical sights to be seen– old men blowing enough cigar smoke to shroud the street in a foreboding fog, a stroller full of dachshunds in matching outfits, and a gang of teenagers riding electric scooters decked out in LEDs. As all things must, however, it did eventually come to an end, and we wearily began our trek, three sets of shoes scraping along the sidewalk’s surface back to the car. While we walked, I distantly recalled my misgivings from just a few months ago and felt my face split into a sleepy grin. This, I thought to myself, was so much fun. It was just a fragment in the grand scheme of my summer, but beneath the burning streetlights and stars of the city, it was all-encompassing. Gone were my doubt-riddled thoughts. Everything I’d done led to that exact moment, standing side-by-side with two of my favorite people. I knew that there was nowhere else I’d rather be.
